DVD Commentary for The Licentious Lord
Title: The Licentious Lord
Author: Pouncer
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Slash, AU, Regency Romance
Summary: But of late Lord John had grown tired of the lithe boys and girls paraded in front of the roués of London, and the object of his regard promised a challenge.
As originally posted to SGA Flashfic
The Licentious Lord
by Pouncer
Danvers wanted more DVD commentaries. And when I said I'd do one for the story of her choice, she picked this one.
The Licentious Lord was written for the Harlequin Challenge on SGA Flashfic. I was inspired by one section of chopchica’s Kiss me, you fool!. Specifically, the bolded line below:
The One Where Gunslinger John Meets Raised By Indians Rodney (also known as talks-with-big-mouth):
John: I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…
Rodney: What is that horrendous noise? *sees John* How, white man! Do not point your firestick at me!
John: You’re white!
Rodney: Not inside where it counts. Inside, I have the strength of a bear, the heart of a lion -
John: And the mouth of a hyena.
Rodney: Nobody understands how hard it is being torn between two cultures.
John: Have I mentioned that I’m secretly an English nobleman?
Rodney: *jumps him*
John as an English nobleman. I was entranced. And I wanted to write porn. Historical porn. My first thought was that I'd style it on the novels of Robin Schone, who writes erotic novels set in the Victorian era. And then I realized I knew very little about the Victorian era, while I'd read hundreds of Regency romances plus the entire Horatio Hornblower oeuvre. So an erotic Regency romance. Okay, then.
Chapter One
Because the story is obviously not a complete romance novel. But it could make a good opening chapter.
The shadowy figure lurking in the back of the drawing room caught Lord John Sheppard’s eye. He leaned over to his companion and murmured, “What do you think of that one, Stackhouse?”
Sir Winston Stackhouse, recently honored for his efforts in the Peninsula, and still pale from a wound he suffered battling Napoleon’s forces, turned his pensive gaze onto the servant collecting empty goblets from the privileged patrons of Madame de l’Amour’s brothel. “He looks a bit ripe, don’t you think, Lord John?”
Stackhouse and Lord John served together for a time, although Lord John left the army before Stackhouse was wounded. The injury was grave, and Stackhouse has taken a long, long time to recover. He’s only recently begun to venture out into society again and was grateful that his old friend was around to accompany him of an evening.
Sheppard was forced to admit to himself that the man, who at that very moment almost dropped his silver salver, only recovering it at the last second before the glassware would have shattered, was rather more fleshy than his usual taste, not to mention clumsy. But of late Lord John had grown tired of the lithe boys and girls paraded in front of the roués of London, and the object of his regard promised a challenge. Servants weren’t normally sold to the patrons of the establishment for an evening’s sport, but Lord John’s habit of tossing guineas about until the sun broke over the stews of London granted him leeway in his choice of bed partners. A quick conversation with Madame ensured that the caramel-haired server would be delivered to his chamber with a bottle of the finest smuggled French vintage Madame (who was really the notorious Kate Heightmeyer, fallen woman of Brighton, although Lord John was one of three alive in England who knew it) could muster.
The line about Heightmeyer being the “fallen woman of Brighton” was suggested by Lalejandra and was too good not to use. And obviously, John and Rodney are MEANT TO BE, because Rodney wasn’t looking too good, especially compared to the beauty of the whores, but John found him entrancing nonetheless. Historical accuracy be damned - here, the wealthy can buy whatever it takes to sate their desires.
* * *
“Why, oh why, did I let Radek talk me into this?” Rodney McKay muttered under his breath as he carried a decanter of overpriced wine to one of the rakes who plagued his new existence.
Rodney doesn’t think too highly of the dilettantes who frequent the brothel. And instead of serving these spoiled brats, he’d far rather be in his lab, trying to determine the fundamental building blocks of the universe.
In the early 1800s, this meant isolating elements. John Dalton proposed (in 1808) that each element had its own unique atom, and that each compound is formed by a certain combination of atoms. Rodney has been trying to advance Dalton’s theories, and also champions the work of an obscure, discredited Italian scientist named Amedeo Avogadro (6.02 x 1023).
