Fic: Transactions
Title: Transactions
Pairing: Jack/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
I have no excuse for this bit of cracky smut, and I particularly apologize for the lame title.
*runs and hides*
Transactions
"My dear, would you have the Society's Transactions from last year, at all?"
Jack looked blank for a minute. "I have no idea. If I do, it would be in the locker there with my other books," he said.
Stephen moved towards the locker. "Sure I brought my copy with me; I intend to write a conclusive rebuttal to Mellowes, the charlatan. Yet I have gone through and through my cabin; it has vanished."
Jack hid his smile as he turned back to finish his letter. More remarkable was anything found in the disordered litter of Stephen's cabin. He finished the letter and said, "If you will excuse me, I am engaged to the bosun to determine if the fore topgallant pole can be stepped abaft the fore topmast. You will join me for music this evening?"
Stephen nodded absently, intent on his search through the locker. The books and journals must have been swept in there in a hurry during a clearing for action; he knew how Jack prized neatness and order above all other virtues (except possibly punctuality), yet here all were laid jumbled together. As he pulled them out, he sorted books to one side, journals and monographs to another. Among the latter group he found a few surprises, including his own monograph on phanerogams, written before he met Jack, and a curious slim volume with a cover entirely blank. He examined carefully each issue of the Transactions he found, but none was the one he needed. When the locker was completely emptied, he gave a great sigh, then started placing the items back carefully, this time in a semblance of order. When he came to the small one with the blank cover, he set it aside until the others had been put -- stowed away. Turning back to the curiosity, he flipped it open randomly. From the first glance he realized why the cover was untitled. He turned to a few more pages at random -- the work was similar throughout. He had not thought Jack the type to have possession of such a work; yet he was neither shocked nor entirely surprised. One aspect was surprising, however; as he continued to leaf through the pages, it occurred to him that all the depictions were of men: two men together. He glanced all through the slim volume; yes, entirely men, not a female form to be seen. Here was a mystery indeed: Jack had great enthusiasm for the female form, but Stephen had never seen evidence of even the mildest appreciation of the male. Stephen set himself to examine the drawings more thoroughly.
In his intelligence work, Stephen had often gone through the papers and books of another, frequently without the permission, or even knowledge, of the owner. In these instances he worked carefully, with a sense of urgency, his hearing straining for the least indication of an approach. Here in the great cabin, very like his own home, Jack permitting the perusal of the journals, Stephen had lost his caution. Too late the notion struck that his friend might not rejoice in Stephen's discovery of this particular work among his possessions. Jack's footsteps had gone unnoticed (Stephen remained constantly amazed at how bulky a person could yet move so lightly). The door opened, Stephen looked up from a drawing augmented by a few hand-written words, Jack spoke with a cheerful smile: "There you are, Stephen! Did you find your journal?" but the end of the sentence trailed off and the smile faded as he saw what Stephen was viewing. Stephen, horribly embarrassed at being caught prying, yet reluctant as ever to admit any wrong-doing or display any emotion, merely closed the volume and said, "No, no such luck, I'm afraid." He placed the book in the locker and casually left the cabin through the open door.
Jack stood still, frozen and pale. He remembered vividly nearly all the drawings, especially those to which he had added a few words; could relate which page numbers had which positions. In each pairing, one man was larger and well-built, the other smaller and slim, almost like a boy. In his favorites, the slim man might be saying, "Oh yes, Jack!"; or the larger one, "I love you, Stephen." For Stephen to have learned of these innermost thoughts, and in such a way, was terrifying. He had heard the extra harshness in Stephen's grating voice, seen the stern set of his features, the glare in his eye. He felt a pit open in the base of his stomach; a pit so large he felt it could swallow him whole.
