{fic} the mirror crack'd from side to side . part eight {davenport&roger} nc-17. 1924
A/N: This part is explicit. If that bothers you then there is a break marked (-x-) to show where to stop reading. <3
.part eight {davenport&roger} nc-17. 1924
spring
p. i. ii. iii. iii a. iv. iv a. iv b. v. v a. vi. vii. viii.
Eddison Manor
January, 1924
It was Roger's turn to hold the umbrella as he walked slowly away from the house.
Davenport looked disconcertingly older as he stood in the garden of his new property. A handful of people, funeral guests, were talking to each other, discreetly avoiding Davenport's eye as they mourned his loss for him. Standing silently, Roger casually moved the umbrella so that it covered Davenport too. He got no reaction, just a kind smile from an onlooker. They thought him such a wonderful master, he realised, caring so greatly for the needs of his servant. How little they understood, he thought glumly.
"That's that then," Davenport murmured suddenly, glancing at Roger as though checking he were still there. "Done and over with."
"How are you feeling?"
Davenport rolled his eyes ironically. "Oh, never better." More seriously, he added; "I'm going to stay here tonight. I asked your father for permission this morning and--"
"Are you sure?"
Nodding, Davenport looked away and wiped away the rain which had gathered on his cheeks and eyelashes. "Yes. I need to sort things before selling the place. I'll be fine."
"But--" Roger pursed his lips and looked behind him at the house. "I'll stay with you," he said decisively, turning around to stare at Davenport. "I'd be happier knowing you were with someone. I'll ring mother and tell her I'm staying at a friends. It's sort of true," he added, grinning.
"Sort of?" Davenport gave a half-smile, the first Roger had seen in days. "Watch it. I iron your shirts."
"Oh, is that why the creases are there?"
"My creases are all in the right places," Davenport replied, looking a little more cheerful. "Hey look, your favourite fan's watching us."
Davenport pointed towards Arnold Golightly who was standing a little way off. Both Roger and Davenport gave a small wave at the same time; the Reverend gave a more enthusiastic wave before turning to talk to a nearby parishioner.
"Nice of him to come, weren't it?"
"Wasn't."
"It was!"
"No, I mean-- oh, never mind," Roger sighed. "He did a good service."
"Told you he likes you. If I'd asked, he would've never come all the way out here."
"It was mother who asked, actually." Giving the vicar one last glance, Roger nodded his head in the direction of the nearby country lane. "Come on."
Together Davenport and Roger started to walk to the nearest telephone, which Davenport deduced was in a pub just half a mile down the road. They were soaked through by the time they crawled through the doors of the inn, bodies frozen with the winter-chilled rain. Laughing as Davenport shook his hair beside him, Roger walked up to the bar and enquired for a phone. Five minutes later, Roger picked up the receiver and dialled the number for the manor.
"Hello? It's me, look, I'm rather tied up with an old friend at the moment. Seems he needs me to stay a few days. Clothes? Oh yes, I rather haven't thought of that. Oh well, we'll make do I suppose--"
Davenport was only half listening as he eyed the beers behind the bar enviously. He had only loose change in his pocket, barely enough to get him a pint. No sooner had he thought of the idea, however, then Roger was already ordering two of the pubs best.
"Roger, please--"
"It's on me. I'm helping a friend in distress."
"By drowning his sorrows?"
"I never said he was a good friend."
Eight pints later and Davenport was beginning to wish that he had provided nibbles at the wake; the food would've somewhat eased the blow of alcohol on an empty stomach. He picked up a beer-mat and gestured with it at Roger as he tried to make his point.
"Y'see iz all about the property. The bigger the prop'ty the more sexual you are--" here he winked, "--because you've a roof over, a roof over-- what was I saying?"
"How having property now makes you the most ebliab-- eglable-- eligible." Roger added not-so helpfully.
"Of all the men."
"All of them?"
"Every one." Davenport emphatically waved his glass, sloshing half of his beer over the table. Roger, only slightly less drunk than his comrade, giggled before gulping his own bitter.
"What about the King?" called the barkeep, who had been listening to Davenport's speech with great amusement. The rain had brought in only a few punters, all of which offered very little life to the small tavern. Roger and Davenport had attracted everyone's attention as soon as they had hit their fourth pint. By number six they had pretty much accepted the entire clientèle as being their partners in conversation.
"Even George, g'bless 'im!" called Davenport with a cheery grin.
"Bless him," Roger concurred, patriotically saluting the chair beside him.
"I did like 'em," Davenport said after another two pints. It was dark outside now; the country lanes around the pub were all lost to the inky blackness of night, and Roger vaguely wondered how they would manage to find their way home.
"Who?"
"My parents."
Tracing patterns with his index finger, in the spilt drink on the table, Davenport smiled drunkenly. "No regrets, Rodge, ain't that right?"
"That is right." Roger prodded a finger in Davenport's chest to make his point. "None."
"None. Say, Roger--?"
