Four Love Notes
Title: Four Love Notes
Author: Skylark97
Rating: R
Fandom: Original
Wordcount: 2,772
The first note arrived when Fernin was elbow deep in magical texts about the use of witchweed on dragons. Barclay, his manservant, delivered the carefully folded vellum letter with as much enthusiasm as a bride approaching the day of her arranged marriage to a man she did not know.
“For you, milord.” Barclay laid the envelope down gingerly on top of a treatise on the effectiveness of transformative qualities of witchweed on smaller dragons. “It does not appear to be signed.” Fussy as usual, Fernin could see that Barclay already disapproved of the letter for not following correct protocols.
Hiding a smile, Fernin pushed his glasses back up on his nose and regarded Barclay for a moment before turning his attention to the note. His ash blond hair was held back with a simple black ribbon, and even though his clothes were not made from the finest fabrics, Barclay carried himself as if they were. Everything was immaculately pressed and arranged thus so. Fernin did not doubt that there were days where Barclay’s fingers positively itched to fix the slovenly ways in which Fernin’s own clothing defied order and neatness.
Opening the letter, Fernin read the first few lines before frowning. “It appears to be a love note.”
Barclay said nothing, but raised an eyebrow in response.
It was written simply enough, but the fact that it was written at all pointed to someone with a scholarly bent or a peer of the realm. Not many servants could read, Barclay and a good portion of Fernin’s household excepted.
His secret admirer, who indeed had not signed with his or her name or any name at all, spoke plainly in the letter with straightforward, practical script. No flowery phrases drawn out in fancy swirls. Just a statement of a long, undeclared love and a list of Fernin’s somewhat dubious charms that the writer apparently found appealing.
At the end, however, in the same clear and concise script was a spell, purportedly from the Asheli, a people not known for relinquishing any of their knowledge of magic.
Fernin murmured the spell as he motioned through the spell pattern described and smiled as a bowl of spell beads shimmered into appearance. “An Asheli fertility spell.”
“How fortuitous for you, milord.”
“They are commonly used in Asheli courtship rituals. I do believe my secret admirer has seen a bit of the world. Certainly, this is something I’ve only seen descriptions of in books and never to the point where the spell itself has been illustrated as beautifully as this.” Magic could do a great many things, but it could not make objects appear where they did not elsewhere exist. In order for the spell to work, his secret admirer would have had to have gathered the beads in the bowl for him.
“Where shall I put them?” Barclay looked as if he’d prefer to through them out in the trash from the distasteful expression on his face, which puzzled Fernin. Barclay usually enjoyed discussing magical texts and investigating magical objects with him. Certainly, they both enjoyed pouring over whatever object to text Fernin’s friend, and occasional lover, Bannock brought back from his travels.
“In the study next to the Orquin crystal and the Ogre goblet would be a good place.”
“As you wish, milord.” Barclay abruptly picked the bowl up, marching out of the room with it. Amused, and a little befuddled, Fernin decided to push the whole thing from his mind. After all, he had magical witchweed dragon transformations to investigate.
The second note arrived much like the first, accompanied by the same sour look on Barclay’s face as he delivered it.
“Another note, milord.”
“Oh? It appears my charms are greater than I imagined.” Fernin reached for it, noting that it was on the same folded vellum in the same, practical handwriting. He’d parsed the first note a few times for content and meaning, thinking for a moment that it might have been a joke played Bannock, who traveled the world investigating magics for the royal army. However, Bannock’s handwriting was atrocious and he had little patience to track down special vellum to pen a note. Fernin was as likely to get a note from Bannock on a rolled up piece of bark as he was a crumpled sheaf of half burned paper.
“Most certainly, milord. I am quite certain that your admirer will once again wax poetical about your inability to correctly file your texts. How adorable it must be to go looking for information on Fairy Dogs and instead stumble upon the cure for Troll Boils.”
Fernin winced even as he grinned. Barclay had spent a good portion of the morning trying to straighten the library then. Fernin was half afraid that Barclay would insist that he not be allowed in the room without supervision.
