Fic A Brimming Wave: George Mallory/Rupert Brooke, 18
Once upon a long time ago I wrote a lawng arse George Mallory,
the mountaineer.
Rupert Brooke
the poet, fic, called,
A Brimming Wave <
This, finally, is the final part of it. Apologies to the few people waiting on this, I meant to have it done sooner but as you can see it's such a monster that editing it frequently got tedious, (also livejournal did delete all my edits once when I thought I had finished it), anyway excuses aside I really really hope it was worth the wait for you.
All I can think right now is YAY!! One more fic off my to do list.
Title: A Brimming Wave (2 of 2)
Pairing: George Mallory/Rupert Brooke
Rating:18Word Count: 5,168 --- it's a monster.
Notes:
-There are long arse notes on the setting and personnel attached to the first part that don't need to be repeated here.
-This is almost entirely fictional and so some characteristics I have just made up/theorised upon, so I cannot guarantee that it will be entirely in character but it seems true to the impression I've formed of them both from reading almost everything written about either of them.
Also not beta'ed so wonky in places probably.
The degrading ecstasy
"Were we really just talking of women out there George? I haven't thought of them in so long. The Uranians almost make one forget one is supposed to offer oneself to one of those awful creatures in the end!"
Rupert had been quite convinced by Charlie Sayles' constant Uranian preaching about the innate superiority of bonds between men over those between the sexes, far more than George.
"I think of women often. I would like to be married I think. I should like to have a child, to carry on the name. I mean I know it should be reviled as a stuffy formality but I should like it nonetheless. I'd like to show it the way to grow up, you know, to live right."
"Oh yes I would too. I just feel that one would have to be monstrously suspicious and fearful of any woman who would allow such an event to happen."
Mallory smirked a little at this, but it was clear that he was distracted by his own thoughts. Mists, swirled around a mountain obscured. Rupert wasn't at all curious about the summit. In all honesty he didn't care that much about the insides of his own mind half the time. He would be damned if poor old George Mallory's was any more interesting.
Hoping to break Mallory's inattention, Rupert said, "it's a little theory I've developed with James. He knows a lot about women you know.”
“How strange given his disinterest in them.”
“Oh dear George, James? Disinterested in women? What impression is it that you've formed of him?”
“Only the one he has given me through hours of intimate acquaintance.” George snapped.
George's jealousy bored Rupert, made him hot with anger, but he held onto it, not letting it out at all.
“You know I think I take it back when I said I should like children. I expect I'd find them too much chore and not enough reward. That's why I'm sticking with Noel, absolutely no chance of her being impregnated by a soul.”
Rupert chuckled at the memory of how the girl, so brown, eyes and hair and olive tinted skin, had exploded in his face, when he, thinking that females liked talk of babies, had casually said that she should bear him a child one day. In the end it had been half of a joke, Rupert had richly enjoyed her anger. Oh the peculiarity of nature. Noel was basically more masculine than James and despite the fact that James would have had Rupert's child in an instant if he could have it was the brash, hard, tom boyish Noel who he insistently lusted after.
_
Though the temperature outside was falling, it was not receding fast enough, and heat gathered thick in the room. Beneath their shirts they were both sweating desperately.
“The real decision to be taken now, is, are we to have one of those appalling chaste evenings with the Dons where everyone consumes only thimblefuls of brandy and talks incredibly earnestly about the Poor Law, or will we make the effort to ensure I sleep through the girls arrival tomorrow like a log?"
"I am in favour of drunkenness, I haven't been drunk in so long, I swore it off on account of my climbing."
Rupert passed George a bottle he retrieved from an alcove in the wall and asked.
"Would you like to do the honours?"
_
There was little alcohol left, a few half bottles of wine and one of Brandy, but for two such rare drinkers as Brooke and Mallory it was enough.
_
"Byron came here you know?" Rupert said.
"This exact room?" George asked with a laugh.
"Not here exactly. Why if he'd come to this room he would surely have redecorated." Rupert said playing along.
"Oh, Byron. Thou art as dead and fair as aught of mortal birth." George spontaneously quoted, liquid eyes sparkling with mock wistfulness as he gazed to the middle distance in impersonation of an actor on a stage.
"...And charms so soft and form so rare too soon returned to earth. Really George? All the saucy Byron odes you had to choose from, and you selected one about death."
"It's the only one I really know. A boy I was close to at school showed me it when his brother died, to express how he felt. I was rather in love with him, the boy I mean, not the brother. Dead brothers are a ghastly business." George looked at Rupert imploring as he said this, and Rupert knew at once that someone, some, arse, had told George of his own dead brother.
Rupert rejected his sentiment, scowling at it. George didn't really notice, just continued on his own line.
"You know one day people will quote your poems like that Rupert. You're so blessed with your mind."
This seemed to awaken some negative contemplation of himself, for Mallory sighed. Trying to cheer Rupert said,
"Oh come George. You speak as if you're someone who doesn't have his own blessings."
"I have no brain, no words of love, and it's that, that I want most of all things," George sighed and paused a second before he continued, "I have no future at all really right now. I've been turned down for so many jobs. Teaching jobs too, you know, not even jobs that I want. Ah, life, it is so obscene and humiliating."
George almost growled the words, taken by the deep passion within him, that which turned into anger when he was sober - he was forever arguing with other undergrads and their unjust attitudes towards the poor.
Not feeling confident to speak Rupert allowed him to continue.
"When I was climbing all that didn't matter at all. It seems to be whenever I'm still. My thoughts don't pause before they begin to attack me."
Rupert was somewhat confused at how to approach his response. He felt a certain jubilation, for others rarely spoke to him of the secret pain in their hearts, yet how to proceed on the issue confused. What could one say to someone so laid low by melancholy when one privately held some image that they were reserved and broken off, and admired them for these ascribed characteristics.
"A still body opens the mind I think. I suppose that is why Ka knits. We must all burn off our gloomy introspection."
"How do you do it Rupert? You seem so perfectly radiant and light and not in a cruel or insensitive way."
