Fic: Widdershins, (The Eagle AU), part 9
Title: Widdershins, part 9
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings: This is set in the 50s, so the language is un-PC
Summary: The Eagle AU - Esca's a house master and history teacher at a 1950s boys school on the English/Scottish border, where welcoming the new Latin teacher proves to be a challenge
A/N: For awarrington.
“Esca! What a lovely surprise.”
Fanny put down his knife and fork, patting over his mouth with a cloth serviette before rising to shake Esca's hand, merry eyes disappearing into a face creased in wrinkles around that searchlight smile.
“'Afternoon, Fanny. Sorry to disturb.”
“Not at all, not at all. Will you join me? There's more than enough. Am I correct on that?”
“Of course, darling, I'll fetch another plate.” The embodiment of why Fanny was so fat squeezed Esca on the arm, her hand swollen and near-purple with chilblains. “I'm not much of a cook, but there's plenty.”
Mrs. Adams' food was the stuff of legends around Cranholme. One dorm of Medial House's lucky six formers would get invited for Sunday lunch each week, and treated to roast tatties so crisp that their outer layer shattered into golden shards melting into the fluffy white insides when hit with a fork, Yorkshire puddings so light that they needed the thick, pepper-laden gravy to stop them drifting off on the slightest draft, or chops drowning under a sweet mint sauce that tasted of summer. Fanny had been tucking into what looked like chicken and leek pie, maybe some chunks of gammon in the creamy white sauce, and Esca almost started drooling down his chin like a fat Labrador after a biscuit.
“If you're sure that's alright . . .”
“Go sit.”
He hadn't eaten lunch, sick to his stomach as he'd watched them all leave the table again as Marcus approached it. Esca had left the table without a word to the others, his shoulder brushing against Marcus's arm as they'd passed with a polite greeting, and marching over to see Fanny without stopping to think twice about what he was going to say.
“So, what can I do for you?” Fanny folded away his paper, regarding Esca with twinkly, piggy eyes over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “It's been too long since Medial House has played host to our esteemed North House compatriot, and I've not seen you much in chapel.”
Esca frowned, immediately on the defensive as the remains of any Christian guilt he might have over himself and Marcus were busy crawling around under his skin and into every nerve ending. “That's hardly fair. I've never missed a weekend service, not since I got that 'flu we all had last year.”
A chubby hand with fingers like chipolatas patted his, Fanny's eyes boring into his as if he could read what was causing Esca's discomfort from that contact alone. “No, no, dear boy, you haven't, and there was no reproach meant. But, I must admit, I've missed our little chats.”
“Now, Fanny, I'd hardly call arguing into the early hours of each morning about the existence of Hell and over what sort of God could allow war to exist a 'little chat'.”
He'd been so bitter for so many years after coming to Cranholme, Fanny the only person Esca had been able to pour it all out to, to rage at over injustice and a god who'd allowed his family to be so completely taken. Fanny had sat there, freezing his arse off knee to knee with Esca in his tiny vestry, hour after hour, calmly topping up Esca's sherry glass and countering every angry point Esca made with one of his own.
“Nonsense, I couldn't have enjoyed myself more if I'd been at the steam fair with a toffee apple and the teeth to eat it with.”
“You say that now.”
“And I mean it. What's troubling you? You look somewhat ruffled in the rafters.”
“You mind if I . . . ?”
He was smoking too much these days, Esca knew it, that deep ache at the bottom of his lungs nagging at him as much as the yellow stain growing darker over the callous on his middle finger. Fanny's eyes lit up like sparklers as he nodded enthusiastically.
“Not at all, not if you're planning to share. Mrs. A is refusing to buy cigarettes for me out of her housekeeping, and, I must admit, my mind's gone to the point of not being able to remember to get my own.”
Esca held out the pack, then his lit match as Fanny grabbed a Woodbine and leaned it into the flame, puffing excitedly. “Rubbish. Your mind's a sharper one than any single other in this school. Any sharper and Himself Upstairs,” Esca pointed heavenwards, “Would have to admit to favouritism.”
“Ah, what bliss.” Fanny blew out a long stream of smoke on an ecstatic groan before immediately drawing in another. ”Eat thy bread with joy, drink thy wine with a merry heart, and, one might add, enjoy thy fag with the fervor of the pious.”
“I'll pick you up a carton next time I'm at the shop.”
“I'd dedicate a sermon to you if you did.”
“Heh. No need, but ta.”
“So, Esca. Down to business. The issue at hand is . . . ?”
He was drawing unwanted attention to himself by coming to Fanny to see what could be done, but a week of watching Marcus eat alone had left Esca needing to act to prevent it much as he needed to continue breathing. “It's Mr. Aquila. Have you heard anything from your boys about mealtimes?”
“Hmm. Let me think, have I? I remember hearing his name recently, but couldn't tell you now what it was in reference to.”
“It's the other teaching staff. Hamish Stewart seems to have organised some kind of mass protest against him, and they're getting up from the table once Mr. Aquila sits down, leaving him to eat alone. In front of the boys, too.”
“Surely not.” Fanny puffed out his lips in disapproval, taking another thoughtful draw on his smoke. “Have you spoken with Mr. Stewart?”
“Tried to. And the others, too, as much as I can.” Without giving away that I care much too much about this. “They want him out, simple as that, and this is how they've chosen to do it. I can't approve of it, not when we're trying to educate the boys out of that sort of thing.”
“Absolutely not. The Good Lord teaches us to turn the other cheek, not one's entire bloody arse.”
Esca snorted up his mouthful of the tea Mrs. Adams had placed in front of him, the ball of her hand hammering on his back as he tried to blow it back out into his hankie. “Thank you, Mrs. A, I'm good. 'Arse', Fanny? I'm appalled.”
“This is my table, not my pulpit. Oh dear, our poor Mr. Aquila. Fine man, a good Christian. How is he bearing up?”