“Yes, but that is why I have you, my dear man.”
Barclay flushed, looking away. Even in profile, Barclay was clean and crisp, excepting the smattering of freckles that dared to dust across the bridge of his nose. Not for the first time, Fernin appreciated how very delectable his manservant was.
Pity that he could do nothing about it. Even if he lacked the honor to go chasing after those in his employ, he sincerely doubted that Barclay would welcome such advances. When Fernin had hired him, Barclay had been quite frank about his parentage and the fact that he was the result of a duke cornering his mother, a maid, and having his way with her.
“I am immune to your charms, milord. What does your secret admirer wish to impart on you this time. A secret baculum spell of the Grots to cement his determination to woo you?” Barclay asked smartly.
“My, someone is quite put out with me today,” Fernin murmured as he opened the letter and read.
It followed much the same as the first. Asserting the writer’s affections, listing some of Fernin’s more peculiar habits as desirable and ending with another spell. Wisely, Fernin decided not to utter this one aloud as it was meant to divest everyone present of their clothing when the spell was spoken.
It was a trick Bannock had employed more than once for both expediency and in jest.
Yet, it was not Bannock’s handwriting, and in general, Bannock was a great deal more straightforward about such matters. Bannock knew that whenever whatever ship he was sailing on made it into port, Fernin was waiting with inviting arms.
Strange.
Fernin shook his head and dismissed it, putting the letter aside and looking up to see Barclay glaring at it darkly.
Even stranger still.
The third note arrived shortly after a spell that Barclay had graciously allowed Fernin to attempt on him, had gone awry. The witchweed transformations on dragons had worked so well that Fernin had thought to attempt them on human subjects. The wings that had sprouted out of
Barclay’s back as a result had not been the anticipated result.
From the discomfited way that Barclay tugged on his waistcoat, attempting to straighten the article of clothing around the offending appendages in vain, Fernin was fighting a guilty conscience.
“Your secret admirer once more, milord.”
“I am terribly sorry about the wings, Barclay. I do swear to you that they will vanish within the week. I put temporary parameters on the spelling.”
“Do not worry yourself over it, milord. Nothing is ever truly learned if everything always goes exactly as you expect.” Barclay sighed as the wings fluttered. “I do wish I had more control over their movements however. I almost destroyed the Orquin crystal in the study this morning as I was sorting through the texts you pulled from the library last week.”
“Still, I do apologize.” Fernin unfolded the vellum. “Let us see what my secret admirer has to say this time.”
“No doubt he would find your ability to turn me into a half dragon the epitome of attractiveness,” Barclay grumbled, slouching uncharacteristically against the wall as his wings fluttered again, almost knocking a series of books off a neighboring shelf.
There were no mentions of Fernin’s magical abilities in the list of the things that the admirer found interesting in Fernin, but there were hints that the admirer knew Fernin intimately. A mention of a fairly privately placed mole. A comment about a scar Fernin had incurred in childhood across his left hip.
And across the bottom was another spell, this time one that rendered those within hearing distance of the spoken spell, uncontrollably aroused.
It was a spell that Fernin and Bannock had frequently mucked about with during their times together. Glancing up at Barclay, whose face was flushed for some reason, Fernin wondered idly how Barclay’s body would react to the spell, for it did affect everyone differently.
Shaking the though from his mind he put aside the note. “I daresay that my admirer will reveal themselves at some point. No use in worrying over it.”
“Of course not. Clearly, sending letters of love without signatures is the sign of a clear headed, sincere individual.” Barclay rolled his eyes, turning. “If you’ve no further need of me, I’m off to finish sorting out the study.”
Fernin tried not to stare at the bare spot between Barclay’s shoulder blades where the cloth had been cut away to allow for the wings. He attempted even farther to not imagine what it would be like to caress the soft looking skin as he sunk his cock into Barclay’s ass.
The fourth note, much to Fernin’s surprise, he interrupted in the making.
