Meckett - sequal (kinda) to God Willing
Written per request of....crap I don't remember. Who ever asked for this please tell me!
Title: Trouver
Rating: R
Pairing: Meckett
Summary: um, a more in-depth view of Beckett's father walking in on he and Mercer (as seen in God Willing which is somewhere in this comm)
They had made sure the room was empty before they started. Had made sure curtains were drawn and door locked. Well they thought they had locked the door. Were sure they had locked the door. Positive they had.
Pushed against the wall Beckett was moaning into Mercer's mouth, legs wrapping around the older man's waist. Fingers pushed through dark brown locks as a ribbon floated to the floor. A shift and the young master was pushed up higher making it easier.
Shirts came off first (waistcoats and frock coats having long been disposed of). Mercer's mouth pressed against Beckett's neck, sucking hard. The master's hands pushed into his servant's shoulders, desperately trying to bring him closer.
"Oh Mercer," their bodies rubbed together. "That's it, oh yes, right there…Mercer!" Mouths met in an attempt to keep quiet, stifling the moans in dark heat.
"Cutler Nicholas Beckett! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lord Alfred Beckett stood at the door, cane in hand staring with blood short eyes at the two men.
"Father!" The young man scrambled for clothes, trying to cover himself.
"You." The cane whipped out at Mercer, cracking against his head. "You. Will. Not. Contaminate. My. Son. With. Your. Filth!" The cane was swung again hitting Mercer's arm as he crouched on the ground, arms covering his head.
"Father stop." Cutler rushed forward, grabbing his father's arm trying best he could to stop the flurry of smacks. "Father please. Stop. This will not solve anything. Father!" Lord Beckett stopped, breathing fast and hard his face red and eyes frantic.
"You're a sick boy. Sick, sick, sick! And he," a shaking finger was pointed. "He is a freak of nature. A monster. Filth! Get out." Mercer stood, head bowed and slipped out of the room. Cutler watched him go with face blank. A minute passed after the servant had left the room before he looked up at his father, eyes cold.
"You, father, will pay." It was said with a bow and the young master swept from the room.
"Mercer, Mercer!" He was running down the street after the shadow of a man. "Come back! Come back!" The man kept walking, never once looking over his shoulder. At last Cutler stopped and watched him disappearing into the London allies. "Come back!" He yelled. "Come back or I will find you!" Across town the church bells rang out. "Come back…" it was whispered to the wind. "Come back or I will find you…God willing."
Title: Trouver
Rating: R
Pairing: Meckett
Summary: um, a more in-depth view of Beckett's father walking in on he and Mercer (as seen in God Willing which is somewhere in this comm)
They had made sure the room was empty before they started. Had made sure curtains were drawn and door locked. Well they thought they had locked the door. Were sure they had locked the door. Positive they had.
Pushed against the wall Beckett was moaning into Mercer's mouth, legs wrapping around the older man's waist. Fingers pushed through dark brown locks as a ribbon floated to the floor. A shift and the young master was pushed up higher making it easier.
Shirts came off first (waistcoats and frock coats having long been disposed of). Mercer's mouth pressed against Beckett's neck, sucking hard. The master's hands pushed into his servant's shoulders, desperately trying to bring him closer.
"Oh Mercer," their bodies rubbed together. "That's it, oh yes, right there…Mercer!" Mouths met in an attempt to keep quiet, stifling the moans in dark heat.
"Cutler Nicholas Beckett! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lord Alfred Beckett stood at the door, cane in hand staring with blood short eyes at the two men.
"Father!" The young man scrambled for clothes, trying to cover himself.
"You." The cane whipped out at Mercer, cracking against his head. "You. Will. Not. Contaminate. My. Son. With. Your. Filth!" The cane was swung again hitting Mercer's arm as he crouched on the ground, arms covering his head.
"Father stop." Cutler rushed forward, grabbing his father's arm trying best he could to stop the flurry of smacks. "Father please. Stop. This will not solve anything. Father!" Lord Beckett stopped, breathing fast and hard his face red and eyes frantic.
"You're a sick boy. Sick, sick, sick! And he," a shaking finger was pointed. "He is a freak of nature. A monster. Filth! Get out." Mercer stood, head bowed and slipped out of the room. Cutler watched him go with face blank. A minute passed after the servant had left the room before he looked up at his father, eyes cold.
"You, father, will pay." It was said with a bow and the young master swept from the room.
"Mercer, Mercer!" He was running down the street after the shadow of a man. "Come back! Come back!" The man kept walking, never once looking over his shoulder. At last Cutler stopped and watched him disappearing into the London allies. "Come back!" He yelled. "Come back or I will find you!" Across town the church bells rang out. "Come back…" it was whispered to the wind. "Come back or I will find you…God willing."