This was too close. Rupert knew he should not answer the question with anything even approaching honesty. The thought of setting a wall between he and Mallory made him feel sad, but he didn't know how he might face him again with the alternative. Before such suffering beauty one shouldn't allow the reality that one had flaws. Then he made the mistake of looking at George, really seeing him, and found a lovely creature, settled into his soul and his being, of this earth, and the reliable sight of him caused something to slip from his lips that he hadn't meant, the truth.
"I walk I suppose."
Yes, Rupert Brooke had many occasions to walk for miles, hating the entire content of his soul and appearance. At once he changed the subject. No abyss would claim him.
"Do you know how I heard of Byron?"
George shook his pretty head.
"Well there's a pool at the end of the lawn out there that's named after him. Apparently the old Devil would bring pretty proteges up from Cambridge every so often to bathe in the nude. I could show you it out there if you want. I usually bathe there myself when the heat is high and the moon is full as it is."
"Is it really such a good idea?" George asked, smiling at him sad, his mood not receding with such speed as Rupert's.
"It really isn't as cold or dark out there as you would think."
"Silly Rupert. I of all people don't mind the cold or the dark. it's my natural place. I was rather thinking that with my drunkenness it might all be a little dangerous."
It was oppressively hot and George's intense, serious demeanor set a heavy atmosphere in the air and Rupert wanted to be away from it, he wanted out and pushed on.
"I consider that as long as one speaks without slurring that one's limbs should be able to take care of themselves."
George considered then said, "once I've drunken this," in assent, raising the last of the wine in it's bottle to his lips.
His lips stained by the booze slightly he said unconnected.
"Ah I hate the heat. One struggles so hard to keep neat. Then there is sweat. It doesn't take long before one feels quite dirty."
Rupert's eyes stung with lack of sleep and burned in the heat. Sweat trickled its way out under his arms the sides of his body and his back, he agreed with George, and demanded of him.
"Finish that bottle off now."
George fixed him with a stare, mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Just drink the bottle man. Do as you're told."
"Maybe I should leave it. You know I'm already plenty drunk enough for anything you care to mention."
George's voice was melodious and high, free, charged.
There should have been no returned frisson at the abandon in his words. For as objectively pretty as Rupert could find George, he was not sure he was really the sort that should, or did, inflame him sexwise. At the same time Rupert was unanchored from himself and the fact that George was wanted by all his peers, that having him should compose an achievement in their eyes, allowed him to think upon the prospect of sex.
It was a quiet musing that he almost ignored. Although it did not seem unconnected that he then boisterously, dominantly began to demand of the reluctant creature.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
It was insanity.
Alcohol agreed with George, his facial features became mobile and he raised his eyebrows in mock alarm at Rupert's insistence for a second, then tipped the bottle back against his pursed, tiny mouth, emptying it full down his throat. Rupert laughed, he took such joy in the face George pulled. All it had been was a quirk of expression, but from such a cautious, minimal creature as George, it had looked positively debauched.
"Drunkenness was a splendid idea wasn't it George?" Rupert asked.
"And it is the perfect conditions for a bathe. You just have splendid ideas chap," George replied.
Rupert felt a deep pleasure at George's approval. It soothed his stomach and made him smile from somewhere back behind his self scrutiny.
_
Hollowing cold splashed up Rupert's furnace of a body as he dived in. It sucked his sense out and as he lolled steamily in the water afterwards he was empty, prey to nothing but the scent of the dirty earth. He shouldn't be here he thought, the earth had tried to keep this place, her delight, all to herself, knowing that caused his heart to leap excitedly in his chest.
"It's as cold as death," George said as he shivered violently.
"Yes. Isn't it enthralling!"
"Infinitely. Horribly so. Reminds me of the showers at my old school. It's as if it's flaying your insides in a softly stinging manner. Goodness it's delightful. Soooo delightful."
His voice was not just broken by shivers but slurred. Rupert couldn't help but laugh, George's drunkenness seemed to climb with each moment he spent in the water. Rupert imagined Noel with her comely charms reduced the same way and resolved to make her bathe with him out here.
The moonlight made the sight of George scant, then he sunk his dark head deliberately low into the freezing cold and disappeared. He was forcing himself deep into the worst of it, Rupert thought, familiar with the willingness. This being how they were taught to bear the cold at school - with the least amount of protection and avoidance possible. To experience the worst is to find ways of dealing with it or else expire. Theirs had been a childhood of callus formation.
When George's face surfaced, it wore considerable amusement but he said nothing.
There was an etiquette concerning bathing. Either one talked the whole way through it, or else one allowed the other the silence of relaxation. With his sudden attack of stoicism George seemed to have selected the quiet route. Rupert let him get on with it and stared up at the shining of the stars through the floppy branches of overhanging trees that had tried to reach the sustenance of the water but failed resting just above it.
His eyes slipped shut, welcoming the way the coldness emptied all his irritation.
Barely conscious he felt water hit his cheek.
He opened his eyes, and as his vision dizzily shifted around he saw George as he had been before, far from him across the black expanse of nothing that the water was made by the night.
Content to think he imagined the sensation he closed his eyes once more.
Again came the same wet surprise.
When he opened his eyes this time George was smirking and as Rupert watched him, he spat water in an arch over to hit him in the face.
"George I can see you," Rupert said, aware as soon as it left him that he sounded priggish.
"I know, I'm on rather a mischievous spin I think."
Though Rupert loved the juvenile when it was on his terms, this game was entirely at his expense and he was a little bad tempered at George's childishness.
Rupert waded toward him meaning to tackle him.
As he approached slow, he stared at George, the water made his skin shiny enough to be seen in the moon light, highlighted arms and shoulders combining with the muted glow of his eyes. George began splashing, creating big waves of his whole body and collecting the displaced water into cupped hands which he pushed toward him.
His smile was wide and so white, glowing, and as Rupert's eyes adjusted to the light he could see George's pretty eyes stared at him strange and he pushed him.
Previous bathing escapades had been so civilised. Virginia had just talked. They had just shared sensations, lively old Virginia, who had none of George's strange initial reserve to the prospect of night nakedness, had sat still and her mind had become active from the jarring sensation.
George Mallory, quiet George was jumping around like some jumping bean.