When Stephen did not appear that evening for their music nor supper, the fear grew again, now tightening around his chest so he that each drawn breath was painful. Jack had kept himself occupied that afternoon with discussions of the rigging, gunnery practice, even paperwork -- anything to keep from thoughts of his friend, of what Stephen might be thinking of him. He did not think Stephen would welcome an approach from him; he did not know what he would say in any case -- in such a situation what possible form could an apology take? After Killick had retired for the night, Jack retrieved the little book and fed its pages, one by one, into the flame of the lantern.
The next morning Jack sat at the breakfast table, staring blankly out the stern windows, trying to choke down some toast with his coffee. Breakfast had been on the table half a glass, the scent of fresh coffee permeating the aft of the ship for twice as long, but neither had brought forth Stephen. Jack put down the remains of his toast and was about to give up on breakfast altogether when the cabin door opened and Stephen walked in. Jack looked up, with half relief and half renewed terror. When he saw that Stephen looked more his usual self, amiably anticipating coffee, the relief won out and he managed a slight smile. "There you are, Stephen. Shall I pour you some coffee?"
"Yes, certainly, I thank you. My apologies for my lateness, and I see for once you have not taken the advantage to devour all in sight." Stephen smiled his pleasure that Jack had not made inroads on Stephen's rack of toast, nor finished the entire pot of coffee.
"Of course I have not!" said Jack. "What a fellow you are, Stephen. Here, let me help you to some of this fish - caught and fried up just this morning." The grip on Jack's stomach loosened enough to allow him to eat along with his friend and the meal passed in companionable silence.
Killick poured the last of the coffee into their cups and cleared away the dishes. Jack gazed out the stern window and sipped from his cup. Stephen looked down at his hands, fiddling with his cup and spoon and saucer, then finally spoke: "Yesterday, although I did not find the journal I was looking for, I did come across a very curious volume in your collection."
Jack felt his chest tightening again. Stephen seemed about to continue, but before he had collected his next words, Jack interrupted. "I burnt it," he said, his voice sounding harsh in his ears. Stephen looked his astonishment. Jack forced himself to meet his friend's pale eyes and continued, "I owe you a thousand apologies -- I am most ashamed -- "
"You should be," Stephen said, interrupting in turn. The black hollow empty pit inside Jack gaped wide again, despite the considerable breakfast just consumed. "Burning books, forsooth!" Stephen continued. "It is a crime against learning, for all love. Why would you do such a thing?"
"Why --? I thought -- Can we be speaking of the same book?" Jack demanded.
"I expect so," Stephen contemplated the morning sky, entirely devoid of birds, alas. "A thin octavo, consisting of drawings, for the most part. A cursory perusal showed them to be surprisingly accurate, anatomically. There was one, or two, that I had hoped to examine in more detail."
Jack's heart, from lurking some ways down his middle, now began beating to action in the vicinity of his ears. "You wished to look again at it?" he stammered.
"Yes," said Stephen, glancing at Jack, who was rising from his chair and moving towards him. "There was one on page six, I believe, or was it nine? that seemed particularly intriguing --"
Here he was cut off, interrupted again, for Jack's hands were holding him by his shoulders and his lips had seized Stephen's mouth. Stephen had foreseen a number of different paths this morning's conversation might take, yet somehow had not anticipated this particular outcome. However, Jack's enthusiastic ardor was infectious, and Stephen found himself returning the kiss with equal fervor. He moved his hands to cup the back of Jack's head, removing the ribbon that held his queue and running his fingers through his hair. Jack had slid his hands underneath Stephen's coat and pushed it off his shoulders and arms. He pulled Stephen off the chair until they were both kneeling on the checkered cloth covering the deck. Jack was amazed at his own state of arousal, coming so quickly after his state of near-despair: this -- really kissing Stephen -- was beyond anything he imagined. In Stephen's mouth he could taste the stale flavors from last night's tobacco, mingled with this morning's coffee. Every time he felt the rasp of Stephen's days-old beard another jolt ran through his body. His hands stayed busy, taking off Stephen's waistcoat, breeches, shoes. He tore his mouth from his friend's long enough to pull Stephen's shirt over his head, then laid him down. He wanted to kiss and caress all of Stephen -- still amazed that Stephen would even talk to him, let alone return his kisses; he was not confident he would ever have this opportunity again. He moved his hands and mouth down Stephen's neck and across his chest, tasting his sweat, the omnipresent salt, the essence of Stephen. He delighted in the gasps, the stuttering breaths his teasing tongue and fingers elicited. Leaving his hands caressing Stephen's nipples, he licked his way down his midriff, pausing at his navel to make wet circles around it then thrust his tongue inside. He was gratified by another great gasp and Stephen's hips arching up against him. He was happy to oblige his friend's obvious desire. Bringing his hands down to Stephen's hips, he licked around the soft sensitive skin and felt Stephen's prick against his face. Using a hand to help, he rubbed it gently against his own freshly-shaved cheek. This time a moan followed the gasp, and the hips continued thrusting. Jack turned his mouth to Stephen's prick, licking around and up its length, then finally taking all he could into his mouth.