“I fail to see,” Barcaly spat, “why you need to drag me into this charade of yours. Lord Fernin already holds you in high regard. In fact, he is celibate while you are away and always eagerly anticipates your arrival into port. I daresay he would be amenable to your attentions and affections should you choose to be up front about them.”
Bannock was longing against Fernin’s desk, skin appallingly and beautifully tanned from days spent out in the sun. His copper colored locks were bleached blond in places, and even from where Fernin was watching from the shadows of the doorway, he could see the mischief dancing in Bannock’s brown eyes.
“Your cheeks do flush rather prettily when you’re angry, don’t they.”
Barclay sputtered indignantly. “I, sir, am not a plaything for you.”
At that, Bannock looked shocked. “Of course not. I most certainly do not think of you as a plaything, Barclay. I have been writing to you for too many years for that thought to have ever crossed my mind.”
Well, certainly, this was news to Fernin. He had not realized that Bannock kept up a regular correspondence with Barclay.
“Then why would you make me do such a thing? To what purpose would it serve for me to transcribe your love letters to Fernin and leave off your signature? Have I not left myself out of any and all equations? It is cruel of you, Sir Bannock, to throw me into the midst of this romance when I have already agreed to bow out of it.”
Barclay pulled viciously at his own neckcloth to adjust it in his upset, ignoring the lock of blond hair that fell free from the ribbon.
“Who asked you to bow out, Barclay?” Bannock asked, easy grin on his face as he reached up and tucked the stray lock behind Barclay’s ear. The startled look on Barclay’s face mirrored Fernin’s. “I have eyes in my head, and I have watched the way that Fernin tracks your figure every time you enter a room. I have read in between the lines enough in his letters to me to see his affection for you. Certainly, I have read your affection for him in every one of your letters to me.”
“I am just a servant, sir,” Barclay dismissed quickly. “Besides which, it is you he loves and
waits patiently for.”
“It is the waiting that concerns me.” Bannock crowded Barclay’s space and Fernin was amazed that Barclay allowed it. “And maybe if Fernin would quit skulking and eavesdropping in corners, we could discuss this out in the open like adults.”
Guiltily starting, Fernin came forward, hating the way that Barclay’s face became painted in misery. “Dare I ask why you are having Barclay write cryptic admirer letters for you?” He turned to Bannock.
Bannock grinned impishly at him. “He is quite delicious, isn’t he?” Bannock reached out to smooth another stray lock of Barclay’s, ignoring the way Barclay jerked at the unexpected contact.
Joining Bannock at the desk, Fernin briefly wondered where Bannock was doing with this line of thought, but he trusted Bannock enough to follow along. “Quite delicious. With a wickedly keen mind and quick tongue to match.”
“Stop,” Barclay commanded, looking miserable. “Just stop.”
“He is quite clever,” Bannock said, ignoring Barclay’s entreaty. “Sharp sense of humor. I have enjoyed the correspondence we have had immensely.”
“There are few who could keep up with my research,” Fernin conceded, hating the way that Barclay would not look either of them in the eye, “let alone be interested in it or volunteer to assist.”
“He is in love with you, Fernin,” Bannock laid it out baldly.
“I’ll tender my resignation,” Barclay said sharply, turning on a heel.
Reaching forward, Bannock snagged Barclay by the waist, pulling him back against him, ignoring Barclay’s startled yelp. Fernin’s mouth was agape.
“He is in love with you, too, Bannock.” The thought left Fernin’s lips before he could think better of it. However, the evidence pointed to the logical conclusion. There were few people who could elicit such a passionate response from Barclay, and Fernin was not blind to the way that Barclay’s eyes had followed Bannock throughout the entire conversation. Nor could he ignore the interest that Barclay had always shown in the letters that Bannock had written to Fernin even though it was apparent that Barclay was receiving letters of his own from Bannock.
Bannock blinked before looking down at Barclay. “Is that true, love?”