George grabbed Rupert in retaliation for the push, his forearm hard around his shoulders, bringing the firm brace of his thighs against the back of Rupert's. Rupert struggled and George clung and they jostled together below the surface of the water where George's groin fitted to the curve of Rupert's behind and in no time at all, in thrall to touch, George was stiff between his legs.
They held pressed regardless for a beat longer than realisation, attempting to deny his reaction, breaths speeding, hearts pounding.
Brain scoured by many contrasting wants, but familiar enough with the occasion of an erection during a bathe, as well as that aroused between two bodies pressed in physical exercise Rupert did what he believed to be a kind thing and on instinct extended his arm behind him, straight laid it between their bodies, and when his hand found George's aroused prick he rubbed over it.
George jumped back from him in fright then began to move quick away to the bank. When there he stared back at Rupert for a second, then scrambled away, stumbling up, the globes of his naked arse flashing in the moonlight. A lithe streak of white on the shore George snatched his clothes back up into his hand with an exact flick and began to run back up to the Inn.
Rupert's mind immediately slipped to the thoughts that perhaps one of the maids, the servants from the Inn would be prowling about their occupations at this time of the night, for they were dedicated sorts, and might spy George's nudity. Immediately his loyalty was with his friend. If those women weren't already in bed dreaming their insipid, contemptible dreams already, then Rupert considered that they deserved the sight they would receive.
_
Rupert lingered less than a few moments before dressing making his way back to the Inn himself.
_
There George sat in his clothes, one leg up, one arm bracing this knee and the free hand and attention on his foot.
"I'm sorry."
"Silly George. It's ok. I get them myself."
"I don't!"
"It's ok, they are rather natural, where else would be more likely than in all of nature's glory."
"I don't get them!" George huffed.
Bored of the prospect of an argument Rupert settled instead for saying.
"You have blood on you."
"I cut my foot. I was running on the stones without my shoes. I was lucky, nearly skidded onto my face." George looked up to him and there was a flicker of the amusement of earlier free, friendly, having forgotten what came between them.
"Let me look."
"It's ok I've stopped the bleeding."
Rupert came and sat beside him feeling a hard insistent lodge of arousal in his thoughts that was at odds with the innocent way that George looked to him, meek and polite and as if he didn't want to cause trouble. He began to connect the desire of his acquaintances, the sentences they had written in letters hymning George's physical beauty with the want of his own body.
"You're quite flushed."
"I feel a bit ill and out of sorts with everything. Can you help me?"
His plea sounded out to entirely guileless and innocent, a move of no thought, just need, approximating Rupert's own back in the water. Rupert felt natural to just respond to it. He placed hands on his shoulders briefly, smoothing out the muscle there, then bunching up the muscles at the top of his back he bent his head to kiss the back of George's neck. When he raised his head up again, George stared at him, hard. His eyes were a strange, lighter shade of blue than seems strictly to fit with the darkness of his full curving eyebrows. In most contexts they were terribly bewitching but were especially so now that they were communicating such naked desire.
George's face without his concentrated carelessness settled stern and unimpressed with him. Though it was obvious that George did not really mean anything that would cause a slight, he reminded Rupert of a stern schoolteacher who had once whipped him for disobedience in his study with unintentional tenderness. Rupert had been so in love with that man, wanted to loose himself liquidly to him but the pain and the shame had been abominable and he'd kept himself back, apart.
This time he flowed forth.
Rupert set the warmth of his head against George's chest as though he were female and coaxing for that was how he felt in that moment. George got the message and sunk his hands into the flow of Rupert's too long hair. He stroked him kindly like he might a pet and Rupert sank against him head against his chest.
Rupert dared to think this was happening.
"Rupert?"
"Yes George." Rupert said as he raised his head and slow looked up.
"I imagine my wet clothes are seeping through the coverlet and there won't be the hours to air it out before the maid comes around to clean."
"You should take them off."
He awkwardly did just that. After hanging his shirt and trousers over the door to dry, he paused a little over the issue of his underwear. Rupert looked at him, at the bold stiffness still pushing itself forth beneath the starched clothing. He thought to himself again that so many men had wanted to elicit this reaction from George. Beautiful men too, George had given little to very few whilst he had been an undergrad, of this Rupert was sure, for James often boasted of as much even as he showed a mocking, indifferent attitude to George's correspondence to him with its possessive, romantic tone.
His torso was even and looked firm, sturdy, appealing, muscled from climbing Rupert thought and soon his eyes fell back to his erection, strong as it was, scarcely able to believe it. Then Rupert noticed that his brows knitted together in a frown. Rupert felt as James once told him he had, overwhelmed by George's serious attitude.
George's lips lisped hurt, "you said an erection was natural," clearly imagining that Rupert eyed his response with disapproval.
"It is."
"Do you have one?"
Rupert had no desire to confront his own erection with words so he stepped to where George stood, touched his chin, kissed his cheek, then mouthed into his neck up to his ear.
George was gratifyingly responsive, mere kissing but he shuddered, Rupert's ego swelled other parts of his anatomy.
Rupert could not bear at all to touch his thing, or to even think on it anymore focused on the sensual realities and simplicities of his flesh.
He took his own clothing off down to his underwear and George, being practical, returned with oil he carried with him for working the leather of his mountain boots. He pulled his underwear down and as Rupert kept eyes fixed to his face he immediately slicked himself up, apparently now only afraid at the prospect of not having sex.
Rupert reflected that George immediately thought he was in control with no sure reaction but gratitude.
"I have done this, just not from this end."
Rupert laughed, pretending to find the whole thing amusing.
George didn't reply as such, only reached out to Rupert's hair and stroked it kindly once more.
__
Rupert assembled on all fours and George entered him.
There was a vague burning, then a horrible sting that slowly burst into an impressive amount of pain, before snapping to nothing but the ache of memory. George was so prepared that there was hardly any resistance from his insides. He slunk deeper and deeper and it wasn't long before Rupert took him fully.
This was nothing like the time Rupert had had, when he, in the dark, had scarcely crept inside his partner than the other boy began to expel him again in pain.
George was a good lover. Rupert had no need whatsoever to protest whenever his angle caused him pain, nor worry when he withdrew from a point that caused him pleasure, because it was no time at all before he perfected his body to enter him better.