"Yes, ol' bean."
"I do rather believe-- that's to say-- isn't it--?" Davenport burped. "I feel sick."
"No, you don't," Roger replied, casting worried looks around the pub, searching for help. With a nod to himself, he decided to go up to the bar. The landlord didn't look surprised when he saw Roger's face; he chuckled as he continued wiping a glass, politely ignoring the way in which Roger swayed to-and-fro before him.
"Be needin' any help?"
"I say, ol' chap. Do you think you could rather find us a map. I'm afraid we're a bit lost and I'm not sure where to-- do you know where-- oh, drat, I can't remember--"
"Got a room spare, lad. One of you can sleep on the floor, one on the bed."
"Sounds wonderful!" Roger leaned on the bar for support. "Marv'lous."
Davenport's voice called loudly across the pub as he looked up from the table. "Wha'?"
"We're staying the night," Roger shouted back, looking cheerfully at the barman. "Isn't that great?"
"Great," the man agreed, suppressing a grin. He passed Roger a key with a tag on the end which read 3 in shiny, black lettering; Roger pocketed it conscientiously, intent on not losing it by the time they reached the first floor.
"Come on, you. Off to bed." Going to Davenport, Roger slid his arm around his back and placed a hand firmly under his armpit to stop him from falling.
"Bed's too far away. I dun' even know where we are."
"We're in a pub. With an upstairs bed."
"Spiffling," mumbled Davenport as he and Roger began the tumultuous journey upwards.
The two men paused after every other step, congratulating the other on their acute sense of balance. Roger was grateful for the tenth pint; it meant that half-way up the stairs, during which time Davenport looked as though he was about to fall to his death, events didn't seem as half bad as they should have. Placing Davenport against a wall, ignoring the way he slid down it moments later, Roger fiddled with the key in his trousers, pushed it into the lock once he'd freed it from the cotton, and turned it desperately for two minutes before realising that he was going the wrong way.
"Oops!" he pronounced, falling through the door as it swung open. His face appeared as quickly as it had disappeared as he hurriedly collected Davenport from the landing.
"In you get," Roger said softly, steering Davenport through the door and kicking it shut behind them. They fell onto the bed together, tangled limbs not caring where they were or who they belonged to. Drunkenly, Roger grabbed Davenport's face and kissed him wetly on the cheek, clapping him on the chest as he fell onto the bed once again.
"What a day." Glancing at the already-sleeping body beside him, Roger chuckled weakly. Taking his time, he stood up and pulled Davenport into bed properly, taking care to unbutton his clothes, remove his shoes and tuck the bedsheets around him. The shirt was still wet, Roger found, as he folded it neatly by the unlit fireplace. Poor boy would catch his death before he admitted his discomfort, Roger thought to himself. His world was still spinning as he began to remove his own clothes, trousers left on to save some vestige of warmth. Pulling his coat over himself, Roger curled up on the floor beside the bed, unwilling to risk anybody walking in and finding them together, even in his drunken state.
"Night, James," he whispered, smiling to himself at the snuffling response somewhere above his head.
Davenport seemed to be coping as best as he could, which comforted Roger somewhat. Rolling over, he curled into a ball and watched the door. Under the slit at the bottom, lights flickered wildly before blackness replaced the halls.
Safe in the knowledge that sleep would soon come, Roger closed his eyes and surrendered.
-x-
It was still raining when Roger woke. The first thing that he was aware of was the pounding in his head. The second was the soft breathing above him. Davenport's sleeping frame lay unmoving, bruised eyes shut against the world, yet the change in his breathing alerted Roger to the fact that he would soon be awake. No more than two minutes went by before Davenport finally shifted, his movements stiff and awkward, the moan he made full of drink-induced misery.
"What the hell happened?"
"It gets a bit hazy after the seventh pint."
Davenport started at the sound of Roger's voice. Looking over the edge of the bed, he tutted and held a hand out for Roger to join him.
"Bloody hell, you must be frozen."
"Wasn't too bad actually," Roger said, relinquishing all previous thoughts of decency for the promise of warm sheets.
"Where are we?"
"A pub. Somewhere. Near your new establishment," he added, smiling meaningfully. "What was that I recall about sexual eligibility?"
"Oh god, what happened? What did I say? Don't tell me, just--" Pulling a pillow over his head, Davenport disappeared from view. When he hadn't emerged several minutes later, Roger nudged him with his arm.
"Be a chum and do say if you've suffocated. I couldn't bear the shock right now."
"I haven't yet. Why haven't I? What am I doing wrong?"
Throwing the pillow to the foot of the bed, Davenport groaned.
"The pain, oh, the pain."
"Good evening, all in all."
"I suppose I should thank you. That was possibly the best way to cheer me up an' I didn't even know it."
"I knew it," Roger replied simply. His words made Davenport suddenly smile, a light in the otherwise dark room.
"You did," he agreed, kissing Roger softly on the lips. "And you even managed to get a room for us to stay in."