Stephen was also taken much by surprise at the intensity of his response to Jack's caresses. He was almost beyond coherent thought. He thrilled to Jack's active initiative; astounded by his own relative passivity. He had let Jack disrobe him, place him where he would, touch him where he pleased. Now, feeling himself taken into Jack's warm generous mouth, he nearly lost control entirely. He grasped Jack's broad shoulders in a vain attempt to ground himself. Encountering broadcloth he realized that Jack was still fully clothed while he himself had not a stitch remaining. Of course he had often been unclothed around a dressed Jack, and the converse; but in this intimacy the contrast sent waves of heat coursing over him, in spite of the slight chill of the morning air. Stephen looked down at Jack working over him, each downward thrust of his head bringing more of his prick into that warm wetness. He moved Jack's long yellow hair aside so he could see his beloved face, watch his own prick moving in and out of Jack's mouth. This sight at last sent him over, beyond any desire for control.
Jack held him in his mouth while he thrust and spent, swallowing around him. The taste did not disturb him -- this was all Stephen. When the trembling calmed he carefully let him go, then moved up to lie down next to him, tucking his head into the crook of Stephen's neck and laying a beefy arm across his chest to cup one bony shoulder in his own large hand. As Stephen's head ceased its meanderings of the upper layers of atmosphere and his consciousness returned to the present, he noticed an uncomfortable squirming in Jack's lower body. "I have been remiss in my duties, I find," he said, turning towards Jack.
"No - never any obligation - you do not - " Jack began, but Stephen was already nuzzling his neck and his fingers had worked open Jack's breeches. Jack groaned, relief and pleasure flooding through him at Stephen's firm caress. As he moved his hips into that wonderful clever hand, he was momentarily distracted by a high soft keening sound, like a new note in the wind-song of the rigging. But then he discovered it was coming from his own throat, and he tried to stifle it, or at least turn it into something a little more dignified. Just then Stephen's mouth found that tender place where his ear used to be, alternately licking and blowing warm air across it, and thoughts of any kind ceased to concern Jack. When Stephen's mouth gently engulfed the remains of his ear, and his teeth lightly nipped it, Jack came at once, hips thrusting up, arms bringing Stephen tight to him.
Stephen remained still, lying on his side with one hand held gentle and still over Jack's softening sensitive member. When Jack had his breath under something like control he said, "Thank you, my love."
"Sure it was my pleasure," chuckled Stephen. Indeed it was. Rare was the lover who gave so whole-heartedly, generously, completely unselfconscious. And Jack experienced his own pleasure with the same open honest expression. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all, dear soul."
While Stephen looked for his tobacco and tinder-box among the pile of discarded clothes, Jack attempted to arrange himself. He soon realized he would have to change again entirely, so gave it up and remained where he was. His heart still pounding and hands trembling, he did not trust himself to stand. Stephen lit his cheroot and lay back down next to him, still naked. After some moments of tobacco smoke wafting into his nose, Jack reached out his hand to ask for a puff himself. Stephen smiled, and himself placed the cheroot to Jack's mouth. He kept his fingers pressed against Jack's lips while he inhaled deeply.