In time his thrusts touched a throb inside Rupert that sent a flush of crimson to his cheeks. Keyed into the shocked moan Rupert let off, George breathed harshly himself and rutted his hips shallowly against him, around inside him without withdrawing, hitting that spot inside him repeatedly.
It seemed at once to Rupert that such intense pleasure should have a fatigue, that it should leach away from him quickly before he'd got full measure of it, leaving him with only the disgusting relics of the sex act that caused it. It seemed to Rupert that this is what would happen because all life seemed to be about that loss, that reduction, but it did not. As long as George moved inside him but did not pull away the deep wave of pleasure rolled through him again and again. His awareness narrowed as gradually he had no choice but to accept that this pleasure was there, that it would remain. All existence began to lisp away beneath it. All Rupert felt was George and himself and not the way he usually felt himself, this was himself unquestioned, himself pure.
Sensations were all. He felt such love for the whole universe flood through him, there was nothing that stung him about any of it, nothing that had ever displeased or disrespected or deserted him that could compete with the extremity of the ecstasy he now had, so guttural and base and perfect.
The hot points of flame that had erupted on his cheeks burnt until they stung, Mallory's delicious grunts of concentration behind him, a sound choreographed well with the battering press of his hips against his backside, pushing his prick deep and naturally into his arse, making unquestioned the space it had created, with the continued burst of bliss in his guts.
Rupert grunted himself lost entirely to the hot sensations of his body. He bowed his head seeking the inner strength to deal with the delirium without hitting George to get off him, for it's sheer persistance had slipped from strange to accepted to beautiful and was now almost aversive.
"It is the spot?" Mallory asked late, although he had to know.
The breathless, exerted gasp that was his voice sent another thick judder of pleasure to Rupert's gut and it took a while for him to respond. Although Mallory could not see him, he smiled wide as he gasped the word.
"Yes."
"Good. James said there was a spot."
James? Something in Rupert seized silently.
That George was thinking of James at a moment like this, with him, when he was cumming so prettily and unquestionably beneath him outraged Rupert. It was all he could do not to jump away from him. He could not cry, not inclined to it but something in him just slipped away hurt. It switched him off. His body still being had from behind, threw up the same shudders of excitement but just like that they stopped reaching his prick. As it wilted slightly he grasped it in his hand and masturbated it until it stood firm again, then, weary with what he was doing stroked it until it ended wet over his fingers with little sense of release.
George noticed at once how he tensed up, noticed the furious action of his hand rubbing himself off suddenly when he'd been so exquisitely content, so loose and passive.
"Rupert is it ok?"
"Yes," he threw him, no longer even acknowledging to himself how slighted he felt.
"Did I do something wrong?
"No. Just finish will you please."
Having begun to withdraw more to enter him in a slamming sort of rhythm George finished inside Rupert just as he, morose, began coughing.
_
"It helps the body I think. I've only done it once before but it helps the body tremendously afterward."
George was so serious as he spoke, making eye contact across the cotton of the bedspread, as though he were solemnly promising to Rupert that he was special. Precious and infuriating as always.
"You've done this before then?"
George nodded. Despite himself Rupert made plan to tell James about that.
"You're the second person."
"Really? Who?"
"You don't know him."
"It wasn't dear James?" George looked to the sneer in Rupert's voice.
"You know it wasn't." George said in a snipped tone of voice that assured him he would get no further details. God help George he was so serious, it was a wonder he wasn't a virgin really. Rupert yawned and stretched his limbs languid, he felt George's eyes infatuated upon him before he saw them.
"You're so beautiful. I'm hardening again," he said.
Rupert resisted it.
There was a closeness to George's stare, a dark mocking as he lowered his hand beneath the sheets. Rupert laughed a little nervous at George's raw sexuality. George didn't care, all too quickly he was not there, blown out by his touching, shivering all over, breaths shaky.
Rupert refused to be aroused by the sight of him, but his mouth dried when he thought that this was how George had looked when he was full inside him. Longing but defensive he said.
"I could tell James. Anytime I wanted to I could."
He didnt know why he was saying it. He just wanted to make George react. George just smiled a curious, lazy, exhausted smirk for he was just on the edges of drunken, post orgasm sleep and his hand continued pumping away, so attractively.
"I could."
Rupert insisted, weary already of his own tantruming voice for it belonged to a child, but George would not listen.
Rupert whipped the cover off and straddled him and any pretense he made at not having an erection was at once demolished for moving made him feel it.
Rupert set his fingertips lisping over George's face, his cheeks in that way James so often did. George, stroked his cock without care, eyes closed and didn't open them again. He made a tight grunt of confusion and disagreement as Rupert nudged the head of his cock, against his tight hole. George's face tightened into a wince and his mouth seized open in a wordless expression of disagreement as Rupert entered him but at the same time his thighs spread wider, opening himself to the penetration.
Rupert reached out to the oil then furiously fucked him and as he did he leant and said.
"I showed James that there was a spot."
There was a messy, boisterous anger in George's eyes for just a second before he sighed out, "Don't lie."
Rupert felt unsteady.
George didn't for a second believe a word he said. Here was a being immune to his peculiar habit for manipulation, he didn't seem to trust Rupert's beauty as others always seemed so readily to do. Rupert looked into his eyes trying to stare at him fiercesome and angry but it didn't work at all against George's beauteous smile so he lowered his forehead to touch his collarbone working his erection off inside him without wanting to look at the unintended triumph of his face, feeling a flare of painful pleasure not just from his cock in George's hot, tight channel, but also up inside him, as if the spot George had worked against whilst fucking him was bruised.
The pleasure was thick when George began to come beneath him, crying, submitting as prettily and well as he fucked, feeling no awkwardness with vulnerability or physicality as he sighed.
"Uh Rupert, beautiful Rupert, you are so good."
No match for the clenching of George's body around him Rupert lost all inside him in no time.
Practical George asked as soon as he was done, smiling a wide way.
"When are the Olivier sisters due to arrive?"
"6 hours or so."
"Ah we ought to sleep then, must ensure there is time for another bathe before they arrive. I'll go back to my room."
Rupert shrugged but felt cold in his slumber when George took his weight from his side. The weight left the bed. Then returned
"Rupert. May I stay with you tonight, just until day light." George asked, his voice sounding fearful.