“But Rodney,” Radek had chirped from his perch on the lab bench a month ago, “this way you’ll have funds to continue your experiments! And my sister assures me that the,” Radek had coughed here, “ladies and young gentlemen of the house are well treated.” Rodney supposed that was true; he hadn’t seen any overt signs of abuse, unlike the time his sister Jeannie had taken a position with one of the gentry as a parlormaid. She’d found herself bedded, with child, and sacked within three months after the younger son of the house was sent down from Oxford.
Radek Zelenka emigrated from Bohemia after an encounter with a jealous husband made staying impossible. His sister works as a cook at Madame de l’Amour’s.
After a confinement in Rodney’s London rooms, she was back in their home village of Winchester, raising the child as a foundling. And Rodney’s carefully hoarded cache of coins slid away from his chemical experimentations and toward his family. He had to make up the difference somehow, and a position as a brothel servant at least let him sleep all day. Madame catered to all types of vices, but she protected her staff from the advances of the clientele, and she paid well.
The tray wavered in his hands. Blast his clumsiness! If only he’d paid attention when his father tried to encourage his bookish son to leave the schoolroom. But no, he’d been too enamored of arcane formulae and the marvels of scientific discovery to learn how to carry anything with grace. At last, the lord’s door was before him. Madame had warned Rodney to act with extreme courtesy towards this one; evidently he was one of her favorites.
Rodney’s more than a little bit insecure in his second job. He’s totally out of place as a servant, but there’s no other way for him to earn a living. And Lord John helped Madame out of quite a jam, back in the day, so he gets what he wants. So long as he pays enough money.
Rodney knocked softly, and struggled to open the door without spilling the wine. The room was lit by candles and the flickering waver of the fireplace illuminated flocked wallpaper and a heavily draped bed. The lord’s long legs sprawled out from a chair set next to the fireplace. He leaned indolently back into the support of the chair, black hair mussed and cravat untied. His tall riding boots rested a safe distance away from the fire, and his snowy white linen gleamed from the flames. A table was next to him, and Rodney moved over to deposit the tray, trying to move smoothly, but knowing that he lumbered like a plow horse instead because of his nervousness. He could feel the lord’s eyes watching him, and bobbed a little bow once the wine rested safely on the table. “Is there anything else you need, my lord?”
“You.” The drawled word somehow managed to imply the darkest and most sinful needs Rodney could imagine. And as he lifted his eyes from the polished wood of the table to meet the lambent green gaze of the lord sprawled in front of him, Rodney knew that this had been a very bad idea.
Rodney hasn’t had a lot of sexual experience (all that time in the schoolroom) and hadn’t realized that desire could feel as exciting as the rush of scientific discovery. Lord John is the most attractive man (or woman, for that matter) that Rodney has ever seen, and he feels a flutter in his belly that he can’t name at Lord John’s manner.
* * *
The server looked rather like a fox Sheppard had tracked during his last hunt at the Duke of Caldwell’s estate: startled and fearful. Sheppard came to his feet and stepped close to the man, reaching up to draw his fingers down the line of the man’s chin. “What’s your name?” he murmured.
The Duke of Caldwell is not a friend of Sheppard’s family. He wants to get his hands on their vulnerable estates, and also has a disturbing way of eyeing Lord John up and down. His Grace admires Lord John’s riding breeches a bit too much for comfort, but he’s too powerful to allow open hostilities to arise.
Bright blue eyes met him, pupils huge in the dim firelight. “Rodney.”
Rodney looked like he wanted to stammer onwards, some objection no doubt, but Sheppard had confidence that his skill would quash any trepidation. One hand burrowed into the hair behind Rodney’s ear, and the other tilted Rodney’s head to the perfect angle. His mouth was sweet and tasted of mint when Sheppard pushed his tongue past the barrier of Rodney’s lips. Rodney was stiff against Sheppard, startled like few Sheppard had played with since he relinquished his commission and returned to England.
There was plenty of playing in the Army as well.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be well paid.”
In Sheppard’s experience, the fortune his bride had provided upon their nuptials was more useful than her bluestocking impulses. Let Elizabeth crusade for the underclasses, so long as Sheppard could wile away the long night with pleasure.