"It is the pity of the world that you destroyed that work," said Stephen. Jack coughed spasmodically. "Was our recent ... engagement depicted in it?"
"Yes," said Jack, bright red and speaking through his coughs, "page nine. And three," he added, becoming brighter still.
"Ah," said Stephen. "Perhaps then it was page sixteen I was thinking of. Not that I have the least objection to the demonstration provided, you understand. Would you like another puff?" he asked, offering the cheroot again.
"Yes, if you please," said Jack in a strangled voice, picturing page sixteen. Again the heady combination of the smoke in his mouth and Stephen's fingers pressed to his lips. Jack's heart took to thumping wildly about his chest, like a wild bird in a cage.
"Perhaps another copy could be obtained," pursued Stephen. "Will you tell me now how you came by yours?"
"Oh," said Jack, "it was the damnedest thing. I was in a bookseller's, looking for a Christmas present for... well, for you. I was dissatisfied with what I saw, and I pestered the clerk for something special, in the philosophical line. He brought out one or two books, but I didn't care for them either. Finally he gave me this knowing leer and came back with -- well, you know. I almost thrust it back at him, horrified, but I was so embarrassed, and I had been pestering him so, that I just paid him what he asked for it and left in a hurry."
Stephen smiled again, easily imagining the scene, and the ensuing ones of Jack looking into his new possession with fascinated horror: brief glimpses at first, then put away, only to be irresistibly drawn back to it again. The cheroot finished, he leaned into Jack and gave him a leisurely kiss. "I must make my rounds, joy. Will we have music this evening?"
"Yes, with all my heart," said Jack, attempting to rise himself. Stephen gathered his clothes and drawing a few of them on he left for his cabin. As Jacked made his unsteady way to his own, he meditated on a witticism that involved learning "by the book", or "by the numbers". It had not quite come to him, but he felt sure it would by this evening. Soon strains of "Deh vieni" in a pleasant bass voice filled the cabin.
Pairing: Jack/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
I have no excuse for this bit of cracky smut, and I particularly apologize for the lame title.
*runs and hides*
Transactions
"My dear, would you have the Society's Transactions from last year, at all?"
Jack looked blank for a minute. "I have no idea. If I do, it would be in the locker there with my other books," he said.
Stephen moved towards the locker. "Sure I brought my copy with me; I intend to write a conclusive rebuttal to Mellowes, the charlatan. Yet I have gone through and through my cabin; it has vanished."
Jack hid his smile as he turned back to finish his letter. More remarkable was anything found in the disordered litter of Stephen's cabin. He finished the letter and said, "If you will excuse me, I am engaged to the bosun to determine if the fore topgallant pole can be stepped abaft the fore topmast. You will join me for music this evening?"
Stephen nodded absently, intent on his search through the locker. The books and journals must have been swept in there in a hurry during a clearing for action; he knew how Jack prized neatness and order above all other virtues (except possibly punctuality), yet here all were laid jumbled together. As he pulled them out, he sorted books to one side, journals and monographs to another. Among the latter group he found a few surprises, including his own monograph on phanerogams, written before he met Jack, and a curious slim volume with a cover entirely blank. He examined carefully each issue of the Transactions he found, but none was the one he needed. When the locker was completely emptied, he gave a great sigh, then started placing the items back carefully, this time in a semblance of order. When he came to the small one with the blank cover, he set it aside until the others had been put -- stowed away. Turning back to the curiosity, he flipped it open randomly. From the first glance he realized why the cover was untitled. He turned to a few more pages at random -- the work was similar throughout. He had not thought Jack the type to have possession of such a work; yet he was neither shocked nor entirely surprised. One aspect was surprising, however; as he continued to leaf through the pages, it occurred to him that all the depictions were of men: two men together. He glanced all through the slim volume; yes, entirely men, not a female form to be seen. Here was a mystery indeed: Jack had great enthusiasm for the female form, but Stephen had never seen evidence of even the mildest appreciation of the male. Stephen set himself to examine the drawings more thoroughly.