Rupert didn't know why but he smiled as he said yes.
the mountaineer.
Rupert Brooke
the poet, fic, called,
A Brimming Wave <
This, finally, is the final part of it. Apologies to the few people waiting on this, I meant to have it done sooner but as you can see it's such a monster that editing it frequently got tedious, (also livejournal did delete all my edits once when I thought I had finished it), anyway excuses aside I really really hope it was worth the wait for you.
All I can think right now is YAY!! One more fic off my to do list.
Title: A Brimming Wave (2 of 2)
Pairing: George Mallory/Rupert Brooke
Rating:18Word Count: 5,168 --- it's a monster.
Notes:
-There are long arse notes on the setting and personnel attached to the first part that don't need to be repeated here.
-This is almost entirely fictional and so some characteristics I have just made up/theorised upon, so I cannot guarantee that it will be entirely in character but it seems true to the impression I've formed of them both from reading almost everything written about either of them.
Also not beta'ed so wonky in places probably.
The degrading ecstasy
"Were we really just talking of women out there George? I haven't thought of them in so long. The Uranians almost make one forget one is supposed to offer oneself to one of those awful creatures in the end!"
Rupert had been quite convinced by Charlie Sayles' constant Uranian preaching about the innate superiority of bonds between men over those between the sexes, far more than George.
"I think of women often. I would like to be married I think. I should like to have a child, to carry on the name. I mean I know it should be reviled as a stuffy formality but I should like it nonetheless. I'd like to show it the way to grow up, you know, to live right."
"Oh yes I would too. I just feel that one would have to be monstrously suspicious and fearful of any woman who would allow such an event to happen."
Mallory smirked a little at this, but it was clear that he was distracted by his own thoughts. Mists, swirled around a mountain obscured. Rupert wasn't at all curious about the summit. In all honesty he didn't care that much about the insides of his own mind half the time. He would be damned if poor old George Mallory's was any more interesting.
Hoping to break Mallory's inattention, Rupert said, "it's a little theory I've developed with James. He knows a lot about women you know.”
“How strange given his disinterest in them.”
“Oh dear George, James? Disinterested in women? What impression is it that you've formed of him?”
“Only the one he has given me through hours of intimate acquaintance.” George snapped.
George's jealousy bored Rupert, made him hot with anger, but he held onto it, not letting it out at all.
“You know I think I take it back when I said I should like children. I expect I'd find them too much chore and not enough reward. That's why I'm sticking with Noel, absolutely no chance of her being impregnated by a soul.”
Rupert chuckled at the memory of how the girl, so brown, eyes and hair and olive tinted skin, had exploded in his face, when he, thinking that females liked talk of babies, had casually said that she should bear him a child one day. In the end it had been half of a joke, Rupert had richly enjoyed her anger. Oh the peculiarity of nature. Noel was basically more masculine than James and despite the fact that James would have had Rupert's child in an instant if he could have it was the brash, hard, tom boyish Noel who he insistently lusted after.
_
Though the temperature outside was falling, it was not receding fast enough, and heat gathered thick in the room. Beneath their shirts they were both sweating desperately.
“The real decision to be taken now, is, are we to have one of those appalling chaste evenings with the Dons where everyone consumes only thimblefuls of brandy and talks incredibly earnestly about the Poor Law, or will we make the effort to ensure I sleep through the girls arrival tomorrow like a log?"
"I am in favour of drunkenness, I haven't been drunk in so long, I swore it off on account of my climbing."
Rupert passed George a bottle he retrieved from an alcove in the wall and asked.
"Would you like to do the honours?"
_
There was little alcohol left, a few half bottles of wine and one of Brandy, but for two such rare drinkers as Brooke and Mallory it was enough.
_
"Byron came here you know?" Rupert said.
"This exact room?" George asked with a laugh.
"Not here exactly. Why if he'd come to this room he would surely have redecorated." Rupert said playing along.
"Oh, Byron. Thou art as dead and fair as aught of mortal birth." George spontaneously quoted, liquid eyes sparkling with mock wistfulness as he gazed to the middle distance in impersonation of an actor on a stage.
"...And charms so soft and form so rare too soon returned to earth. Really George? All the saucy Byron odes you had to choose from, and you selected one about death."
"It's the only one I really know. A boy I was close to at school showed me it when his brother died, to express how he felt. I was rather in love with him, the boy I mean, not the brother. Dead brothers are a ghastly business." George looked at Rupert imploring as he said this, and Rupert knew at once that someone, some, arse, had told George of his own dead brother.
Rupert rejected his sentiment, scowling at it. George didn't really notice, just continued on his own line.
"You know one day people will quote your poems like that Rupert. You're so blessed with your mind."
This seemed to awaken some negative contemplation of himself, for Mallory sighed. Trying to cheer Rupert said,
"Oh come George. You speak as if you're someone who doesn't have his own blessings."
"I have no brain, no words of love, and it's that, that I want most of all things," George sighed and paused a second before he continued, "I have no future at all really right now. I've been turned down for so many jobs. Teaching jobs too, you know, not even jobs that I want. Ah, life, it is so obscene and humiliating."
George almost growled the words, taken by the deep passion within him, that which turned into anger when he was sober - he was forever arguing with other undergrads and their unjust attitudes towards the poor.
Not feeling confident to speak Rupert allowed him to continue.
"When I was climbing all that didn't matter at all. It seems to be whenever I'm still. My thoughts don't pause before they begin to attack me."
Rupert was somewhat confused at how to approach his response. He felt a certain jubilation, for others rarely spoke to him of the secret pain in their hearts, yet how to proceed on the issue confused. What could one say to someone so laid low by melancholy when one privately held some image that they were reserved and broken off, and admired them for these ascribed characteristics.
"A still body opens the mind I think. I suppose that is why Ka knits. We must all burn off our gloomy introspection."
"How do you do it Rupert? You seem so perfectly radiant and light and not in a cruel or insensitive way."
This was too close. Rupert knew he should not answer the question with anything even approaching honesty. The thought of setting a wall between he and Mallory made him feel sad, but he didn't know how he might face him again with the alternative. Before such suffering beauty one shouldn't allow the reality that one had flaws. Then he made the mistake of looking at George, really seeing him, and found a lovely creature, settled into his soul and his being, of this earth, and the reliable sight of him caused something to slip from his lips that he hadn't meant, the truth.