Elizabeth only married because social rules said she had to, and chose John because she realized he’d let her do whatever the hell she wanted. He pursued her because she’s rich, but also because he prefers smart women to the simpering debutantes the ton normally offers up at Almack’s. And he realized she wouldn’t care if he spent vast sums on his pleasure. The Weir estates are substantial enough that even John’s father’s incompetence and gambling debts could be wiped away with the match.
The bed beckoned, thick linens Sheppard swept back with one arm while pulling Rodney toward his surrender. He looked, again, like he wanted to object, but Sheppard’s hands were just as deft with buttons and fastenings as they’d been with his charger’s tack. Rodney’s torso was deceptively thick hidden under his shirt. Unclothed, his arms were delightfully muscled and his chest defined. Sheppard kissed him harder, and finally felt the first yielding as passion crept over the formerly reluctant.
John loves to ride horses almost more than anything in the world - the rush of mounted combat fed his adrenaline junkie ways and he’s been jonesing ever since he returned to London. He never should have been forced to leave the army.
Divested of his own shirt, Sheppard held himself above Rodney, tracing the bumps of his ribs with light pressure. Rodney gasped, his hands clenching in the bed linen, and Sheppard knew he had him. A knee between Rodney’s legs sufficed to open them for Sheppard’s body. He groaned when their cocks met, delightful friction exploding darts of fire throughout his belly. Sheppard set a slow rhythm, rubbing up and down while discovering the spots that made Rodney shiver and gasp. There were many of them, enough that Sheppard lost himself in the increasing urgency of Rodney’s breath, the thrill of turning this man to putty beneath his hands.
Time to get them both naked. Rodney was too far gone to object, only moaned as Sheppard traced the inside of his thighs, planted kiss after kiss on the hollows of his knees. Rodney’s cock looked as gorgeous as it felt, big and hard, and Sheppard smiled a tight grin at how intensely he was going to make this man come. Not yet, though. Oh no, first Sheppard would breach the taut pucker revealed when Rodney’s feet slid up the bed toward his hips. Sheppard encouraged that vulnerability, caressed and tickled the crease between thigh and groin, the places where sweat had begun to drip down, and reveled in the way Rodney’s hips rocked upwards, seeking more. Sheppard was only too happy to oblige, turning Rodney over onto his belly, stroking the long muscles of his back and seeking out more spots that would make Rodney tremble. And tremble he did, even when Sheppard’s hands steadily pushed Rodney’s legs open. A delectable handful of heart-shaped ass led to the rosy flower surrounding the entrance to Rodney’s body.
Sheppard moaned himself at the sight, and reached over to the bedside table for the pot of grease left there for his convenience. Rodney tried to push himself up, started to object, and Sheppard blanketed his back, kissed his way up Rodney’s neck to the thin skin beneath his ear. A deliberate bite, gentle but with intent, was enough to make Rodney collapse underneath Sheppard. Rodney’s warm bulk was more intoxicating than wine, and Sheppard nuzzled like a cat to increase his pleasure.
Sheppard wouldn’t have let Rodney’s objections override his intentions, although if Rodney had really struggled John wouldn’t have forced him. John’s good enough in bed that he’s never had to deal with real protests, just momentary panic that can be soothed away by the right kind of attention to sensitive spots.
Now that Rodney was relaxed again, Sheppard slid his hand down Rodney’s backbone to the inviting crease. Sheppard’s fingers were slick, and he teased Rodney’s opening for long moments, listening to his breathing quicken and stutter before he pressed inwards. One finger slid into the tight, dark place and Rodney froze, a harsh inhale signaling his shock.
Nobody had ever done that to Rodney before. Nobody had ever made him feel this good. He’s spent his life trying to deny his body in favor of his intellect, and here this stranger is creating the most intense pleasure Rodney has ever known. It’s a revelation.
“Shhhh,” Sheppard soothed. “Relax. You’ll love this.” He rained kisses down on Rodney’s shoulders, his other arm wrapped around Rodney’s damp chest to support and restrain. Sheppard began a gentle movement in and out, circling and searching for the spot that would make Rodney want this again and again. Soon enough, he found it, and reveled in the jerk and groan, the way Rodney’s hips pressed upwards, seeking more. Sheppard was happy to give it to him, sliding in a second finger and increasing his tempo. Sheppard’s hips matched the movement, his cock rubbing against Rodney’s thigh and luxuriating in the tightening spiral at the base of his spine. Rodney buried his face in the goose down pillow, turning it from side to side frantically. He was close.