In his intelligence work, Stephen had often gone through the papers and books of another, frequently without the permission, or even knowledge, of the owner. In these instances he worked carefully, with a sense of urgency, his hearing straining for the least indication of an approach. Here in the great cabin, very like his own home, Jack permitting the perusal of the journals, Stephen had lost his caution. Too late the notion struck that his friend might not rejoice in Stephen's discovery of this particular work among his possessions. Jack's footsteps had gone unnoticed (Stephen remained constantly amazed at how bulky a person could yet move so lightly). The door opened, Stephen looked up from a drawing augmented by a few hand-written words, Jack spoke with a cheerful smile: "There you are, Stephen! Did you find your journal?" but the end of the sentence trailed off and the smile faded as he saw what Stephen was viewing. Stephen, horribly embarrassed at being caught prying, yet reluctant as ever to admit any wrong-doing or display any emotion, merely closed the volume and said, "No, no such luck, I'm afraid." He placed the book in the locker and casually left the cabin through the open door.
Jack stood still, frozen and pale. He remembered vividly nearly all the drawings, especially those to which he had added a few words; could relate which page numbers had which positions. In each pairing, one man was larger and well-built, the other smaller and slim, almost like a boy. In his favorites, the slim man might be saying, "Oh yes, Jack!"; or the larger one, "I love you, Stephen." For Stephen to have learned of these innermost thoughts, and in such a way, was terrifying. He had heard the extra harshness in Stephen's grating voice, seen the stern set of his features, the glare in his eye. He felt a pit open in the base of his stomach; a pit so large he felt it could swallow him whole.
When Stephen did not appear that evening for their music nor supper, the fear grew again, now tightening around his chest so he that each drawn breath was painful. Jack had kept himself occupied that afternoon with discussions of the rigging, gunnery practice, even paperwork -- anything to keep from thoughts of his friend, of what Stephen might be thinking of him. He did not think Stephen would welcome an approach from him; he did not know what he would say in any case -- in such a situation what possible form could an apology take? After Killick had retired for the night, Jack retrieved the little book and fed its pages, one by one, into the flame of the lantern.
The next morning Jack sat at the breakfast table, staring blankly out the stern windows, trying to choke down some toast with his coffee. Breakfast had been on the table half a glass, the scent of fresh coffee permeating the aft of the ship for twice as long, but neither had brought forth Stephen. Jack put down the remains of his toast and was about to give up on breakfast altogether when the cabin door opened and Stephen walked in. Jack looked up, with half relief and half renewed terror. When he saw that Stephen looked more his usual self, amiably anticipating coffee, the relief won out and he managed a slight smile. "There you are, Stephen. Shall I pour you some coffee?"
"Yes, certainly, I thank you. My apologies for my lateness, and I see for once you have not taken the advantage to devour all in sight." Stephen smiled his pleasure that Jack had not made inroads on Stephen's rack of toast, nor finished the entire pot of coffee.
"Of course I have not!" said Jack. "What a fellow you are, Stephen. Here, let me help you to some of this fish - caught and fried up just this morning." The grip on Jack's stomach loosened enough to allow him to eat along with his friend and the meal passed in companionable silence.
Killick poured the last of the coffee into their cups and cleared away the dishes. Jack gazed out the stern window and sipped from his cup. Stephen looked down at his hands, fiddling with his cup and spoon and saucer, then finally spoke: "Yesterday, although I did not find the journal I was looking for, I did come across a very curious volume in your collection."
Jack felt his chest tightening again. Stephen seemed about to continue, but before he had collected his next words, Jack interrupted. "I burnt it," he said, his voice sounding harsh in his ears. Stephen looked his astonishment. Jack forced himself to meet his friend's pale eyes and continued, "I owe you a thousand apologies -- I am most ashamed -- "
"You should be," Stephen said, interrupting in turn. The black hollow empty pit inside Jack gaped wide again, despite the considerable breakfast just consumed. "Burning books, forsooth!" Stephen continued. "It is a crime against learning, for all love. Why would you do such a thing?"