"I walk I suppose."
Yes, Rupert Brooke had many occasions to walk for miles, hating the entire content of his soul and appearance. At once he changed the subject. No abyss would claim him.
"Do you know how I heard of Byron?"
George shook his pretty head.
"Well there's a pool at the end of the lawn out there that's named after him. Apparently the old Devil would bring pretty proteges up from Cambridge every so often to bathe in the nude. I could show you it out there if you want. I usually bathe there myself when the heat is high and the moon is full as it is."
"Is it really such a good idea?" George asked, smiling at him sad, his mood not receding with such speed as Rupert's.
"It really isn't as cold or dark out there as you would think."
"Silly Rupert. I of all people don't mind the cold or the dark. it's my natural place. I was rather thinking that with my drunkenness it might all be a little dangerous."
It was oppressively hot and George's intense, serious demeanor set a heavy atmosphere in the air and Rupert wanted to be away from it, he wanted out and pushed on.
"I consider that as long as one speaks without slurring that one's limbs should be able to take care of themselves."
George considered then said, "once I've drunken this," in assent, raising the last of the wine in it's bottle to his lips.
His lips stained by the booze slightly he said unconnected.
"Ah I hate the heat. One struggles so hard to keep neat. Then there is sweat. It doesn't take long before one feels quite dirty."
Rupert's eyes stung with lack of sleep and burned in the heat. Sweat trickled its way out under his arms the sides of his body and his back, he agreed with George, and demanded of him.
"Finish that bottle off now."
George fixed him with a stare, mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Just drink the bottle man. Do as you're told."
"Maybe I should leave it. You know I'm already plenty drunk enough for anything you care to mention."
George's voice was melodious and high, free, charged.
There should have been no returned frisson at the abandon in his words. For as objectively pretty as Rupert could find George, he was not sure he was really the sort that should, or did, inflame him sexwise. At the same time Rupert was unanchored from himself and the fact that George was wanted by all his peers, that having him should compose an achievement in their eyes, allowed him to think upon the prospect of sex.
It was a quiet musing that he almost ignored. Although it did not seem unconnected that he then boisterously, dominantly began to demand of the reluctant creature.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
It was insanity.
Alcohol agreed with George, his facial features became mobile and he raised his eyebrows in mock alarm at Rupert's insistence for a second, then tipped the bottle back against his pursed, tiny mouth, emptying it full down his throat. Rupert laughed, he took such joy in the face George pulled. All it had been was a quirk of expression, but from such a cautious, minimal creature as George, it had looked positively debauched.
"Drunkenness was a splendid idea wasn't it George?" Rupert asked.
"And it is the perfect conditions for a bathe. You just have splendid ideas chap," George replied.
Rupert felt a deep pleasure at George's approval. It soothed his stomach and made him smile from somewhere back behind his self scrutiny.
_
Hollowing cold splashed up Rupert's furnace of a body as he dived in. It sucked his sense out and as he lolled steamily in the water afterwards he was empty, prey to nothing but the scent of the dirty earth. He shouldn't be here he thought, the earth had tried to keep this place, her delight, all to herself, knowing that caused his heart to leap excitedly in his chest.
"It's as cold as death," George said as he shivered violently.
"Yes. Isn't it enthralling!"
"Infinitely. Horribly so. Reminds me of the showers at my old school. It's as if it's flaying your insides in a softly stinging manner. Goodness it's delightful. Soooo delightful."
His voice was not just broken by shivers but slurred. Rupert couldn't help but laugh, George's drunkenness seemed to climb with each moment he spent in the water. Rupert imagined Noel with her comely charms reduced the same way and resolved to make her bathe with him out here.
The moonlight made the sight of George scant, then he sunk his dark head deliberately low into the freezing cold and disappeared. He was forcing himself deep into the worst of it, Rupert thought, familiar with the willingness. This being how they were taught to bear the cold at school - with the least amount of protection and avoidance possible. To experience the worst is to find ways of dealing with it or else expire. Theirs had been a childhood of callus formation.
When George's face surfaced, it wore considerable amusement but he said nothing.
There was an etiquette concerning bathing. Either one talked the whole way through it, or else one allowed the other the silence of relaxation. With his sudden attack of stoicism George seemed to have selected the quiet route. Rupert let him get on with it and stared up at the shining of the stars through the floppy branches of overhanging trees that had tried to reach the sustenance of the water but failed resting just above it.
His eyes slipped shut, welcoming the way the coldness emptied all his irritation.
Barely conscious he felt water hit his cheek.
He opened his eyes, and as his vision dizzily shifted around he saw George as he had been before, far from him across the black expanse of nothing that the water was made by the night.
Content to think he imagined the sensation he closed his eyes once more.
Again came the same wet surprise.
When he opened his eyes this time George was smirking and as Rupert watched him, he spat water in an arch over to hit him in the face.
"George I can see you," Rupert said, aware as soon as it left him that he sounded priggish.
"I know, I'm on rather a mischievous spin I think."
Though Rupert loved the juvenile when it was on his terms, this game was entirely at his expense and he was a little bad tempered at George's childishness.
Rupert waded toward him meaning to tackle him.
As he approached slow, he stared at George, the water made his skin shiny enough to be seen in the moon light, highlighted arms and shoulders combining with the muted glow of his eyes. George began splashing, creating big waves of his whole body and collecting the displaced water into cupped hands which he pushed toward him.
His smile was wide and so white, glowing, and as Rupert's eyes adjusted to the light he could see George's pretty eyes stared at him strange and he pushed him.
Previous bathing escapades had been so civilised. Virginia had just talked. They had just shared sensations, lively old Virginia, who had none of George's strange initial reserve to the prospect of night nakedness, had sat still and her mind had become active from the jarring sensation.
George Mallory, quiet George was jumping around like some jumping bean.
George grabbed Rupert in retaliation for the push, his forearm hard around his shoulders, bringing the firm brace of his thighs against the back of Rupert's. Rupert struggled and George clung and they jostled together below the surface of the water where George's groin fitted to the curve of Rupert's behind and in no time at all, in thrall to touch, George was stiff between his legs.