“It is ridiculous. I am just a servant. I have nothing I could possibly offer to either of you, so why should it even matter?” Barclay spit out viciously. “I had not planned on inflicting my wayward emotions on either of you, so the point is moot. I shall take myself off and get employment elsewhere, and you will not have to endure me any longer.”
“It is certainly no hardship we must endure to be around you, Barclay,” Fernin told him, daring to boldly reach out and smooth back the same stubborn strand of hair that Bannock had smoothed back earlier. “But I would not force you to suffer through something you do not want.”
Barclay let out a harsh laugh. “It is not that I do not want it, milord.”
Glancing at Bannock, Fernin found himself grinning as Bannock smiled affectionately back. Bannock’s hands went to stroke Barclay’s back and Fernin reached forward, grasping Barclay’s head and pulling him into a kiss.
He meant to make it quick, but the feel of Barclay’s lips against his, and the heat of his mouth and the way allowed Fernin to deepen the kiss made a short kiss impossible. He heard Bannock groan as he felt Bannock’s hand fall lightly on the back of his neck to caress.
Pulling back, he looked into Barclay’s wide eyes and smiled. “You have always been more than a mere servant, Barclay. You have to know that.”
Barclay’s face flushed red as he, for once, appeared at a loss for words, stammering. Bannock took advantage, pulling Barclay into a kiss that made Fernin’s already hard cock strain against its confines. Unable to resist, Fernin moved closer, an arm curling around Bannock’s waist as he reached between them to palm Barclay’s cock through his neatly pressed pants. Barclay’s whimper made him want to come then and there.
Bannock broke the kiss, breathless as he allowed Fernin to nibble on Barclay’s neck. “I daresay I will have to make more of a concerted effort to return home more often if this is what awaits me.”
Fernin grinned. “I daresay we will be waiting eagerly for your returns, but it strikes me as bad form to talk about leaving when you haven’t even begun this stay.”
“I can fix that.” Bannock reached over, a hand moving to grasp Fernin’s cock.
“You both talk entirely too much for what this activity warrants,” Barclay groused, hand tentatively reaching to grasp Bannock’s cock as his other hand pulled Fernin in for another kiss.
Author: Skylark97
Rating: R
Fandom: Original
Wordcount: 2,772
The first note arrived when Fernin was elbow deep in magical texts about the use of witchweed on dragons. Barclay, his manservant, delivered the carefully folded vellum letter with as much enthusiasm as a bride approaching the day of her arranged marriage to a man she did not know.
“For you, milord.” Barclay laid the envelope down gingerly on top of a treatise on the effectiveness of transformative qualities of witchweed on smaller dragons. “It does not appear to be signed.” Fussy as usual, Fernin could see that Barclay already disapproved of the letter for not following correct protocols.
Hiding a smile, Fernin pushed his glasses back up on his nose and regarded Barclay for a moment before turning his attention to the note. His ash blond hair was held back with a simple black ribbon, and even though his clothes were not made from the finest fabrics, Barclay carried himself as if they were. Everything was immaculately pressed and arranged thus so. Fernin did not doubt that there were days where Barclay’s fingers positively itched to fix the slovenly ways in which Fernin’s own clothing defied order and neatness.
Opening the letter, Fernin read the first few lines before frowning. “It appears to be a love note.”
Barclay said nothing, but raised an eyebrow in response.
It was written simply enough, but the fact that it was written at all pointed to someone with a scholarly bent or a peer of the realm. Not many servants could read, Barclay and a good portion of Fernin’s household excepted.
His secret admirer, who indeed had not signed with his or her name or any name at all, spoke plainly in the letter with straightforward, practical script. No flowery phrases drawn out in fancy swirls. Just a statement of a long, undeclared love and a list of Fernin’s somewhat dubious charms that the writer apparently found appealing.
At the end, however, in the same clear and concise script was a spell, purportedly from the Asheli, a people not known for relinquishing any of their knowledge of magic.
Fernin murmured the spell as he motioned through the spell pattern described and smiled as a bowl of spell beads shimmered into appearance. “An Asheli fertility spell.”
“How fortuitous for you, milord.”