"Why --? I thought -- Can we be speaking of the same book?" Jack demanded.
"I expect so," Stephen contemplated the morning sky, entirely devoid of birds, alas. "A thin octavo, consisting of drawings, for the most part. A cursory perusal showed them to be surprisingly accurate, anatomically. There was one, or two, that I had hoped to examine in more detail."
Jack's heart, from lurking some ways down his middle, now began beating to action in the vicinity of his ears. "You wished to look again at it?" he stammered.
"Yes," said Stephen, glancing at Jack, who was rising from his chair and moving towards him. "There was one on page six, I believe, or was it nine? that seemed particularly intriguing --"
Here he was cut off, interrupted again, for Jack's hands were holding him by his shoulders and his lips had seized Stephen's mouth. Stephen had foreseen a number of different paths this morning's conversation might take, yet somehow had not anticipated this particular outcome. However, Jack's enthusiastic ardor was infectious, and Stephen found himself returning the kiss with equal fervor. He moved his hands to cup the back of Jack's head, removing the ribbon that held his queue and running his fingers through his hair. Jack had slid his hands underneath Stephen's coat and pushed it off his shoulders and arms. He pulled Stephen off the chair until they were both kneeling on the checkered cloth covering the deck. Jack was amazed at his own state of arousal, coming so quickly after his state of near-despair: this -- really kissing Stephen -- was beyond anything he imagined. In Stephen's mouth he could taste the stale flavors from last night's tobacco, mingled with this morning's coffee. Every time he felt the rasp of Stephen's days-old beard another jolt ran through his body. His hands stayed busy, taking off Stephen's waistcoat, breeches, shoes. He tore his mouth from his friend's long enough to pull Stephen's shirt over his head, then laid him down. He wanted to kiss and caress all of Stephen -- still amazed that Stephen would even talk to him, let alone return his kisses; he was not confident he would ever have this opportunity again. He moved his hands and mouth down Stephen's neck and across his chest, tasting his sweat, the omnipresent salt, the essence of Stephen. He delighted in the gasps, the stuttering breaths his teasing tongue and fingers elicited. Leaving his hands caressing Stephen's nipples, he licked his way down his midriff, pausing at his navel to make wet circles around it then thrust his tongue inside. He was gratified by another great gasp and Stephen's hips arching up against him. He was happy to oblige his friend's obvious desire. Bringing his hands down to Stephen's hips, he licked around the soft sensitive skin and felt Stephen's prick against his face. Using a hand to help, he rubbed it gently against his own freshly-shaved cheek. This time a moan followed the gasp, and the hips continued thrusting. Jack turned his mouth to Stephen's prick, licking around and up its length, then finally taking all he could into his mouth.
Stephen was also taken much by surprise at the intensity of his response to Jack's caresses. He was almost beyond coherent thought. He thrilled to Jack's active initiative; astounded by his own relative passivity. He had let Jack disrobe him, place him where he would, touch him where he pleased. Now, feeling himself taken into Jack's warm generous mouth, he nearly lost control entirely. He grasped Jack's broad shoulders in a vain attempt to ground himself. Encountering broadcloth he realized that Jack was still fully clothed while he himself had not a stitch remaining. Of course he had often been unclothed around a dressed Jack, and the converse; but in this intimacy the contrast sent waves of heat coursing over him, in spite of the slight chill of the morning air. Stephen looked down at Jack working over him, each downward thrust of his head bringing more of his prick into that warm wetness. He moved Jack's long yellow hair aside so he could see his beloved face, watch his own prick moving in and out of Jack's mouth. This sight at last sent him over, beyond any desire for control.