“Stoically, giving no sign it's bothering him one way or the other.” Fragrant steam rose in ribbons off the slice of pie in front of him, Esca's mind diverting from the subject of Marcus for the first time in weeks. He stubbed out his cigarette and tucked in, his head rolling back with a moan of true joy as a hint of mustard in the creamy, bay-infused sauce hit his tongue. “Mrs. A, if you ever get tired of your old man's filthy language, I can guarantee you a drafty cupboard in North House to kip in in return for a few meals.”
“I'll bear that in mind while I leave you two to it. Thump on the floor when you're ready for seconds.”
Fanny watched his wife bustle back out of the room, his face suffused with fondness for a moment before he looked back to Esca.
“Well, now, what do you propose I do with our situation here? I'll of course work something about charity and forgiveness into my weekend sermons, but perhaps I should speak with Mr. Stewart?”
“I don't know that'd work. He's digging his heels in. Wouldn't hurt, though. I have had one idea, but it's a cheeky thing to ask.”
“Ah, I see. A man with a plan.” Fanny picked up Esca's Woodbines, taking another one with a nod of ascent from Esca. “What's that crafty mind of yours been working on, may I ask?”
“It'd mean you eating school food for a week or two.”
“My dear chap, there are limits to what you should ask of your minister.”
“Sit with Mr. Aquila and eat, just for a while, just to make a point.” Esca heard his voice crack with a touch of desperation. “People will look to your lead. I know they will. Someone needs to set the right example, show them all how petty and unjust this is. Where the boys can see it, too.”
Fanny puffed away, frowning down at his plate as he thought about it for a moment. Then he gave one firm nod of agreement, and looked at Esca, eyes blazing with righteousness. “Anything important is worthy of a sacrifice, no matter how unappetising. Very well. You've got a dining companion for Mr. Aquila.”
“Fanny, that's brilliant. You're a trooper.”
“Quite so, quite so. And you, Esca? Will you be sitting there beside us?”
“Oh.” Esca felt the blush rising up his neck, his cheeks burning as he looked down to watch his fork as he played with the crust of his pie. “I'm not sure I can.”
“Christian forgiveness only able to carry you so far?”
“Something like that.” There was a long minute's silence, Esca forcing a mouthful of chicken down that was tasteless now. “I'm sorry, Fan. I'm not the person for this.”
Once more a fat hand covered his for a friendly squeeze, and Esca could feel it coming, the shame at how he'd led Fanny to arrive at the wrong destination because he couldn't possibly explain it otherwise.
“Darling boy, it's perfectly alright. I understand. Some things are harder to forgive than others, and I know you'll find your way.”
-
“There. Let me see.” Fiona's bosom was almost brushing his nose as she leaned over him to tug at different strands of his hair. “Bit more off the top, I think.”
“Leave me some. It's cold out.”
“Oh, hush yourself. You've got a hat, haven't you? Besides, I took it a bit short over here by accident, so it needs tidying up.”
A fresh sprinkling of hair landed on Esca's nose, and he wrinkled it, trying to blast the itch off with a puff of breath. “I thought you'd said you've done this before.”
“I have! You're such an old woman. Worse than Auntie Maudie. But I was telling you about Jamie.”
“We weren't finished with that?”
“Not even close. He's such a stick in the mud. Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink and gave me a funny look when I asked for a sherry in the pub. He didn't even like my new shoes. Too shiny, he said.”
“What, those shoes?” Fiona's feet seemed as sensibly clad as they had the first time he'd met her.
“Och, no, they were heels. I had to hide them from Auntie Maudie. Janice has pinched them and will probably stretch them out with her big elephant feet.”
“Heels?” Esca reached up to brush the hair out of his eyelashes. “Very racy.”
“I know, it's part of why I came to visit. Jamie being such a fusspot over one small sherry decided me. I'm going to become a scarlet woman.”
“Beg pardon?” He leaned back to look at her, clutching the hand towel slipping off his shoulders. “Did I hear that right? A scarlet woman, in Tamside? Not possible.”
“Well, I know, but wouldn't it be wonderful?” Fiona clutched her scissors to her chest, her cheeks glowing. “I'd be like Bette Davis, all sex and scorn and withering putdowns. Black seams on my stockings, martinis with lunch, men falling at my ankles . . . I want to live, you know? Leave a trail of broken men in my wake.”
Esca grinned up at her, raking his fingers through his hair to check for bald spots. “It's good to have ambition.”
“You're making fun of me. I thought you might be the one person who wouldn't.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You're worldly. No, you are,” as he snorted in derision. “You've been all the way down south. You've been to university. You've experienced stuff none of us ever will.”
She'd never know how on the button that was. “Even if I agreed with you, I've got to point out that you're perfectly aware my reputation around here is worthless. The gossips'll eat you for supper and spit you out with the gristle if there's so much of a hint of black seam in the high street.”
“I know.” She started trimming around his left ear, Esca holding as still as he could so she wouldn't take a chunk out of it like she had the other one. “Which is why, and I'll skin you alive if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone . . .”
“I wouldn't.”
“I think I've decided to go to Edinburgh, apply to secretary school and find myself a rich, handsome boss to seduce me over the filing cabinets. Janice is always getting herself chatted up.”
“Okay, I see. I think you've got it in you.”
She clutched at his ear. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She squealed with excitement, flinging herself into his hair-covered lap for a hug and to kiss his cheek, Esca awkwardly patting her shoulder as her breasts pressed up against his chest. “Oh, I knew you'd get it! It's why I had to see you, I was about ready to explode with the need to tell someone, and you were the only person who I knew'd take it seriously and not think me just some silly girl.”
“You'd only met me once.”
“I know, but we're friends, aren't we?”