"Don't remind me. I don't want to know the cost of it."
"I should pay. After all, you did get the drinks. Oh, and did I mention I'm a property owner now?"
"Shouldn't you grieve a little longer before you celebrate your inheritance?"
The smile faded slightly from Davenport's features and Roger regretted his words instantly. He went to apologise but Davenport stopped him.
"I did my mourning a long time ago, Roger. Now I carry on."
Roger kissed Davenport again, more forcefully this time, aware of the familiar ache and heat which morning often brought. Moving his hand under the bed-sheets, Roger wasn't surprised when he found Davenport in a similar predicament. Davenport sighed heavily as Roger slowly began to stroke his erection under the cover of blankets.
They hadn't done this in weeks, and the sight of Davenport leaning his head against the back of the bed, throat open to Roger's lips and tongue, made Roger almost as dizzy as the alcohol had. Unbuttoning his trousers swiftly, Roger shed what little clothing he was wearing and straddled his friend, moving desperately against him, already in need of the friction that their bodies offered.
Davenport was unusually submissive until Roger began to touch himself. Brushing his hand away, Davenport took Roger's cock in his own hand before sliding down the bed and placing a warm, wet mouth over the tip. As though struck down, Roger fell into the mattress, facing upwards so that Davenport could kneel above him. Slowly he teased Roger with his tongue, hand lightly moving up and down his shaft, under his balls, until Roger couldn't help but thrust upwards in need of more pressure.
"You're the most impatient--"
Tugging him by the arm, Roger pulled Davenport up to kiss him, vaguely aware of the throbbing in his groin.
"I want you to have me," he growled low in Davenport's ear, smiling as he felt the slight moan which rumbled through Davenport's chest.
"Inside you?" Davenport breathed, arching his neck again as Roger gently teased his scrotum with his hand.
Roger's reply was desperate, needy; "Please."
Not needing to be asked twice, Davenport rolled Roger over and knelt a little way behind him. There was a moment of nothingness, before Roger suddenly felt the slick muscle of Davenport's tongue teasing his entrance. Roger swore, arching into Davenport's touch, his hips rising as his body moved lower against the mattress.
"I've missed you," Davenport murmured against the skin of Roger's hip. Reaching a hand under his body, he began to stroke Roger's cock whilst rimming him. Roger placed a hand behind his back and rubbed Davenport's thigh as his lover licked and kissed his way around his hole. With one thumb, Davenport spread Roger's cheeks, nipping at the tender flesh, his nose cold on Roger's warm skin. As Roger moaned, he could feel the smile of satisfaction on Davenport's lips, all of it making him loosen under his hand.
"I want you in me, James," Roger gasped, grunting as Davenport pulled away and turned him over.
"I need to see you," he explained, kissing Roger's chest gently. Taking a nipple in his mouth, Davenport circled it with his tongue, sucking wetly on the dark, pink skin, laughing as Roger swore again. Kissing him on the lips this time, Davenport took his cock in hand and aligned it with Roger's hole, gently teasing the muscle with the head. With an almost painful slowness Davenport pushed in, stroking Roger's erection, trying to ease some of Roger's pain. The wetness of his mouth had taken some of the sting away, cock sliding in a little slicker, but the absence of anything more than that made Roger close his eyes as he winced.
"You're so tight," Davenport murmured, his words taking some of the soreness away, replacing it with something else which spread from Roger's balls, further down, until Roger could hardly think for the wave of sensation.
"James," he hissed. Davenport moved then, a little rougher, with more intent. The gesture made Roger's entrance give way, their bodies finally connecting. Davenport rested his forehead on Roger's breast, savouring the new feeling, drawing his breath in a gasp as he tried not to let it overcome him. Running his hands through Davenport's hair, Roger kissed the top of his head, then his cheek as he looked up, finally finding his mouth as Davenport gave another thrust forwards. They moaned simultaneously, breath mingling as they tried desperately to control their breathing. As Davenport remained holding his weight above Roger, the latter used his hands to grasp the soft flesh of Davenport's buttocks, to feel the smooth dip of his back as his body arched into the bed.
He should have been used to this by now, should have become accustomed to the way Davenport made him felt, made him act, yet the union of their two bodies and souls alike continued to surprise Roger. In this place, all words of use were lost to the reverent prayer of his lover's name, to the broken sighs and whispers of a body given in complete surrender.
Davenport was breathing heavily now, fragmented groans falling from his lips each time he moved in and out of Roger. He was most beautiful like this, Roger decided, not because of the situation and it's sexuality, but because all uncertainty and hesitance had been removed. In this place Davenport became himself, not someone to be governed, but his own person. There was no master and servant here, just two lovers and a need for one to love the other.
Placing his hands either side of Roger's hips, Davenport dug his fingertips into the soft skin as he began to move more frantically. Roger circled his legs around Davenport's waist, ankles touching at the base of his spine as he let himself get taken by each needy movement. The sudden change in angle was making Davenport's cock brush his prostate with each stroke; after a choked warning Roger came, white spurts landing on Davenport's stomach and his own.