“They are commonly used in Asheli courtship rituals. I do believe my secret admirer has seen a bit of the world. Certainly, this is something I’ve only seen descriptions of in books and never to the point where the spell itself has been illustrated as beautifully as this.” Magic could do a great many things, but it could not make objects appear where they did not elsewhere exist. In order for the spell to work, his secret admirer would have had to have gathered the beads in the bowl for him.
“Where shall I put them?” Barclay looked as if he’d prefer to through them out in the trash from the distasteful expression on his face, which puzzled Fernin. Barclay usually enjoyed discussing magical texts and investigating magical objects with him. Certainly, they both enjoyed pouring over whatever object to text Fernin’s friend, and occasional lover, Bannock brought back from his travels.
“In the study next to the Orquin crystal and the Ogre goblet would be a good place.”
“As you wish, milord.” Barclay abruptly picked the bowl up, marching out of the room with it. Amused, and a little befuddled, Fernin decided to push the whole thing from his mind. After all, he had magical witchweed dragon transformations to investigate.
The second note arrived much like the first, accompanied by the same sour look on Barclay’s face as he delivered it.
“Another note, milord.”
“Oh? It appears my charms are greater than I imagined.” Fernin reached for it, noting that it was on the same folded vellum in the same, practical handwriting. He’d parsed the first note a few times for content and meaning, thinking for a moment that it might have been a joke played Bannock, who traveled the world investigating magics for the royal army. However, Bannock’s handwriting was atrocious and he had little patience to track down special vellum to pen a note. Fernin was as likely to get a note from Bannock on a rolled up piece of bark as he was a crumpled sheaf of half burned paper.
“Most certainly, milord. I am quite certain that your admirer will once again wax poetical about your inability to correctly file your texts. How adorable it must be to go looking for information on Fairy Dogs and instead stumble upon the cure for Troll Boils.”
Fernin winced even as he grinned. Barclay had spent a good portion of the morning trying to straighten the library then. Fernin was half afraid that Barclay would insist that he not be allowed in the room without supervision.
“Yes, but that is why I have you, my dear man.”
Barclay flushed, looking away. Even in profile, Barclay was clean and crisp, excepting the smattering of freckles that dared to dust across the bridge of his nose. Not for the first time, Fernin appreciated how very delectable his manservant was.
Pity that he could do nothing about it. Even if he lacked the honor to go chasing after those in his employ, he sincerely doubted that Barclay would welcome such advances. When Fernin had hired him, Barclay had been quite frank about his parentage and the fact that he was the result of a duke cornering his mother, a maid, and having his way with her.
“I am immune to your charms, milord. What does your secret admirer wish to impart on you this time. A secret baculum spell of the Grots to cement his determination to woo you?” Barclay asked smartly.
“My, someone is quite put out with me today,” Fernin murmured as he opened the letter and read.
It followed much the same as the first. Asserting the writer’s affections, listing some of Fernin’s more peculiar habits as desirable and ending with another spell. Wisely, Fernin decided not to utter this one aloud as it was meant to divest everyone present of their clothing when the spell was spoken.
It was a trick Bannock had employed more than once for both expediency and in jest.
Yet, it was not Bannock’s handwriting, and in general, Bannock was a great deal more straightforward about such matters. Bannock knew that whenever whatever ship he was sailing on made it into port, Fernin was waiting with inviting arms.
Strange.
Fernin shook his head and dismissed it, putting the letter aside and looking up to see Barclay glaring at it darkly.
Even stranger still.
The third note arrived shortly after a spell that Barclay had graciously allowed Fernin to attempt on him, had gone awry. The witchweed transformations on dragons had worked so well that Fernin had thought to attempt them on human subjects. The wings that had sprouted out of
Barclay’s back as a result had not been the anticipated result.
From the discomfited way that Barclay tugged on his waistcoat, attempting to straighten the article of clothing around the offending appendages in vain, Fernin was fighting a guilty conscience.
“Your secret admirer once more, milord.”