They held pressed regardless for a beat longer than realisation, attempting to deny his reaction, breaths speeding, hearts pounding.
Brain scoured by many contrasting wants, but familiar enough with the occasion of an erection during a bathe, as well as that aroused between two bodies pressed in physical exercise Rupert did what he believed to be a kind thing and on instinct extended his arm behind him, straight laid it between their bodies, and when his hand found George's aroused prick he rubbed over it.
George jumped back from him in fright then began to move quick away to the bank. When there he stared back at Rupert for a second, then scrambled away, stumbling up, the globes of his naked arse flashing in the moonlight. A lithe streak of white on the shore George snatched his clothes back up into his hand with an exact flick and began to run back up to the Inn.
Rupert's mind immediately slipped to the thoughts that perhaps one of the maids, the servants from the Inn would be prowling about their occupations at this time of the night, for they were dedicated sorts, and might spy George's nudity. Immediately his loyalty was with his friend. If those women weren't already in bed dreaming their insipid, contemptible dreams already, then Rupert considered that they deserved the sight they would receive.
_
Rupert lingered less than a few moments before dressing making his way back to the Inn himself.
_
There George sat in his clothes, one leg up, one arm bracing this knee and the free hand and attention on his foot.
"I'm sorry."
"Silly George. It's ok. I get them myself."
"I don't!"
"It's ok, they are rather natural, where else would be more likely than in all of nature's glory."
"I don't get them!" George huffed.
Bored of the prospect of an argument Rupert settled instead for saying.
"You have blood on you."
"I cut my foot. I was running on the stones without my shoes. I was lucky, nearly skidded onto my face." George looked up to him and there was a flicker of the amusement of earlier free, friendly, having forgotten what came between them.
"Let me look."
"It's ok I've stopped the bleeding."
Rupert came and sat beside him feeling a hard insistent lodge of arousal in his thoughts that was at odds with the innocent way that George looked to him, meek and polite and as if he didn't want to cause trouble. He began to connect the desire of his acquaintances, the sentences they had written in letters hymning George's physical beauty with the want of his own body.
"You're quite flushed."
"I feel a bit ill and out of sorts with everything. Can you help me?"
His plea sounded out to entirely guileless and innocent, a move of no thought, just need, approximating Rupert's own back in the water. Rupert felt natural to just respond to it. He placed hands on his shoulders briefly, smoothing out the muscle there, then bunching up the muscles at the top of his back he bent his head to kiss the back of George's neck. When he raised his head up again, George stared at him, hard. His eyes were a strange, lighter shade of blue than seems strictly to fit with the darkness of his full curving eyebrows. In most contexts they were terribly bewitching but were especially so now that they were communicating such naked desire.
George's face without his concentrated carelessness settled stern and unimpressed with him. Though it was obvious that George did not really mean anything that would cause a slight, he reminded Rupert of a stern schoolteacher who had once whipped him for disobedience in his study with unintentional tenderness. Rupert had been so in love with that man, wanted to loose himself liquidly to him but the pain and the shame had been abominable and he'd kept himself back, apart.
This time he flowed forth.
Rupert set the warmth of his head against George's chest as though he were female and coaxing for that was how he felt in that moment. George got the message and sunk his hands into the flow of Rupert's too long hair. He stroked him kindly like he might a pet and Rupert sank against him head against his chest.
Rupert dared to think this was happening.
"Rupert?"
"Yes George." Rupert said as he raised his head and slow looked up.
"I imagine my wet clothes are seeping through the coverlet and there won't be the hours to air it out before the maid comes around to clean."
"You should take them off."
He awkwardly did just that. After hanging his shirt and trousers over the door to dry, he paused a little over the issue of his underwear. Rupert looked at him, at the bold stiffness still pushing itself forth beneath the starched clothing. He thought to himself again that so many men had wanted to elicit this reaction from George. Beautiful men too, George had given little to very few whilst he had been an undergrad, of this Rupert was sure, for James often boasted of as much even as he showed a mocking, indifferent attitude to George's correspondence to him with its possessive, romantic tone.
His torso was even and looked firm, sturdy, appealing, muscled from climbing Rupert thought and soon his eyes fell back to his erection, strong as it was, scarcely able to believe it. Then Rupert noticed that his brows knitted together in a frown. Rupert felt as James once told him he had, overwhelmed by George's serious attitude.
George's lips lisped hurt, "you said an erection was natural," clearly imagining that Rupert eyed his response with disapproval.
"It is."
"Do you have one?"
Rupert had no desire to confront his own erection with words so he stepped to where George stood, touched his chin, kissed his cheek, then mouthed into his neck up to his ear.
George was gratifyingly responsive, mere kissing but he shuddered, Rupert's ego swelled other parts of his anatomy.
Rupert could not bear at all to touch his thing, or to even think on it anymore focused on the sensual realities and simplicities of his flesh.
He took his own clothing off down to his underwear and George, being practical, returned with oil he carried with him for working the leather of his mountain boots. He pulled his underwear down and as Rupert kept eyes fixed to his face he immediately slicked himself up, apparently now only afraid at the prospect of not having sex.
Rupert reflected that George immediately thought he was in control with no sure reaction but gratitude.
"I have done this, just not from this end."
Rupert laughed, pretending to find the whole thing amusing.
George didn't reply as such, only reached out to Rupert's hair and stroked it kindly once more.
__
Rupert assembled on all fours and George entered him.
There was a vague burning, then a horrible sting that slowly burst into an impressive amount of pain, before snapping to nothing but the ache of memory. George was so prepared that there was hardly any resistance from his insides. He slunk deeper and deeper and it wasn't long before Rupert took him fully.
This was nothing like the time Rupert had had, when he, in the dark, had scarcely crept inside his partner than the other boy began to expel him again in pain.
George was a good lover. Rupert had no need whatsoever to protest whenever his angle caused him pain, nor worry when he withdrew from a point that caused him pleasure, because it was no time at all before he perfected his body to enter him better.
In time his thrusts touched a throb inside Rupert that sent a flush of crimson to his cheeks. Keyed into the shocked moan Rupert let off, George breathed harshly himself and rutted his hips shallowly against him, around inside him without withdrawing, hitting that spot inside him repeatedly.