He helped her off his lap, hand on her hip to steady her as she bent to hug her arms around his neck again, which was exactly when he heard his name called, a knock, and watched the door open. Oh, no, not now. Any time but now.
“Esca? One of the boys thought you were in here, Charlie Muller, I think . . .”
Even if he'd immediately pushed Fiona away, Esca didn't think he could've made the scene look any less intimate, himself sitting there in his vest, Fiona running her fingers around his ear as he tugged his head away guiltily and looked up into Marcus's eyes, his face burning. Marcus's lips quirked up on one side as he touched a fingertip to his cheek.
“Lipstick.”
“What? Oh.” Crap. Esca scrubbed at the mark Fiona had made.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you both. Good evening.”
A polite nod to them both and Marcus turned as if to leave, Esca jumping up from his chair to dash across the small kitchen. He reached out to grab Marcus's elbow, snatching his hand away at the last second in case that one small touch would be too telling.
“Wait! This isn't - Um, this is Fiona. She's giving me a haircut.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse, even to him. “Fiona, this is Mr. Aquila, our Latin master.”
Fiona's eyes were huge with wonder as she gazed up at Marcus and held out her hand. “You're Mr. Aquila? The Mr. Aquila?”
Marcus's brow creased in incomprehension but he took Fiona's hand and shook it firmly. “The only one in this area that I know of. Buonasera, signorina.”
“Gosh. You're very . . . I can quite see why Hamish has got his knickers in such a knot.”
“Hamish?” Marcus raised his eyebrows at Esca in question, Esca giving a helpless shrug as if it'd help explain any of it, pleading silently with Marcus not to jump to conclusions.
“Stew.”
“Ah. Well, I'll let you finish. My apologies.”
“You don't have to . . . you could stay and have a drink?”
But Marcus was gone, his uneven footsteps echoing down the chilled hallway, the front door closing firmly behind him. Fuck. Esca leaned his forehead against the edge of the kitchen doorway and breathed in, trying to settle himself, Fiona's voice hushed in a sense of awe behind him.
“Now, there's a man who wouldn't even need a filing cabinet.”
“I'm sorry?” His feet felt like lead as he dragged himself back over to his chair, pulling the towel up off the floor to drape it around his shoulders, his chest frozen through with horror.
“I didn't know men like that existed, outside of the films. Definitely not around here. Oh, not that you're not, y'know, good looking in your own way . . .”
“It's okay.”
“I didn't mean - Sorry. I'm just all a bit discombobulated.”
“He has that effect on people.” Esca pulled out his smokes, his ears ringing, head full of curses at himself and his rotten luck. They'd only managed one brief moment together this whole week, one long, breathless kiss in a darkened classroom lit only by the quad's lamps outside. Now, this. “What did you mean about Stew? Don't tell me he's been moaning on to you about Mr. Aquila, too.”
“Oh, you didn't know? Ah, well.” Fiona started around his ear again, her breath sweet with the mints she'd brought with her. “Again, you've got to keep this to yourself -”
“Have you noticed how many sentences you start that with?”
“You calling me a gossipmonger, Esca MacCunoval?”
“If the heels fit . . .”
“I shan't tell you, now.”
“Of course you will.” Esca's hand shook so much as he went to light his smoke that he flicked the first match out and had to strike another. “Wouldn't want you exploding on the way home.”
“Fine, but you tell a single soul -”
“You'll skin me, I know. Out with it.”
“Well. Janice has decided she's ready to be engaged.”
“To Stew? Hamish Stewart, settling down?” He started laughing, a hopeless edge to it as he found he couldn't stop till she'd smacked his arm. “I'll tell you for nothing that she's got a long wait ahead of her.”
“That's what I'd have thought, not with her how she is, but. Listen to this.” She stopped cutting, fingers running through his hair checking its length once more. “She told Stew that she quite fancied Mr. Aquila, and wondered aloud if he was married. Stew hit the roof. He's been doing nothing but badmouth him around us since.”
“What?”
“She's so awful. Auntie Maudie would have a conniption fit if she knew.”
“That's what's stuffed a thistle up Stew's bum about Marcus? He thinks Janice is after him?”
“That's right. Oh, go on, give us a puff. What?” She glared at him as she took his cigarette. “It's sophisticated. If I'm going to be a scarlet woman I'll need to get used to it.”
Sodding Janice. Sodding Stew. The whole thing was turning into a farce, one low on laughs. “Bette Davis always smoked in her films.”
“Exactly that. There. I think you're done.” She brushed the hair trimmings off his shoulders onto the floor before coming around to look at him from the front, tilting her head and squinting. “It looks fine.”
“Stop. You'll give me a swelled head if you're not careful.”
“No, I mean it. You're honestly every bit as handsome as that Mr. Aquila.”
“In my own way?”
She screwed up her face as she took a drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out immediately. “In a different way. You're yourself.”
“That's one way of putting it. Thanks for the haircut.”
“Any time. So.” Fiona was picking at a fingernail, blinking rapidly as smoke got in her eyes. “That Mr. Aquila. Is he married?”
“No.” Esca paused in sweeping up his hair with his dustpan and brush, sitting back on his heels and trying to remember if Marcus wore a ring. He would've noticed that much, surely, but all he could think of was that broad hand engulfing them both as they'd fucked against each other and swallowed each other's moans. He coughed, arousal already beginning a slow build deep in his groin. “At least, I don't think so.”
-
Marcus wasn't in his rooms, and the few people Esca had risked asking hadn't seen him all evening. His car was in its usual spot, too, still covered with a few inches of hard-frozen snow. It couldn't have been used all week. He wasn't in the library, which was closed by the time Esca made his way over there, and he was ready to give up, heart heavy and eyes stinging in the brisk, frost-laden wind, when he noticed a trail of large footprints heading off behind the library, off towards the sports fields. One set of the prints was blurred, a foot dragging in between steps. Esca's father would've been proud he'd noticed after so many years of Esca grumbling all the way along his dad's deer stalkings.