“I am terribly sorry about the wings, Barclay. I do swear to you that they will vanish within the week. I put temporary parameters on the spelling.”
“Do not worry yourself over it, milord. Nothing is ever truly learned if everything always goes exactly as you expect.” Barclay sighed as the wings fluttered. “I do wish I had more control over their movements however. I almost destroyed the Orquin crystal in the study this morning as I was sorting through the texts you pulled from the library last week.”
“Still, I do apologize.” Fernin unfolded the vellum. “Let us see what my secret admirer has to say this time.”
“No doubt he would find your ability to turn me into a half dragon the epitome of attractiveness,” Barclay grumbled, slouching uncharacteristically against the wall as his wings fluttered again, almost knocking a series of books off a neighboring shelf.
There were no mentions of Fernin’s magical abilities in the list of the things that the admirer found interesting in Fernin, but there were hints that the admirer knew Fernin intimately. A mention of a fairly privately placed mole. A comment about a scar Fernin had incurred in childhood across his left hip.
And across the bottom was another spell, this time one that rendered those within hearing distance of the spoken spell, uncontrollably aroused.
It was a spell that Fernin and Bannock had frequently mucked about with during their times together. Glancing up at Barclay, whose face was flushed for some reason, Fernin wondered idly how Barclay’s body would react to the spell, for it did affect everyone differently.
Shaking the though from his mind he put aside the note. “I daresay that my admirer will reveal themselves at some point. No use in worrying over it.”
“Of course not. Clearly, sending letters of love without signatures is the sign of a clear headed, sincere individual.” Barclay rolled his eyes, turning. “If you’ve no further need of me, I’m off to finish sorting out the study.”
Fernin tried not to stare at the bare spot between Barclay’s shoulder blades where the cloth had been cut away to allow for the wings. He attempted even farther to not imagine what it would be like to caress the soft looking skin as he sunk his cock into Barclay’s ass.
The fourth note, much to Fernin’s surprise, he interrupted in the making.
“I fail to see,” Barcaly spat, “why you need to drag me into this charade of yours. Lord Fernin already holds you in high regard. In fact, he is celibate while you are away and always eagerly anticipates your arrival into port. I daresay he would be amenable to your attentions and affections should you choose to be up front about them.”
Bannock was longing against Fernin’s desk, skin appallingly and beautifully tanned from days spent out in the sun. His copper colored locks were bleached blond in places, and even from where Fernin was watching from the shadows of the doorway, he could see the mischief dancing in Bannock’s brown eyes.
“Your cheeks do flush rather prettily when you’re angry, don’t they.”
Barclay sputtered indignantly. “I, sir, am not a plaything for you.”
At that, Bannock looked shocked. “Of course not. I most certainly do not think of you as a plaything, Barclay. I have been writing to you for too many years for that thought to have ever crossed my mind.”
Well, certainly, this was news to Fernin. He had not realized that Bannock kept up a regular correspondence with Barclay.
“Then why would you make me do such a thing? To what purpose would it serve for me to transcribe your love letters to Fernin and leave off your signature? Have I not left myself out of any and all equations? It is cruel of you, Sir Bannock, to throw me into the midst of this romance when I have already agreed to bow out of it.”
Barclay pulled viciously at his own neckcloth to adjust it in his upset, ignoring the lock of blond hair that fell free from the ribbon.
“Who asked you to bow out, Barclay?” Bannock asked, easy grin on his face as he reached up and tucked the stray lock behind Barclay’s ear. The startled look on Barclay’s face mirrored Fernin’s. “I have eyes in my head, and I have watched the way that Fernin tracks your figure every time you enter a room. I have read in between the lines enough in his letters to me to see his affection for you. Certainly, I have read your affection for him in every one of your letters to me.”
“I am just a servant, sir,” Barclay dismissed quickly. “Besides which, it is you he loves and
waits patiently for.”
“It is the waiting that concerns me.” Bannock crowded Barclay’s space and Fernin was amazed that Barclay allowed it. “And maybe if Fernin would quit skulking and eavesdropping in corners, we could discuss this out in the open like adults.”