"Fuck-- Roger--" Holding onto his back, Davenport tilted Roger forward and fucked him from beneath. Despite in the tingling afterglow of his orgasm, Roger rode Davenport until, with a guttural groan, Davenport came hard. He was biting his lip when Roger looked down at him, eyes shut tight in ecstasy, breathing now panting as he struggled to regain his composure. He stayed inside of Roger until the throbbing in his groin had subsided, until his awareness of everything surrounding him had once again been resumed to normal.
They kissed deeply as they lay beside each other, hands lightly lingering over remembered patches of skin and muscle. Once or twice they let out breaths of laughter, not knowing why, only that they were happy in this place.
"Thank God no-one walked in," Roger said after a time.
"Would've been quite a show," agreed Davenport, too busy placing a kiss to Roger's neck to really care.
"How are we going to explain the sheets to the barkeep?"
"We'll say-- well, we'll--" Davenport frowned, half-way through nipping at Roger's ear. "We'll say that you had too much fun whilst I was slumbering in the cupboard."
"You didn't even watch?"
"I'm a man of virtue!"
"I'll say no to virtue, if it's all the same."
"Virtue's less fun than it sounds anyway." Laying back against the pillows, Davenport let out a sigh and laughed. "Oh, Roger. I do love you."
"I haven't heard that word in a while. Quite thought you'd forgotten how to say it."
They grinned at each other. Taking Roger's hand in his own, Davenport looked out of the window and sighed again.
"Thank you. Really, I mean it. Sometimes I like having you around, you know."
"Sometimes!"
"Most times," Davenport admitted, grinning. Growing more serious, he said; "I still need to go back to the house. I can't keep going to pubs and fucking my lover senseless all the merry day."
"You can't?" Roger asked, effecting an air of pitifulness.
"Well--"
A sharp knock on the door made both men jump out of the bed. Roger threw on his trousers whilst Davenport hurriedly went to the window and pulled on his shirt. By the time the maid had entered the room, Davenport's dignity had barely been covered and Roger was in the middle of buttoning his shirt.
"Alrigh' sirs? Tom wan's to know when you plannin' on leavin'?"
Roger blinked, barely understanding the slew of dropped vowels and consonants.
"About ten minutes," replied Davenport shortly, discreetly standing behind the bedpost, hands not-so tactfully covering his crotch.
"I'll tell 'im, so I will." Smirking, the maid left with a wink at Davenport.
"She better watch where she's looking," Roger observed, staring at the door with a sort of bemused expression. Rolling up his sleeves, he pulled his waistcoat and mourning jacket on, not caring for his tie which he stuffed haphazardly into his pocket.
Davenport was already dressed by the time Roger had slicked back his hair and straightened his clothes. He looked decidedly dishevelled, the weight of his hangover returning in full-force as recovered from his bout of love-making with Roger. Slowly he pulled the covers up over the bed, wincing at the suspect stains in one corner, before leading Roger out of their room and down the staircase of which he had little previous memory of.
"Feelin' well sirs, are we?" the landlord asked when he caught sight of Davenport and Roger, eyes dark, mouths in similar o-shaped yawns.
"You're a lifesaver, ol' chap," Roger said, placing the key on the bar with more force than was necessary. Davenport left Roger to the bill, wandering outside for some much-needed fresh air. Roger joined him surprisingly quickly, the smile on his face letting Davenport know that all was not lost. His hands were in his pockets as he strolled up to Davenport.
"What a good sort. He barely charged a thing. Apparently we were the most fun his pub's seen in ages. He invited us back, the cracking fellow."
"He won't be so happy when he sees the room," Davenport grumbled, nursing his forehead with his fingers.
"Oh, I don't know. Your girl from earlier gave a me a great smile on the way out. I think she'll keep hush for us."
Grabbing Davenport's jacket sleeve, Roger pulled him along the road, ignoring the feeble protests of a headache from the younger man.
"Onward, march. Come on."
"I want to sleep," groaned Davenport, following Roger a step behind.
"Sleeping's for men without property."
"And sexualness," Davenport pointed out.
"Yes, that too. Definitely that."
"Roger--"
Halting in his tracks, Davenport watched Roger turn around, eyebrows furrowed. "James?"
It had been an odd twenty-four hours, Davenport decided. The sorrow of his parents' death had struck him hard, along with the guilt of not seeing them in months. Now they were gone, Davenport was beginning to feel like his own man, a new creation. Unsurprisingly he found that even in this new life, Roger was the very foundation. He smiled to himself, dimly aware that Roger was still looking at him as though concerned for his mind.
"I really do, you know. Love you."
Roger smiled knowingly, before slinging an arm around Davenport's shoulders. They began walking together, the rain nothing but drizzle now as they neared the house. He did know, and hoped Davenport did too. Squeezing his shoulder, Roger picked up the pace and finally led Davenport home.