Sheppard slicked up his cock and moved into position. More kisses on the back of Rodney’s neck, nips and bites to up the sensation while Sheppard pressed inside. Rodney was hot and tight and perfect, and Sheppard had to force himself to attend to Rodney’s reaction to this invasion. Rodney shuddered and tensed, moaning while sweat dripped from his temple. Sheppard held himself still with effort; the clench and heat incited an urge to move fast and frantically. Soon enough, Rodney eased back down onto the bed, and Sheppard began his plunge to oblivion. In and in and in, the almost endless glide of cock opening Rodney up for Sheppard’s pleasure. He would wager anything that he was the first to take Rodney this way, maybe the first to have Rodney at all, and ardor grew in his chest at the way Rodney whined when Sheppard rediscovered the perfect angle. God, he was a treasure. Sheppard wrapped his arms underneath Rodney’s armpits to get better leverage, braced his feet, and lowered his head to the back of Rodney’s neck. Drops of sweat stung his eyes, but Sheppard didn’t want to close them, wanted to remember every instant of this even as the unrestrained jerk of his hips drove him closer and closer to the edge.
It was Rodney’s fall that triggered Sheppard’s own, the choked off groan and shudder of the body beneath his own, the grip of his ass, the scent of his climax filling the room. Sheppard thrust over and over and over, long last seconds of glory before the world exploded into insensibility.
John is more than a little bit surprised that he felt so much with this plaything, a man who should have provided only sport and diversion for a single night. Rodney’s unstudied and honest responses pique John’s interest, and the remainder of their night is spent in a variety of outré sexual positions and antics. John hasn’t been this intrigued since he was planning his last battle, trying to outthink the blasted French, lost in the high that is strategy and tactics.
* * *
The sun had risen over St. Paul’s dome before Rodney left Madame de l’Amour’s, golden guineas secreted in his pocket. The ache in his body would not let him forget Lord John’s hunger for him, the way they had rested entangled in each other’s arms, legs twined and incapable of determining where one ended and the other began, only to start again with small kisses and gentle strokes. Rodney had never experienced a night like this, one of peak after peak, interlevened with sips of fine wine to bolster their strength. He walked to his cheap rooms in a daze, wondering if Lord John would keep his whispered promise, to return that very night for a repeat engagement.
John does keep his promise, and then there’s trouble with the brothel servants, who become jealous that the newest, clumsy one is getting paid all this money when he shouldn’t even be allowed into the bedchamber. They’re also sulky that Lord John isn’t spreading his attentions among the rest of the staff. They know an evening with him means pleasure instead of boredom or unpleasantness.
Once the trouble simmers for a while, it boils over into conflict, and Rodney is sacked. At which point Lord John has to hunt him down (having become more involved than he realized), and sees an entirely different side of Rodney - his lover under the spell of scientific discovery. And John realizes that Rodney has far more to offer than bedsport.
* * *
Lady Elizabeth was breaking her fast when Sheppard returned to their house in St. James Square. Ford, Sheppard’s dependable butler, opened the door for his master himself, informing him of milady’s whereabouts. Sheppard darted up the stairs to his rooms, ringing for Markham, who had served as his batman before the death of Sheppard’s elder brother had made a career in the army an impossibility. A quick wash and change, with Markham’s hands arranging his cravat into the latest style dictated by Brummel, and Sheppard descended to the morning room.
His wife’s dark head was bent over her needlework, and she looked up at his entrance. Her gaze was cool as ever as she greeted him. “Lord John. What a delight to be graced with your presence.” Her voice drawled the words with an underlying air of insouciance, the confidence of a woman who had never known hardship or want.
Sheppard sometimes wondered if her campaign to improve the lives of the wretched arose from guilt. However, so long as she didn’t cause a scandal, and made herself available for his intermittent quest to sire an heir, Sheppard cared not how she occupied her time. He had his estates to manage, now that the Weir fortune had repaired the worst of his father’s depredations--the crops had been record-breaking the past two years, and revenues continued to rise. And surely Elizabeth cared not for how he occupied his own time, so long as he continued to provide for her in the style to which she was accustomed, and kept his nose out of her never-ending attempts to convince the peerage to care about the poor.