It seemed at once to Rupert that such intense pleasure should have a fatigue, that it should leach away from him quickly before he'd got full measure of it, leaving him with only the disgusting relics of the sex act that caused it. It seemed to Rupert that this is what would happen because all life seemed to be about that loss, that reduction, but it did not. As long as George moved inside him but did not pull away the deep wave of pleasure rolled through him again and again. His awareness narrowed as gradually he had no choice but to accept that this pleasure was there, that it would remain. All existence began to lisp away beneath it. All Rupert felt was George and himself and not the way he usually felt himself, this was himself unquestioned, himself pure.
Sensations were all. He felt such love for the whole universe flood through him, there was nothing that stung him about any of it, nothing that had ever displeased or disrespected or deserted him that could compete with the extremity of the ecstasy he now had, so guttural and base and perfect.
The hot points of flame that had erupted on his cheeks burnt until they stung, Mallory's delicious grunts of concentration behind him, a sound choreographed well with the battering press of his hips against his backside, pushing his prick deep and naturally into his arse, making unquestioned the space it had created, with the continued burst of bliss in his guts.
Rupert grunted himself lost entirely to the hot sensations of his body. He bowed his head seeking the inner strength to deal with the delirium without hitting George to get off him, for it's sheer persistance had slipped from strange to accepted to beautiful and was now almost aversive.
"It is the spot?" Mallory asked late, although he had to know.
The breathless, exerted gasp that was his voice sent another thick judder of pleasure to Rupert's gut and it took a while for him to respond. Although Mallory could not see him, he smiled wide as he gasped the word.
"Yes."
"Good. James said there was a spot."
James? Something in Rupert seized silently.
That George was thinking of James at a moment like this, with him, when he was cumming so prettily and unquestionably beneath him outraged Rupert. It was all he could do not to jump away from him. He could not cry, not inclined to it but something in him just slipped away hurt. It switched him off. His body still being had from behind, threw up the same shudders of excitement but just like that they stopped reaching his prick. As it wilted slightly he grasped it in his hand and masturbated it until it stood firm again, then, weary with what he was doing stroked it until it ended wet over his fingers with little sense of release.
George noticed at once how he tensed up, noticed the furious action of his hand rubbing himself off suddenly when he'd been so exquisitely content, so loose and passive.
"Rupert is it ok?"
"Yes," he threw him, no longer even acknowledging to himself how slighted he felt.
"Did I do something wrong?
"No. Just finish will you please."
Having begun to withdraw more to enter him in a slamming sort of rhythm George finished inside Rupert just as he, morose, began coughing.
_
"It helps the body I think. I've only done it once before but it helps the body tremendously afterward."
George was so serious as he spoke, making eye contact across the cotton of the bedspread, as though he were solemnly promising to Rupert that he was special. Precious and infuriating as always.
"You've done this before then?"
George nodded. Despite himself Rupert made plan to tell James about that.
"You're the second person."
"Really? Who?"
"You don't know him."
"It wasn't dear James?" George looked to the sneer in Rupert's voice.
"You know it wasn't." George said in a snipped tone of voice that assured him he would get no further details. God help George he was so serious, it was a wonder he wasn't a virgin really. Rupert yawned and stretched his limbs languid, he felt George's eyes infatuated upon him before he saw them.
"You're so beautiful. I'm hardening again," he said.
Rupert resisted it.
There was a closeness to George's stare, a dark mocking as he lowered his hand beneath the sheets. Rupert laughed a little nervous at George's raw sexuality. George didn't care, all too quickly he was not there, blown out by his touching, shivering all over, breaths shaky.
Rupert refused to be aroused by the sight of him, but his mouth dried when he thought that this was how George had looked when he was full inside him. Longing but defensive he said.
"I could tell James. Anytime I wanted to I could."
He didnt know why he was saying it. He just wanted to make George react. George just smiled a curious, lazy, exhausted smirk for he was just on the edges of drunken, post orgasm sleep and his hand continued pumping away, so attractively.
"I could."
Rupert insisted, weary already of his own tantruming voice for it belonged to a child, but George would not listen.
Rupert whipped the cover off and straddled him and any pretense he made at not having an erection was at once demolished for moving made him feel it.
Rupert set his fingertips lisping over George's face, his cheeks in that way James so often did. George, stroked his cock without care, eyes closed and didn't open them again. He made a tight grunt of confusion and disagreement as Rupert nudged the head of his cock, against his tight hole. George's face tightened into a wince and his mouth seized open in a wordless expression of disagreement as Rupert entered him but at the same time his thighs spread wider, opening himself to the penetration.
Rupert reached out to the oil then furiously fucked him and as he did he leant and said.
"I showed James that there was a spot."
There was a messy, boisterous anger in George's eyes for just a second before he sighed out, "Don't lie."
Rupert felt unsteady.
George didn't for a second believe a word he said. Here was a being immune to his peculiar habit for manipulation, he didn't seem to trust Rupert's beauty as others always seemed so readily to do. Rupert looked into his eyes trying to stare at him fiercesome and angry but it didn't work at all against George's beauteous smile so he lowered his forehead to touch his collarbone working his erection off inside him without wanting to look at the unintended triumph of his face, feeling a flare of painful pleasure not just from his cock in George's hot, tight channel, but also up inside him, as if the spot George had worked against whilst fucking him was bruised.
The pleasure was thick when George began to come beneath him, crying, submitting as prettily and well as he fucked, feeling no awkwardness with vulnerability or physicality as he sighed.
"Uh Rupert, beautiful Rupert, you are so good."
No match for the clenching of George's body around him Rupert lost all inside him in no time.
Practical George asked as soon as he was done, smiling a wide way.
"When are the Olivier sisters due to arrive?"
"6 hours or so."
"Ah we ought to sleep then, must ensure there is time for another bathe before they arrive. I'll go back to my room."
Rupert shrugged but felt cold in his slumber when George took his weight from his side. The weight left the bed. Then returned
"Rupert. May I stay with you tonight, just until day light." George asked, his voice sounding fearful.
Rupert didn't know why but he smiled as he said yes.