.part eight {davenport&roger} nc-17. 1924
spring
p. i. ii. iii. iii a. iv. iv a. iv b. v. v a. vi. vii. viii.
Eddison Manor
January, 1924
It was Roger's turn to hold the umbrella as he walked slowly away from the house.
Davenport looked disconcertingly older as he stood in the garden of his new property. A handful of people, funeral guests, were talking to each other, discreetly avoiding Davenport's eye as they mourned his loss for him. Standing silently, Roger casually moved the umbrella so that it covered Davenport too. He got no reaction, just a kind smile from an onlooker. They thought him such a wonderful master, he realised, caring so greatly for the needs of his servant. How little they understood, he thought glumly.
"That's that then," Davenport murmured suddenly, glancing at Roger as though checking he were still there. "Done and over with."
"How are you feeling?"
Davenport rolled his eyes ironically. "Oh, never better." More seriously, he added; "I'm going to stay here tonight. I asked your father for permission this morning and--"
"Are you sure?"
Nodding, Davenport looked away and wiped away the rain which had gathered on his cheeks and eyelashes. "Yes. I need to sort things before selling the place. I'll be fine."
"But--" Roger pursed his lips and looked behind him at the house. "I'll stay with you," he said decisively, turning around to stare at Davenport. "I'd be happier knowing you were with someone. I'll ring mother and tell her I'm staying at a friends. It's sort of true," he added, grinning.
"Sort of?" Davenport gave a half-smile, the first Roger had seen in days. "Watch it. I iron your shirts."
"Oh, is that why the creases are there?"
"My creases are all in the right places," Davenport replied, looking a little more cheerful. "Hey look, your favourite fan's watching us."
Davenport pointed towards Arnold Golightly who was standing a little way off. Both Roger and Davenport gave a small wave at the same time; the Reverend gave a more enthusiastic wave before turning to talk to a nearby parishioner.
"Nice of him to come, weren't it?"
"Wasn't."
"It was!"
"No, I mean-- oh, never mind," Roger sighed. "He did a good service."
"Told you he likes you. If I'd asked, he would've never come all the way out here."
"It was mother who asked, actually." Giving the vicar one last glance, Roger nodded his head in the direction of the nearby country lane. "Come on."
Together Davenport and Roger started to walk to the nearest telephone, which Davenport deduced was in a pub just half a mile down the road. They were soaked through by the time they crawled through the doors of the inn, bodies frozen with the winter-chilled rain. Laughing as Davenport shook his hair beside him, Roger walked up to the bar and enquired for a phone. Five minutes later, Roger picked up the receiver and dialled the number for the manor.
"Hello? It's me, look, I'm rather tied up with an old friend at the moment. Seems he needs me to stay a few days. Clothes? Oh yes, I rather haven't thought of that. Oh well, we'll make do I suppose--"
Davenport was only half listening as he eyed the beers behind the bar enviously. He had only loose change in his pocket, barely enough to get him a pint. No sooner had he thought of the idea, however, then Roger was already ordering two of the pubs best.
"Roger, please--"
"It's on me. I'm helping a friend in distress."
"By drowning his sorrows?"
"I never said he was a good friend."
Eight pints later and Davenport was beginning to wish that he had provided nibbles at the wake; the food would've somewhat eased the blow of alcohol on an empty stomach. He picked up a beer-mat and gestured with it at Roger as he tried to make his point.
"Y'see iz all about the property. The bigger the prop'ty the more sexual you are--" here he winked, "--because you've a roof over, a roof over-- what was I saying?"
"How having property now makes you the most ebliab-- eglable-- eligible." Roger added not-so helpfully.
"Of all the men."
"All of them?"
"Every one." Davenport emphatically waved his glass, sloshing half of his beer over the table. Roger, only slightly less drunk than his comrade, giggled before gulping his own bitter.
"What about the King?" called the barkeep, who had been listening to Davenport's speech with great amusement. The rain had brought in only a few punters, all of which offered very little life to the small tavern. Roger and Davenport had attracted everyone's attention as soon as they had hit their fourth pint. By number six they had pretty much accepted the entire clientèle as being their partners in conversation.
"Even George, g'bless 'im!" called Davenport with a cheery grin.
"Bless him," Roger concurred, patriotically saluting the chair beside him.
"I did like 'em," Davenport said after another two pints. It was dark outside now; the country lanes around the pub were all lost to the inky blackness of night, and Roger vaguely wondered how they would manage to find their way home.
"Who?"
"My parents."
Tracing patterns with his index finger, in the spilt drink on the table, Davenport smiled drunkenly. "No regrets, Rodge, ain't that right?"
"That is right." Roger prodded a finger in Davenport's chest to make his point. "None."
"None. Say, Roger--?"
"Yes, ol' bean."
"I do rather believe-- that's to say-- isn't it--?" Davenport burped. "I feel sick."