“Mr. Aquila?” He huddled deeper into his scarf and followed Marcus's trail until the light died out, leaving him to navigate by the pale light of a cloud-swathed moon. “Mr. Aquila? You out here?”
There. Esca could just make out a tall figure leaning against a far wall, silhouetted against the dark sky. “Marcus?”
“I'm not much in the mood for company.”
“Anyone else out here?”
“It's almost midnight, and ten degrees below freezing, so I would hope not.”
Every syllable was icy with precision, no trace of Marcus's accent softening each word as it usually did. Esca's eyes were accustomed to the dark now, but Marcus's face remained in shadow beneath his hat as he halted a foot away from Marcus's feet. “Only us poor misguided fools?”
“I don't know. Tell me, Esca, am I a fool?”
“Christ no, you're not. Let me explain.”
A huff of annoyance, Marcus's profile coming into view as he looked from Esca and out across the silent fields, his hands drawing out his hip flask. “You don't owe me an explanation. We haven't made each other any promises.”
“That's right, we haven't, but you've misunderstood. She was cutting my hair. If there was any funny business going on, her lipstick wouldn't have been only on my cheek. Right?”
Marcus's gloved fingers deftly uncapping his flask before he took a gulp, not offering it to Esca. “It reminded me that I'd failed in my manners and forgotten to ask how your assignation went that night. It was her?”
“Yes, but . . .” He stepped closer to Marcus, standing across his feet, reaching out to smooth down the lapel of Marcus's coat where the wind had blown it up. “There's nothing going on there. She's a new friend, nothing more. I thought you understood that I'm not what you'd call a ladies' man.”
Marcus sighed, the winds weaving around them both before the flask was thrust into Esca's chest. “Here, before you freeze.”
“I'm telling the truth. I wouldn't lie to you about that.”
He took the flask, a slug of grappa running a trail of heat down his throat. Hands slid around his waist beneath his coat, pulling him towards Marcus as he reached up to wrap a cold hand around the back of Marcus's warm neck. “I believe you. But there is so much about you still to learn and so little time in which to do it. You're not mine to become jealous over.”
“I've changed my mind.” He swigged more of the grappa, needing its burn for this before he thought better of it. “You're a fool and a half if you don't realise by now that you're what I want. You, Marcus.”
I'm yours, if you'll have me. Already am, either way. Esca didn't have the courage to speak it, hoping his thumb stroking over Marcus's neck would say some of it for him. “You should get back to your room. I've got to run back anyhow, and you're going to catch a chill if you keep this up.”
“One minute longer. I have something to ask you.”
“Ah, bugger it. It'll have to wait.”
Risk be damned. It was too dark and cold for anyone to be out here watching them, and Esca didn't care anyway, drawing his fingers along Marcus's jaw to pull him up to kiss, sliding his tongue between the cold mouth opening for him, pressing against Marcus fully as Marcus's hands flattened against his back to hold him there. Nobody had come close to kissing Esca like this, equal heat and hunger, stubble chafing his lips as he bit at Marcus's lip and plowed in deeper. Hands were cupping his arse now, fingers kneading each cheek as Marcus submitted to his kiss totally, tilting his head to allow Esca to delve deeper still. Esca was gasping by the time he broke away, his body aching to bury itself in Marcus's heat and strength as he rubbed his nose against Marcus's neck.
“Okay. You can ask me now.”
He could feel Marcus grin against his cheek, strong fingers digging into his arse. “If you'd be so kind.”
“And hurry it up, I'm freezing my balls off out here.”
“I hope not. I'm already quite fond of them.”
“Christ, man, spit it out, would you? I'm finishing off your flask, by the way.”
“It's half-term next week.”
“Very observant. It's the reason for the haircut, lots of parents'll be around.”
“But most of the boys will remain?”
“Until the main holidays, yes.”
“Is there a chance you'd be able to escape for a night? Could someone else watch over North House?”
“What?” The smile seemed to grow up and out of Esca from his toes, a tentative spurt of happiness working its way around the loops and coils of his stomach. “You want to take me off for a dirty weekend?”
“Not a weekend, but a night, if we can.”
“A hotel? A room each. It'll be dear.”
“'Dear'? Is that good?”
“It means expensive. My budget's more at a bed and breakfast level.”
“It's my suggestion, I'll cover the cost.”
“The MacCunovals are a proud lot. I'll pay my way.”
A chuckle against his temple, a kiss there as he pressed his head against Marcus's. “If you insist.”
“I'll talk to Joyce.”
“Please do so.”
His mind was racing, Esca's face beginning to ache with the cold and a grin that was threatening to split his face in two. “We'd have to be sneaky. You could pick me up a mile or two out of school.”
“I'll stay an extra night or two, so we don't return together.”
“You've really thought about this.”
“I promised I'd find a way.”
“You did, didn't you. You're a genius.”
His toes might be numb, his fingers stinging and burning with cold, but Esca couldn't have cared less what might drop off from frostbite as he nosed his way around to Marcus's mouth again, plunging inside with his tongue to lose himself in all that slick warmth. It wasn't until later on in his bed, huddled up against the cold under his blankets, cum drying on his stomach, that Esca realised that the heady, drunken happiness still worming its way around his system wasn't entirely to do with thoughts of naked Marcus, the solid, muscular body beneath those fancy clothes, of Marcus's mouth and his cock and everything Esca wanted to do in return.
“Oh, for chrissakes.” He addressed sternly it to the ceiling, his breath clouding in front of him in the chill of his room. “Don't do this. It's sex. Lots and lots of sex. That's it, and that's good. Don't go getting all stupid now.”
His heart wasn't listening, off flying somewhere up in the clouds. Esca turned over onto his side, punching his pillow into shape under his head, and tried his best to ignore how joyfully it was singing as it soared ever higher, dragging him with it against his will.