Elizabeth hears rumors of her husband’s latest paramour, and has seen enough in her time amidst the lower classes to suspect that he’s taking advantage of some innocent. Soon enough, she learns otherwise. She isn’t especially shocked by John’s preference for men, and she gets to know Rodney’s Bohemian friend Radek, who admires Elizabeth’s zeal.
Ford glided into the room holding the post on a silver tray. Sheppard sighed, and turned his attention to social obligations and business. Every so often, though, his lips quirked upwards at the thought of the upcoming night.
After weeks of pain and anguish, attempts by the Duke of Caldwell to ruin Lord John’s reputation, and the involvement of almost every single one of John and Rodney’s friends, they overcome all odds and find a way to be together. John and Elizabeth remain married, but she resides in London and spends a lot of time with Radek, crusading for social justice. John and Rodney retreat to the countryside, and John sets up a lab that has everything an aspiring chemist could want to test his hypotheses. John rides his horses about the estate, and Rodney manages not to blow up his lab, they have scorching hot sex every night, and live happily ever after.
Chapter Two
. . .
This story exemplifies why I don’t post works-in-progress: once something is up, I lose the incentive to keep working at it. I had intentions of continuing this, but soon enough other stories took over my imagination and I can’t recapture the thread of the story. Although the thought of writing an entire novel is daunting; short stories suits me better than lengthy ones. I hope you enjoyed this. I certainly had enormous fun writing the story, even if I was kind of scared at how easy it was to adopt this style. Purple prose forever!
Author: Pouncer
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Slash, AU, Regency Romance
Summary: But of late Lord John had grown tired of the lithe boys and girls paraded in front of the roués of London, and the object of his regard promised a challenge.
As originally posted to SGA Flashfic
The Licentious Lord
by Pouncer
Danvers wanted more DVD commentaries. And when I said I'd do one for the story of her choice, she picked this one.
The Licentious Lord was written for the Harlequin Challenge on SGA Flashfic. I was inspired by one section of chopchica’s Kiss me, you fool!. Specifically, the bolded line below:
The One Where Gunslinger John Meets Raised By Indians Rodney (also known as talks-with-big-mouth):
John: I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…
Rodney: What is that horrendous noise? *sees John* How, white man! Do not point your firestick at me!
John: You’re white!
Rodney: Not inside where it counts. Inside, I have the strength of a bear, the heart of a lion -
John: And the mouth of a hyena.
Rodney: Nobody understands how hard it is being torn between two cultures.
John: Have I mentioned that I’m secretly an English nobleman?
Rodney: *jumps him*
John as an English nobleman. I was entranced. And I wanted to write porn. Historical porn. My first thought was that I'd style it on the novels of Robin Schone, who writes erotic novels set in the Victorian era. And then I realized I knew very little about the Victorian era, while I'd read hundreds of Regency romances plus the entire Horatio Hornblower oeuvre. So an erotic Regency romance. Okay, then.
Chapter One
Because the story is obviously not a complete romance novel. But it could make a good opening chapter.
The shadowy figure lurking in the back of the drawing room caught Lord John Sheppard’s eye. He leaned over to his companion and murmured, “What do you think of that one, Stackhouse?”
Sir Winston Stackhouse, recently honored for his efforts in the Peninsula, and still pale from a wound he suffered battling Napoleon’s forces, turned his pensive gaze onto the servant collecting empty goblets from the privileged patrons of Madame de l’Amour’s brothel. “He looks a bit ripe, don’t you think, Lord John?”
Stackhouse and Lord John served together for a time, although Lord John left the army before Stackhouse was wounded. The injury was grave, and Stackhouse has taken a long, long time to recover. He’s only recently begun to venture out into society again and was grateful that his old friend was around to accompany him of an evening.
Sheppard was forced to admit to himself that the man, who at that very moment almost dropped his silver salver, only recovering it at the last second before the glassware would have shattered, was rather more fleshy than his usual taste, not to mention clumsy. But of late Lord John had grown tired of the lithe boys and girls paraded in front of the roués of London, and the object of his regard promised a challenge. Servants weren’t normally sold to the patrons of the establishment for an evening’s sport, but Lord John’s habit of tossing guineas about until the sun broke over the stews of London granted him leeway in his choice of bed partners. A quick conversation with Madame ensured that the caramel-haired server would be delivered to his chamber with a bottle of the finest smuggled French vintage Madame (who was really the notorious Kate Heightmeyer, fallen woman of Brighton, although Lord John was one of three alive in England who knew it) could muster.