"No, you don't," Roger replied, casting worried looks around the pub, searching for help. With a nod to himself, he decided to go up to the bar. The landlord didn't look surprised when he saw Roger's face; he chuckled as he continued wiping a glass, politely ignoring the way in which Roger swayed to-and-fro before him.
"Be needin' any help?"
"I say, ol' chap. Do you think you could rather find us a map. I'm afraid we're a bit lost and I'm not sure where to-- do you know where-- oh, drat, I can't remember--"
"Got a room spare, lad. One of you can sleep on the floor, one on the bed."
"Sounds wonderful!" Roger leaned on the bar for support. "Marv'lous."
Davenport's voice called loudly across the pub as he looked up from the table. "Wha'?"
"We're staying the night," Roger shouted back, looking cheerfully at the barman. "Isn't that great?"
"Great," the man agreed, suppressing a grin. He passed Roger a key with a tag on the end which read 3 in shiny, black lettering; Roger pocketed it conscientiously, intent on not losing it by the time they reached the first floor.
"Come on, you. Off to bed." Going to Davenport, Roger slid his arm around his back and placed a hand firmly under his armpit to stop him from falling.
"Bed's too far away. I dun' even know where we are."
"We're in a pub. With an upstairs bed."
"Spiffling," mumbled Davenport as he and Roger began the tumultuous journey upwards.
The two men paused after every other step, congratulating the other on their acute sense of balance. Roger was grateful for the tenth pint; it meant that half-way up the stairs, during which time Davenport looked as though he was about to fall to his death, events didn't seem as half bad as they should have. Placing Davenport against a wall, ignoring the way he slid down it moments later, Roger fiddled with the key in his trousers, pushed it into the lock once he'd freed it from the cotton, and turned it desperately for two minutes before realising that he was going the wrong way.
"Oops!" he pronounced, falling through the door as it swung open. His face appeared as quickly as it had disappeared as he hurriedly collected Davenport from the landing.
"In you get," Roger said softly, steering Davenport through the door and kicking it shut behind them. They fell onto the bed together, tangled limbs not caring where they were or who they belonged to. Drunkenly, Roger grabbed Davenport's face and kissed him wetly on the cheek, clapping him on the chest as he fell onto the bed once again.
"What a day." Glancing at the already-sleeping body beside him, Roger chuckled weakly. Taking his time, he stood up and pulled Davenport into bed properly, taking care to unbutton his clothes, remove his shoes and tuck the bedsheets around him. The shirt was still wet, Roger found, as he folded it neatly by the unlit fireplace. Poor boy would catch his death before he admitted his discomfort, Roger thought to himself. His world was still spinning as he began to remove his own clothes, trousers left on to save some vestige of warmth. Pulling his coat over himself, Roger curled up on the floor beside the bed, unwilling to risk anybody walking in and finding them together, even in his drunken state.
"Night, James," he whispered, smiling to himself at the snuffling response somewhere above his head.
Davenport seemed to be coping as best as he could, which comforted Roger somewhat. Rolling over, he curled into a ball and watched the door. Under the slit at the bottom, lights flickered wildly before blackness replaced the halls.
Safe in the knowledge that sleep would soon come, Roger closed his eyes and surrendered.
-x-
It was still raining when Roger woke. The first thing that he was aware of was the pounding in his head. The second was the soft breathing above him. Davenport's sleeping frame lay unmoving, bruised eyes shut against the world, yet the change in his breathing alerted Roger to the fact that he would soon be awake. No more than two minutes went by before Davenport finally shifted, his movements stiff and awkward, the moan he made full of drink-induced misery.
"What the hell happened?"
"It gets a bit hazy after the seventh pint."
Davenport started at the sound of Roger's voice. Looking over the edge of the bed, he tutted and held a hand out for Roger to join him.
"Bloody hell, you must be frozen."
"Wasn't too bad actually," Roger said, relinquishing all previous thoughts of decency for the promise of warm sheets.
"Where are we?"
"A pub. Somewhere. Near your new establishment," he added, smiling meaningfully. "What was that I recall about sexual eligibility?"
"Oh god, what happened? What did I say? Don't tell me, just--" Pulling a pillow over his head, Davenport disappeared from view. When he hadn't emerged several minutes later, Roger nudged him with his arm.
"Be a chum and do say if you've suffocated. I couldn't bear the shock right now."
"I haven't yet. Why haven't I? What am I doing wrong?"
Throwing the pillow to the foot of the bed, Davenport groaned.
"The pain, oh, the pain."
"Good evening, all in all."
"I suppose I should thank you. That was possibly the best way to cheer me up an' I didn't even know it."
"I knew it," Roger replied simply. His words made Davenport suddenly smile, a light in the otherwise dark room.
"You did," he agreed, kissing Roger softly on the lips. "And you even managed to get a room for us to stay in."
"Don't remind me. I don't want to know the cost of it."