Guiltily starting, Fernin came forward, hating the way that Barclay’s face became painted in misery. “Dare I ask why you are having Barclay write cryptic admirer letters for you?” He turned to Bannock.
Bannock grinned impishly at him. “He is quite delicious, isn’t he?” Bannock reached out to smooth another stray lock of Barclay’s, ignoring the way Barclay jerked at the unexpected contact.
Joining Bannock at the desk, Fernin briefly wondered where Bannock was doing with this line of thought, but he trusted Bannock enough to follow along. “Quite delicious. With a wickedly keen mind and quick tongue to match.”
“Stop,” Barclay commanded, looking miserable. “Just stop.”
“He is quite clever,” Bannock said, ignoring Barclay’s entreaty. “Sharp sense of humor. I have enjoyed the correspondence we have had immensely.”
“There are few who could keep up with my research,” Fernin conceded, hating the way that Barclay would not look either of them in the eye, “let alone be interested in it or volunteer to assist.”
“He is in love with you, Fernin,” Bannock laid it out baldly.
“I’ll tender my resignation,” Barclay said sharply, turning on a heel.
Reaching forward, Bannock snagged Barclay by the waist, pulling him back against him, ignoring Barclay’s startled yelp. Fernin’s mouth was agape.
“He is in love with you, too, Bannock.” The thought left Fernin’s lips before he could think better of it. However, the evidence pointed to the logical conclusion. There were few people who could elicit such a passionate response from Barclay, and Fernin was not blind to the way that Barclay’s eyes had followed Bannock throughout the entire conversation. Nor could he ignore the interest that Barclay had always shown in the letters that Bannock had written to Fernin even though it was apparent that Barclay was receiving letters of his own from Bannock.
Bannock blinked before looking down at Barclay. “Is that true, love?”
“It is ridiculous. I am just a servant. I have nothing I could possibly offer to either of you, so why should it even matter?” Barclay spit out viciously. “I had not planned on inflicting my wayward emotions on either of you, so the point is moot. I shall take myself off and get employment elsewhere, and you will not have to endure me any longer.”
“It is certainly no hardship we must endure to be around you, Barclay,” Fernin told him, daring to boldly reach out and smooth back the same stubborn strand of hair that Bannock had smoothed back earlier. “But I would not force you to suffer through something you do not want.”
Barclay let out a harsh laugh. “It is not that I do not want it, milord.”
Glancing at Bannock, Fernin found himself grinning as Bannock smiled affectionately back. Bannock’s hands went to stroke Barclay’s back and Fernin reached forward, grasping Barclay’s head and pulling him into a kiss.
He meant to make it quick, but the feel of Barclay’s lips against his, and the heat of his mouth and the way allowed Fernin to deepen the kiss made a short kiss impossible. He heard Bannock groan as he felt Bannock’s hand fall lightly on the back of his neck to caress.
Pulling back, he looked into Barclay’s wide eyes and smiled. “You have always been more than a mere servant, Barclay. You have to know that.”
Barclay’s face flushed red as he, for once, appeared at a loss for words, stammering. Bannock took advantage, pulling Barclay into a kiss that made Fernin’s already hard cock strain against its confines. Unable to resist, Fernin moved closer, an arm curling around Bannock’s waist as he reached between them to palm Barclay’s cock through his neatly pressed pants. Barclay’s whimper made him want to come then and there.
Bannock broke the kiss, breathless as he allowed Fernin to nibble on Barclay’s neck. “I daresay I will have to make more of a concerted effort to return home more often if this is what awaits me.”
Fernin grinned. “I daresay we will be waiting eagerly for your returns, but it strikes me as bad form to talk about leaving when you haven’t even begun this stay.”
“I can fix that.” Bannock reached over, a hand moving to grasp Fernin’s cock.
“You both talk entirely too much for what this activity warrants,” Barclay groused, hand tentatively reaching to grasp Bannock’s cock as his other hand pulled Fernin in for another kiss.