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings: This is set in the 50s, so the language is un-PC
Summary: The Eagle AU - Esca's a house master and history teacher at a 1950s boys school on the English/Scottish border, where welcoming the new Latin teacher proves to be a challenge
A/N: For awarrington.
“Esca! What a lovely surprise.”
Fanny put down his knife and fork, patting over his mouth with a cloth serviette before rising to shake Esca's hand, merry eyes disappearing into a face creased in wrinkles around that searchlight smile.
“'Afternoon, Fanny. Sorry to disturb.”
“Not at all, not at all. Will you join me? There's more than enough. Am I correct on that?”
“Of course, darling, I'll fetch another plate.” The embodiment of why Fanny was so fat squeezed Esca on the arm, her hand swollen and near-purple with chilblains. “I'm not much of a cook, but there's plenty.”
Mrs. Adams' food was the stuff of legends around Cranholme. One dorm of Medial House's lucky six formers would get invited for Sunday lunch each week, and treated to roast tatties so crisp that their outer layer shattered into golden shards melting into the fluffy white insides when hit with a fork, Yorkshire puddings so light that they needed the thick, pepper-laden gravy to stop them drifting off on the slightest draft, or chops drowning under a sweet mint sauce that tasted of summer. Fanny had been tucking into what looked like chicken and leek pie, maybe some chunks of gammon in the creamy white sauce, and Esca almost started drooling down his chin like a fat Labrador after a biscuit.
“If you're sure that's alright . . .”
“Go sit.”
He hadn't eaten lunch, sick to his stomach as he'd watched them all leave the table again as Marcus approached it. Esca had left the table without a word to the others, his shoulder brushing against Marcus's arm as they'd passed with a polite greeting, and marching over to see Fanny without stopping to think twice about what he was going to say.
“So, what can I do for you?” Fanny folded away his paper, regarding Esca with twinkly, piggy eyes over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “It's been too long since Medial House has played host to our esteemed North House compatriot, and I've not seen you much in chapel.”
Esca frowned, immediately on the defensive as the remains of any Christian guilt he might have over himself and Marcus were busy crawling around under his skin and into every nerve ending. “That's hardly fair. I've never missed a weekend service, not since I got that 'flu we all had last year.”
A chubby hand with fingers like chipolatas patted his, Fanny's eyes boring into his as if he could read what was causing Esca's discomfort from that contact alone. “No, no, dear boy, you haven't, and there was no reproach meant. But, I must admit, I've missed our little chats.”
“Now, Fanny, I'd hardly call arguing into the early hours of each morning about the existence of Hell and over what sort of God could allow war to exist a 'little chat'.”
He'd been so bitter for so many years after coming to Cranholme, Fanny the only person Esca had been able to pour it all out to, to rage at over injustice and a god who'd allowed his family to be so completely taken. Fanny had sat there, freezing his arse off knee to knee with Esca in his tiny vestry, hour after hour, calmly topping up Esca's sherry glass and countering every angry point Esca made with one of his own.
“Nonsense, I couldn't have enjoyed myself more if I'd been at the steam fair with a toffee apple and the teeth to eat it with.”
“You say that now.”
“And I mean it. What's troubling you? You look somewhat ruffled in the rafters.”
“You mind if I . . . ?”
He was smoking too much these days, Esca knew it, that deep ache at the bottom of his lungs nagging at him as much as the yellow stain growing darker over the callous on his middle finger. Fanny's eyes lit up like sparklers as he nodded enthusiastically.
“Not at all, not if you're planning to share. Mrs. A is refusing to buy cigarettes for me out of her housekeeping, and, I must admit, my mind's gone to the point of not being able to remember to get my own.”
Esca held out the pack, then his lit match as Fanny grabbed a Woodbine and leaned it into the flame, puffing excitedly. “Rubbish. Your mind's a sharper one than any single other in this school. Any sharper and Himself Upstairs,” Esca pointed heavenwards, “Would have to admit to favouritism.”
“Ah, what bliss.” Fanny blew out a long stream of smoke on an ecstatic groan before immediately drawing in another. ”Eat thy bread with joy, drink thy wine with a merry heart, and, one might add, enjoy thy fag with the fervor of the pious.”
“I'll pick you up a carton next time I'm at the shop.”
“I'd dedicate a sermon to you if you did.”
“Heh. No need, but ta.”
“So, Esca. Down to business. The issue at hand is . . . ?”
He was drawing unwanted attention to himself by coming to Fanny to see what could be done, but a week of watching Marcus eat alone had left Esca needing to act to prevent it much as he needed to continue breathing. “It's Mr. Aquila. Have you heard anything from your boys about mealtimes?”
“Hmm. Let me think, have I? I remember hearing his name recently, but couldn't tell you now what it was in reference to.”
“It's the other teaching staff. Hamish Stewart seems to have organised some kind of mass protest against him, and they're getting up from the table once Mr. Aquila sits down, leaving him to eat alone. In front of the boys, too.”
“Surely not.” Fanny puffed out his lips in disapproval, taking another thoughtful draw on his smoke. “Have you spoken with Mr. Stewart?”
“Tried to. And the others, too, as much as I can.” Without giving away that I care much too much about this. “They want him out, simple as that, and this is how they've chosen to do it. I can't approve of it, not when we're trying to educate the boys out of that sort of thing.”
“Absolutely not. The Good Lord teaches us to turn the other cheek, not one's entire bloody arse.”
Esca snorted up his mouthful of the tea Mrs. Adams had placed in front of him, the ball of her hand hammering on his back as he tried to blow it back out into his hankie. “Thank you, Mrs. A, I'm good. 'Arse', Fanny? I'm appalled.”
“This is my table, not my pulpit. Oh dear, our poor Mr. Aquila. Fine man, a good Christian. How is he bearing up?”