"I should pay. After all, you did get the drinks. Oh, and did I mention I'm a property owner now?"
"Shouldn't you grieve a little longer before you celebrate your inheritance?"
The smile faded slightly from Davenport's features and Roger regretted his words instantly. He went to apologise but Davenport stopped him.
"I did my mourning a long time ago, Roger. Now I carry on."
Roger kissed Davenport again, more forcefully this time, aware of the familiar ache and heat which morning often brought. Moving his hand under the bed-sheets, Roger wasn't surprised when he found Davenport in a similar predicament. Davenport sighed heavily as Roger slowly began to stroke his erection under the cover of blankets.
They hadn't done this in weeks, and the sight of Davenport leaning his head against the back of the bed, throat open to Roger's lips and tongue, made Roger almost as dizzy as the alcohol had. Unbuttoning his trousers swiftly, Roger shed what little clothing he was wearing and straddled his friend, moving desperately against him, already in need of the friction that their bodies offered.
Davenport was unusually submissive until Roger began to touch himself. Brushing his hand away, Davenport took Roger's cock in his own hand before sliding down the bed and placing a warm, wet mouth over the tip. As though struck down, Roger fell into the mattress, facing upwards so that Davenport could kneel above him. Slowly he teased Roger with his tongue, hand lightly moving up and down his shaft, under his balls, until Roger couldn't help but thrust upwards in need of more pressure.
"You're the most impatient--"
Tugging him by the arm, Roger pulled Davenport up to kiss him, vaguely aware of the throbbing in his groin.
"I want you to have me," he growled low in Davenport's ear, smiling as he felt the slight moan which rumbled through Davenport's chest.
"Inside you?" Davenport breathed, arching his neck again as Roger gently teased his scrotum with his hand.
Roger's reply was desperate, needy; "Please."
Not needing to be asked twice, Davenport rolled Roger over and knelt a little way behind him. There was a moment of nothingness, before Roger suddenly felt the slick muscle of Davenport's tongue teasing his entrance. Roger swore, arching into Davenport's touch, his hips rising as his body moved lower against the mattress.
"I've missed you," Davenport murmured against the skin of Roger's hip. Reaching a hand under his body, he began to stroke Roger's cock whilst rimming him. Roger placed a hand behind his back and rubbed Davenport's thigh as his lover licked and kissed his way around his hole. With one thumb, Davenport spread Roger's cheeks, nipping at the tender flesh, his nose cold on Roger's warm skin. As Roger moaned, he could feel the smile of satisfaction on Davenport's lips, all of it making him loosen under his hand.
"I want you in me, James," Roger gasped, grunting as Davenport pulled away and turned him over.
"I need to see you," he explained, kissing Roger's chest gently. Taking a nipple in his mouth, Davenport circled it with his tongue, sucking wetly on the dark, pink skin, laughing as Roger swore again. Kissing him on the lips this time, Davenport took his cock in hand and aligned it with Roger's hole, gently teasing the muscle with the head. With an almost painful slowness Davenport pushed in, stroking Roger's erection, trying to ease some of Roger's pain. The wetness of his mouth had taken some of the sting away, cock sliding in a little slicker, but the absence of anything more than that made Roger close his eyes as he winced.
"You're so tight," Davenport murmured, his words taking some of the soreness away, replacing it with something else which spread from Roger's balls, further down, until Roger could hardly think for the wave of sensation.
"James," he hissed. Davenport moved then, a little rougher, with more intent. The gesture made Roger's entrance give way, their bodies finally connecting. Davenport rested his forehead on Roger's breast, savouring the new feeling, drawing his breath in a gasp as he tried not to let it overcome him. Running his hands through Davenport's hair, Roger kissed the top of his head, then his cheek as he looked up, finally finding his mouth as Davenport gave another thrust forwards. They moaned simultaneously, breath mingling as they tried desperately to control their breathing. As Davenport remained holding his weight above Roger, the latter used his hands to grasp the soft flesh of Davenport's buttocks, to feel the smooth dip of his back as his body arched into the bed.
He should have been used to this by now, should have become accustomed to the way Davenport made him felt, made him act, yet the union of their two bodies and souls alike continued to surprise Roger. In this place, all words of use were lost to the reverent prayer of his lover's name, to the broken sighs and whispers of a body given in complete surrender.
Davenport was breathing heavily now, fragmented groans falling from his lips each time he moved in and out of Roger. He was most beautiful like this, Roger decided, not because of the situation and it's sexuality, but because all uncertainty and hesitance had been removed. In this place Davenport became himself, not someone to be governed, but his own person. There was no master and servant here, just two lovers and a need for one to love the other.
Placing his hands either side of Roger's hips, Davenport dug his fingertips into the soft skin as he began to move more frantically. Roger circled his legs around Davenport's waist, ankles touching at the base of his spine as he let himself get taken by each needy movement. The sudden change in angle was making Davenport's cock brush his prostate with each stroke; after a choked warning Roger came, white spurts landing on Davenport's stomach and his own.