Jack held him in his mouth while he thrust and spent, swallowing around him. The taste did not disturb him -- this was all Stephen. When the trembling calmed he carefully let him go, then moved up to lie down next to him, tucking his head into the crook of Stephen's neck and laying a beefy arm across his chest to cup one bony shoulder in his own large hand. As Stephen's head ceased its meanderings of the upper layers of atmosphere and his consciousness returned to the present, he noticed an uncomfortable squirming in Jack's lower body. "I have been remiss in my duties, I find," he said, turning towards Jack.
"No - never any obligation - you do not - " Jack began, but Stephen was already nuzzling his neck and his fingers had worked open Jack's breeches. Jack groaned, relief and pleasure flooding through him at Stephen's firm caress. As he moved his hips into that wonderful clever hand, he was momentarily distracted by a high soft keening sound, like a new note in the wind-song of the rigging. But then he discovered it was coming from his own throat, and he tried to stifle it, or at least turn it into something a little more dignified. Just then Stephen's mouth found that tender place where his ear used to be, alternately licking and blowing warm air across it, and thoughts of any kind ceased to concern Jack. When Stephen's mouth gently engulfed the remains of his ear, and his teeth lightly nipped it, Jack came at once, hips thrusting up, arms bringing Stephen tight to him.
Stephen remained still, lying on his side with one hand held gentle and still over Jack's softening sensitive member. When Jack had his breath under something like control he said, "Thank you, my love."
"Sure it was my pleasure," chuckled Stephen. Indeed it was. Rare was the lover who gave so whole-heartedly, generously, completely unselfconscious. And Jack experienced his own pleasure with the same open honest expression. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all, dear soul."
While Stephen looked for his tobacco and tinder-box among the pile of discarded clothes, Jack attempted to arrange himself. He soon realized he would have to change again entirely, so gave it up and remained where he was. His heart still pounding and hands trembling, he did not trust himself to stand. Stephen lit his cheroot and lay back down next to him, still naked. After some moments of tobacco smoke wafting into his nose, Jack reached out his hand to ask for a puff himself. Stephen smiled, and himself placed the cheroot to Jack's mouth. He kept his fingers pressed against Jack's lips while he inhaled deeply.
"It is the pity of the world that you destroyed that work," said Stephen. Jack coughed spasmodically. "Was our recent ... engagement depicted in it?"
"Yes," said Jack, bright red and speaking through his coughs, "page nine. And three," he added, becoming brighter still.
"Ah," said Stephen. "Perhaps then it was page sixteen I was thinking of. Not that I have the least objection to the demonstration provided, you understand. Would you like another puff?" he asked, offering the cheroot again.
"Yes, if you please," said Jack in a strangled voice, picturing page sixteen. Again the heady combination of the smoke in his mouth and Stephen's fingers pressed to his lips. Jack's heart took to thumping wildly about his chest, like a wild bird in a cage.
"Perhaps another copy could be obtained," pursued Stephen. "Will you tell me now how you came by yours?"
"Oh," said Jack, "it was the damnedest thing. I was in a bookseller's, looking for a Christmas present for... well, for you. I was dissatisfied with what I saw, and I pestered the clerk for something special, in the philosophical line. He brought out one or two books, but I didn't care for them either. Finally he gave me this knowing leer and came back with -- well, you know. I almost thrust it back at him, horrified, but I was so embarrassed, and I had been pestering him so, that I just paid him what he asked for it and left in a hurry."
Stephen smiled again, easily imagining the scene, and the ensuing ones of Jack looking into his new possession with fascinated horror: brief glimpses at first, then put away, only to be irresistibly drawn back to it again. The cheroot finished, he leaned into Jack and gave him a leisurely kiss. "I must make my rounds, joy. Will we have music this evening?"
"Yes, with all my heart," said Jack, attempting to rise himself. Stephen gathered his clothes and drawing a few of them on he left for his cabin. As Jacked made his unsteady way to his own, he meditated on a witticism that involved learning "by the book", or "by the numbers". It had not quite come to him, but he felt sure it would by this evening. Soon strains of "Deh vieni" in a pleasant bass voice filled the cabin.