“Stoically, giving no sign it's bothering him one way or the other.” Fragrant steam rose in ribbons off the slice of pie in front of him, Esca's mind diverting from the subject of Marcus for the first time in weeks. He stubbed out his cigarette and tucked in, his head rolling back with a moan of true joy as a hint of mustard in the creamy, bay-infused sauce hit his tongue. “Mrs. A, if you ever get tired of your old man's filthy language, I can guarantee you a drafty cupboard in North House to kip in in return for a few meals.”
“I'll bear that in mind while I leave you two to it. Thump on the floor when you're ready for seconds.”
Fanny watched his wife bustle back out of the room, his face suffused with fondness for a moment before he looked back to Esca.
“Well, now, what do you propose I do with our situation here? I'll of course work something about charity and forgiveness into my weekend sermons, but perhaps I should speak with Mr. Stewart?”
“I don't know that'd work. He's digging his heels in. Wouldn't hurt, though. I have had one idea, but it's a cheeky thing to ask.”
“Ah, I see. A man with a plan.” Fanny picked up Esca's Woodbines, taking another one with a nod of ascent from Esca. “What's that crafty mind of yours been working on, may I ask?”
“It'd mean you eating school food for a week or two.”
“My dear chap, there are limits to what you should ask of your minister.”
“Sit with Mr. Aquila and eat, just for a while, just to make a point.” Esca heard his voice crack with a touch of desperation. “People will look to your lead. I know they will. Someone needs to set the right example, show them all how petty and unjust this is. Where the boys can see it, too.”
Fanny puffed away, frowning down at his plate as he thought about it for a moment. Then he gave one firm nod of agreement, and looked at Esca, eyes blazing with righteousness. “Anything important is worthy of a sacrifice, no matter how unappetising. Very well. You've got a dining companion for Mr. Aquila.”
“Fanny, that's brilliant. You're a trooper.”
“Quite so, quite so. And you, Esca? Will you be sitting there beside us?”
“Oh.” Esca felt the blush rising up his neck, his cheeks burning as he looked down to watch his fork as he played with the crust of his pie. “I'm not sure I can.”
“Christian forgiveness only able to carry you so far?”
“Something like that.” There was a long minute's silence, Esca forcing a mouthful of chicken down that was tasteless now. “I'm sorry, Fan. I'm not the person for this.”
Once more a fat hand covered his for a friendly squeeze, and Esca could feel it coming, the shame at how he'd led Fanny to arrive at the wrong destination because he couldn't possibly explain it otherwise.
“Darling boy, it's perfectly alright. I understand. Some things are harder to forgive than others, and I know you'll find your way.”
-
“There. Let me see.” Fiona's bosom was almost brushing his nose as she leaned over him to tug at different strands of his hair. “Bit more off the top, I think.”
“Leave me some. It's cold out.”
“Oh, hush yourself. You've got a hat, haven't you? Besides, I took it a bit short over here by accident, so it needs tidying up.”
A fresh sprinkling of hair landed on Esca's nose, and he wrinkled it, trying to blast the itch off with a puff of breath. “I thought you'd said you've done this before.”
“I have! You're such an old woman. Worse than Auntie Maudie. But I was telling you about Jamie.”
“We weren't finished with that?”
“Not even close. He's such a stick in the mud. Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink and gave me a funny look when I asked for a sherry in the pub. He didn't even like my new shoes. Too shiny, he said.”
“What, those shoes?” Fiona's feet seemed as sensibly clad as they had the first time he'd met her.
“Och, no, they were heels. I had to hide them from Auntie Maudie. Janice has pinched them and will probably stretch them out with her big elephant feet.”
“Heels?” Esca reached up to brush the hair out of his eyelashes. “Very racy.”
“I know, it's part of why I came to visit. Jamie being such a fusspot over one small sherry decided me. I'm going to become a scarlet woman.”
“Beg pardon?” He leaned back to look at her, clutching the hand towel slipping off his shoulders. “Did I hear that right? A scarlet woman, in Tamside? Not possible.”
“Well, I know, but wouldn't it be wonderful?” Fiona clutched her scissors to her chest, her cheeks glowing. “I'd be like Bette Davis, all sex and scorn and withering putdowns. Black seams on my stockings, martinis with lunch, men falling at my ankles . . . I want to live, you know? Leave a trail of broken men in my wake.”
Esca grinned up at her, raking his fingers through his hair to check for bald spots. “It's good to have ambition.”
“You're making fun of me. I thought you might be the one person who wouldn't.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You're worldly. No, you are,” as he snorted in derision. “You've been all the way down south. You've been to university. You've experienced stuff none of us ever will.”
She'd never know how on the button that was. “Even if I agreed with you, I've got to point out that you're perfectly aware my reputation around here is worthless. The gossips'll eat you for supper and spit you out with the gristle if there's so much of a hint of black seam in the high street.”
“I know.” She started trimming around his left ear, Esca holding as still as he could so she wouldn't take a chunk out of it like she had the other one. “Which is why, and I'll skin you alive if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone . . .”
“I wouldn't.”
“I think I've decided to go to Edinburgh, apply to secretary school and find myself a rich, handsome boss to seduce me over the filing cabinets. Janice is always getting herself chatted up.”
“Okay, I see. I think you've got it in you.”
She clutched at his ear. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She squealed with excitement, flinging herself into his hair-covered lap for a hug and to kiss his cheek, Esca awkwardly patting her shoulder as her breasts pressed up against his chest. “Oh, I knew you'd get it! It's why I had to see you, I was about ready to explode with the need to tell someone, and you were the only person who I knew'd take it seriously and not think me just some silly girl.”
“You'd only met me once.”
“I know, but we're friends, aren't we?”
He helped her off his lap, hand on her hip to steady her as she bent to hug her arms around his neck again, which was exactly when he heard his name called, a knock, and watched the door open. Oh, no, not now. Any time but now.