"Fuck-- Roger--" Holding onto his back, Davenport tilted Roger forward and fucked him from beneath. Despite in the tingling afterglow of his orgasm, Roger rode Davenport until, with a guttural groan, Davenport came hard. He was biting his lip when Roger looked down at him, eyes shut tight in ecstasy, breathing now panting as he struggled to regain his composure. He stayed inside of Roger until the throbbing in his groin had subsided, until his awareness of everything surrounding him had once again been resumed to normal.
They kissed deeply as they lay beside each other, hands lightly lingering over remembered patches of skin and muscle. Once or twice they let out breaths of laughter, not knowing why, only that they were happy in this place.
"Thank God no-one walked in," Roger said after a time.
"Would've been quite a show," agreed Davenport, too busy placing a kiss to Roger's neck to really care.
"How are we going to explain the sheets to the barkeep?"
"We'll say-- well, we'll--" Davenport frowned, half-way through nipping at Roger's ear. "We'll say that you had too much fun whilst I was slumbering in the cupboard."
"You didn't even watch?"
"I'm a man of virtue!"
"I'll say no to virtue, if it's all the same."
"Virtue's less fun than it sounds anyway." Laying back against the pillows, Davenport let out a sigh and laughed. "Oh, Roger. I do love you."
"I haven't heard that word in a while. Quite thought you'd forgotten how to say it."
They grinned at each other. Taking Roger's hand in his own, Davenport looked out of the window and sighed again.
"Thank you. Really, I mean it. Sometimes I like having you around, you know."
"Sometimes!"
"Most times," Davenport admitted, grinning. Growing more serious, he said; "I still need to go back to the house. I can't keep going to pubs and fucking my lover senseless all the merry day."
"You can't?" Roger asked, effecting an air of pitifulness.
"Well--"
A sharp knock on the door made both men jump out of the bed. Roger threw on his trousers whilst Davenport hurriedly went to the window and pulled on his shirt. By the time the maid had entered the room, Davenport's dignity had barely been covered and Roger was in the middle of buttoning his shirt.
"Alrigh' sirs? Tom wan's to know when you plannin' on leavin'?"
Roger blinked, barely understanding the slew of dropped vowels and consonants.
"About ten minutes," replied Davenport shortly, discreetly standing behind the bedpost, hands not-so tactfully covering his crotch.
"I'll tell 'im, so I will." Smirking, the maid left with a wink at Davenport.
"She better watch where she's looking," Roger observed, staring at the door with a sort of bemused expression. Rolling up his sleeves, he pulled his waistcoat and mourning jacket on, not caring for his tie which he stuffed haphazardly into his pocket.
Davenport was already dressed by the time Roger had slicked back his hair and straightened his clothes. He looked decidedly dishevelled, the weight of his hangover returning in full-force as recovered from his bout of love-making with Roger. Slowly he pulled the covers up over the bed, wincing at the suspect stains in one corner, before leading Roger out of their room and down the staircase of which he had little previous memory of.
"Feelin' well sirs, are we?" the landlord asked when he caught sight of Davenport and Roger, eyes dark, mouths in similar o-shaped yawns.
"You're a lifesaver, ol' chap," Roger said, placing the key on the bar with more force than was necessary. Davenport left Roger to the bill, wandering outside for some much-needed fresh air. Roger joined him surprisingly quickly, the smile on his face letting Davenport know that all was not lost. His hands were in his pockets as he strolled up to Davenport.
"What a good sort. He barely charged a thing. Apparently we were the most fun his pub's seen in ages. He invited us back, the cracking fellow."
"He won't be so happy when he sees the room," Davenport grumbled, nursing his forehead with his fingers.
"Oh, I don't know. Your girl from earlier gave a me a great smile on the way out. I think she'll keep hush for us."
Grabbing Davenport's jacket sleeve, Roger pulled him along the road, ignoring the feeble protests of a headache from the younger man.
"Onward, march. Come on."
"I want to sleep," groaned Davenport, following Roger a step behind.
"Sleeping's for men without property."
"And sexualness," Davenport pointed out.
"Yes, that too. Definitely that."
"Roger--"
Halting in his tracks, Davenport watched Roger turn around, eyebrows furrowed. "James?"
It had been an odd twenty-four hours, Davenport decided. The sorrow of his parents' death had struck him hard, along with the guilt of not seeing them in months. Now they were gone, Davenport was beginning to feel like his own man, a new creation. Unsurprisingly he found that even in this new life, Roger was the very foundation. He smiled to himself, dimly aware that Roger was still looking at him as though concerned for his mind.
"I really do, you know. Love you."
Roger smiled knowingly, before slinging an arm around Davenport's shoulders. They began walking together, the rain nothing but drizzle now as they neared the house. He did know, and hoped Davenport did too. Squeezing his shoulder, Roger picked up the pace and finally led Davenport home.