“Esca? One of the boys thought you were in here, Charlie Muller, I think . . .”
Even if he'd immediately pushed Fiona away, Esca didn't think he could've made the scene look any less intimate, himself sitting there in his vest, Fiona running her fingers around his ear as he tugged his head away guiltily and looked up into Marcus's eyes, his face burning. Marcus's lips quirked up on one side as he touched a fingertip to his cheek.
“Lipstick.”
“What? Oh.” Crap. Esca scrubbed at the mark Fiona had made.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you both. Good evening.”
A polite nod to them both and Marcus turned as if to leave, Esca jumping up from his chair to dash across the small kitchen. He reached out to grab Marcus's elbow, snatching his hand away at the last second in case that one small touch would be too telling.
“Wait! This isn't - Um, this is Fiona. She's giving me a haircut.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse, even to him. “Fiona, this is Mr. Aquila, our Latin master.”
Fiona's eyes were huge with wonder as she gazed up at Marcus and held out her hand. “You're Mr. Aquila? The Mr. Aquila?”
Marcus's brow creased in incomprehension but he took Fiona's hand and shook it firmly. “The only one in this area that I know of. Buonasera, signorina.”
“Gosh. You're very . . . I can quite see why Hamish has got his knickers in such a knot.”
“Hamish?” Marcus raised his eyebrows at Esca in question, Esca giving a helpless shrug as if it'd help explain any of it, pleading silently with Marcus not to jump to conclusions.
“Stew.”
“Ah. Well, I'll let you finish. My apologies.”
“You don't have to . . . you could stay and have a drink?”
But Marcus was gone, his uneven footsteps echoing down the chilled hallway, the front door closing firmly behind him. Fuck. Esca leaned his forehead against the edge of the kitchen doorway and breathed in, trying to settle himself, Fiona's voice hushed in a sense of awe behind him.
“Now, there's a man who wouldn't even need a filing cabinet.”
“I'm sorry?” His feet felt like lead as he dragged himself back over to his chair, pulling the towel up off the floor to drape it around his shoulders, his chest frozen through with horror.
“I didn't know men like that existed, outside of the films. Definitely not around here. Oh, not that you're not, y'know, good looking in your own way . . .”
“It's okay.”
“I didn't mean - Sorry. I'm just all a bit discombobulated.”
“He has that effect on people.” Esca pulled out his smokes, his ears ringing, head full of curses at himself and his rotten luck. They'd only managed one brief moment together this whole week, one long, breathless kiss in a darkened classroom lit only by the quad's lamps outside. Now, this. “What did you mean about Stew? Don't tell me he's been moaning on to you about Mr. Aquila, too.”
“Oh, you didn't know? Ah, well.” Fiona started around his ear again, her breath sweet with the mints she'd brought with her. “Again, you've got to keep this to yourself -”
“Have you noticed how many sentences you start that with?”
“You calling me a gossipmonger, Esca MacCunoval?”
“If the heels fit . . .”
“I shan't tell you, now.”
“Of course you will.” Esca's hand shook so much as he went to light his smoke that he flicked the first match out and had to strike another. “Wouldn't want you exploding on the way home.”
“Fine, but you tell a single soul -”
“You'll skin me, I know. Out with it.”
“Well. Janice has decided she's ready to be engaged.”
“To Stew? Hamish Stewart, settling down?” He started laughing, a hopeless edge to it as he found he couldn't stop till she'd smacked his arm. “I'll tell you for nothing that she's got a long wait ahead of her.”
“That's what I'd have thought, not with her how she is, but. Listen to this.” She stopped cutting, fingers running through his hair checking its length once more. “She told Stew that she quite fancied Mr. Aquila, and wondered aloud if he was married. Stew hit the roof. He's been doing nothing but badmouth him around us since.”
“What?”
“She's so awful. Auntie Maudie would have a conniption fit if she knew.”
“That's what's stuffed a thistle up Stew's bum about Marcus? He thinks Janice is after him?”
“That's right. Oh, go on, give us a puff. What?” She glared at him as she took his cigarette. “It's sophisticated. If I'm going to be a scarlet woman I'll need to get used to it.”
Sodding Janice. Sodding Stew. The whole thing was turning into a farce, one low on laughs. “Bette Davis always smoked in her films.”
“Exactly that. There. I think you're done.” She brushed the hair trimmings off his shoulders onto the floor before coming around to look at him from the front, tilting her head and squinting. “It looks fine.”
“Stop. You'll give me a swelled head if you're not careful.”
“No, I mean it. You're honestly every bit as handsome as that Mr. Aquila.”
“In my own way?”
She screwed up her face as she took a drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out immediately. “In a different way. You're yourself.”
“That's one way of putting it. Thanks for the haircut.”
“Any time. So.” Fiona was picking at a fingernail, blinking rapidly as smoke got in her eyes. “That Mr. Aquila. Is he married?”
“No.” Esca paused in sweeping up his hair with his dustpan and brush, sitting back on his heels and trying to remember if Marcus wore a ring. He would've noticed that much, surely, but all he could think of was that broad hand engulfing them both as they'd fucked against each other and swallowed each other's moans. He coughed, arousal already beginning a slow build deep in his groin. “At least, I don't think so.”
-
Marcus wasn't in his rooms, and the few people Esca had risked asking hadn't seen him all evening. His car was in its usual spot, too, still covered with a few inches of hard-frozen snow. It couldn't have been used all week. He wasn't in the library, which was closed by the time Esca made his way over there, and he was ready to give up, heart heavy and eyes stinging in the brisk, frost-laden wind, when he noticed a trail of large footprints heading off behind the library, off towards the sports fields. One set of the prints was blurred, a foot dragging in between steps. Esca's father would've been proud he'd noticed after so many years of Esca grumbling all the way along his dad's deer stalkings.
“Mr. Aquila?” He huddled deeper into his scarf and followed Marcus's trail until the light died out, leaving him to navigate by the pale light of a cloud-swathed moon. “Mr. Aquila? You out here?”
There. Esca could just make out a tall figure leaning against a far wall, silhouetted against the dark sky. “Marcus?”
“I'm not much in the mood for company.”
“Anyone else out here?”
“It's almost midnight, and ten degrees below freezing, so I would hope not.”
Every syllable was icy with precision, no trace of Marcus's accent softening each word as it usually did. Esca's eyes were accustomed to the dark now, but Marcus's face remained in shadow beneath his hat as he halted a foot away from Marcus's feet. “Only us poor misguided fools?”
“I don't know. Tell me, Esca, am I a fool?”
“Christ no, you're not. Let me explain.”
A huff of annoyance, Marcus's profile coming into view as he looked from Esca and out across the silent fields, his hands drawing out his hip flask. “You don't owe me an explanation. We haven't made each other any promises.”
“That's right, we haven't, but you've misunderstood. She was cutting my hair. If there was any funny business going on, her lipstick wouldn't have been only on my cheek. Right?”
Marcus's gloved fingers deftly uncapping his flask before he took a gulp, not offering it to Esca. “It reminded me that I'd failed in my manners and forgotten to ask how your assignation went that night. It was her?”
“Yes, but . . .” He stepped closer to Marcus, standing across his feet, reaching out to smooth down the lapel of Marcus's coat where the wind had blown it up. “There's nothing going on there. She's a new friend, nothing more. I thought you understood that I'm not what you'd call a ladies' man.”
Marcus sighed, the winds weaving around them both before the flask was thrust into Esca's chest. “Here, before you freeze.”
“I'm telling the truth. I wouldn't lie to you about that.”
He took the flask, a slug of grappa running a trail of heat down his throat. Hands slid around his waist beneath his coat, pulling him towards Marcus as he reached up to wrap a cold hand around the back of Marcus's warm neck. “I believe you. But there is so much about you still to learn and so little time in which to do it. You're not mine to become jealous over.”
“I've changed my mind.” He swigged more of the grappa, needing its burn for this before he thought better of it. “You're a fool and a half if you don't realise by now that you're what I want. You, Marcus.”
I'm yours, if you'll have me. Already am, either way. Esca didn't have the courage to speak it, hoping his thumb stroking over Marcus's neck would say some of it for him. “You should get back to your room. I've got to run back anyhow, and you're going to catch a chill if you keep this up.”
“One minute longer. I have something to ask you.”
“Ah, bugger it. It'll have to wait.”
Risk be damned. It was too dark and cold for anyone to be out here watching them, and Esca didn't care anyway, drawing his fingers along Marcus's jaw to pull him up to kiss, sliding his tongue between the cold mouth opening for him, pressing against Marcus fully as Marcus's hands flattened against his back to hold him there. Nobody had come close to kissing Esca like this, equal heat and hunger, stubble chafing his lips as he bit at Marcus's lip and plowed in deeper. Hands were cupping his arse now, fingers kneading each cheek as Marcus submitted to his kiss totally, tilting his head to allow Esca to delve deeper still. Esca was gasping by the time he broke away, his body aching to bury itself in Marcus's heat and strength as he rubbed his nose against Marcus's neck.
“Okay. You can ask me now.”
He could feel Marcus grin against his cheek, strong fingers digging into his arse. “If you'd be so kind.”
“And hurry it up, I'm freezing my balls off out here.”
“I hope not. I'm already quite fond of them.”
“Christ, man, spit it out, would you? I'm finishing off your flask, by the way.”
“It's half-term next week.”
“Very observant. It's the reason for the haircut, lots of parents'll be around.”
“But most of the boys will remain?”
“Until the main holidays, yes.”
“Is there a chance you'd be able to escape for a night? Could someone else watch over North House?”
“What?” The smile seemed to grow up and out of Esca from his toes, a tentative spurt of happiness working its way around the loops and coils of his stomach. “You want to take me off for a dirty weekend?”
“Not a weekend, but a night, if we can.”
“A hotel? A room each. It'll be dear.”
“'Dear'? Is that good?”
“It means expensive. My budget's more at a bed and breakfast level.”
“It's my suggestion, I'll cover the cost.”
“The MacCunovals are a proud lot. I'll pay my way.”
A chuckle against his temple, a kiss there as he pressed his head against Marcus's. “If you insist.”
“I'll talk to Joyce.”
“Please do so.”
His mind was racing, Esca's face beginning to ache with the cold and a grin that was threatening to split his face in two. “We'd have to be sneaky. You could pick me up a mile or two out of school.”
“I'll stay an extra night or two, so we don't return together.”
“You've really thought about this.”
“I promised I'd find a way.”
“You did, didn't you. You're a genius.”
His toes might be numb, his fingers stinging and burning with cold, but Esca couldn't have cared less what might drop off from frostbite as he nosed his way around to Marcus's mouth again, plunging inside with his tongue to lose himself in all that slick warmth. It wasn't until later on in his bed, huddled up against the cold under his blankets, cum drying on his stomach, that Esca realised that the heady, drunken happiness still worming its way around his system wasn't entirely to do with thoughts of naked Marcus, the solid, muscular body beneath those fancy clothes, of Marcus's mouth and his cock and everything Esca wanted to do in return.
“Oh, for chrissakes.” He addressed sternly it to the ceiling, his breath clouding in front of him in the chill of his room. “Don't do this. It's sex. Lots and lots of sex. That's it, and that's good. Don't go getting all stupid now.”
His heart wasn't listening, off flying somewhere up in the clouds. Esca turned over onto his side, punching his pillow into shape under his head, and tried his best to ignore how joyfully it was singing as it soared ever higher, dragging him with it against his will.