The line about Heightmeyer being the “fallen woman of Brighton” was suggested by Lalejandra and was too good not to use. And obviously, John and Rodney are MEANT TO BE, because Rodney wasn’t looking too good, especially compared to the beauty of the whores, but John found him entrancing nonetheless. Historical accuracy be damned - here, the wealthy can buy whatever it takes to sate their desires.
* * *
“Why, oh why, did I let Radek talk me into this?” Rodney McKay muttered under his breath as he carried a decanter of overpriced wine to one of the rakes who plagued his new existence.
Rodney doesn’t think too highly of the dilettantes who frequent the brothel. And instead of serving these spoiled brats, he’d far rather be in his lab, trying to determine the fundamental building blocks of the universe.
In the early 1800s, this meant isolating elements. John Dalton proposed (in 1808) that each element had its own unique atom, and that each compound is formed by a certain combination of atoms. Rodney has been trying to advance Dalton’s theories, and also champions the work of an obscure, discredited Italian scientist named Amedeo Avogadro (6.02 x 1023).
“But Rodney,” Radek had chirped from his perch on the lab bench a month ago, “this way you’ll have funds to continue your experiments! And my sister assures me that the,” Radek had coughed here, “ladies and young gentlemen of the house are well treated.” Rodney supposed that was true; he hadn’t seen any overt signs of abuse, unlike the time his sister Jeannie had taken a position with one of the gentry as a parlormaid. She’d found herself bedded, with child, and sacked within three months after the younger son of the house was sent down from Oxford.
Radek Zelenka emigrated from Bohemia after an encounter with a jealous husband made staying impossible. His sister works as a cook at Madame de l’Amour’s.
After a confinement in Rodney’s London rooms, she was back in their home village of Winchester, raising the child as a foundling. And Rodney’s carefully hoarded cache of coins slid away from his chemical experimentations and toward his family. He had to make up the difference somehow, and a position as a brothel servant at least let him sleep all day. Madame catered to all types of vices, but she protected her staff from the advances of the clientele, and she paid well.
The tray wavered in his hands. Blast his clumsiness! If only he’d paid attention when his father tried to encourage his bookish son to leave the schoolroom. But no, he’d been too enamored of arcane formulae and the marvels of scientific discovery to learn how to carry anything with grace. At last, the lord’s door was before him. Madame had warned Rodney to act with extreme courtesy towards this one; evidently he was one of her favorites.
Rodney’s more than a little bit insecure in his second job. He’s totally out of place as a servant, but there’s no other way for him to earn a living. And Lord John helped Madame out of quite a jam, back in the day, so he gets what he wants. So long as he pays enough money.
Rodney knocked softly, and struggled to open the door without spilling the wine. The room was lit by candles and the flickering waver of the fireplace illuminated flocked wallpaper and a heavily draped bed. The lord’s long legs sprawled out from a chair set next to the fireplace. He leaned indolently back into the support of the chair, black hair mussed and cravat untied. His tall riding boots rested a safe distance away from the fire, and his snowy white linen gleamed from the flames. A table was next to him, and Rodney moved over to deposit the tray, trying to move smoothly, but knowing that he lumbered like a plow horse instead because of his nervousness. He could feel the lord’s eyes watching him, and bobbed a little bow once the wine rested safely on the table. “Is there anything else you need, my lord?”
“You.” The drawled word somehow managed to imply the darkest and most sinful needs Rodney could imagine. And as he lifted his eyes from the polished wood of the table to meet the lambent green gaze of the lord sprawled in front of him, Rodney knew that this had been a very bad idea.
Rodney hasn’t had a lot of sexual experience (all that time in the schoolroom) and hadn’t realized that desire could feel as exciting as the rush of scientific discovery. Lord John is the most attractive man (or woman, for that matter) that Rodney has ever seen, and he feels a flutter in his belly that he can’t name at Lord John’s manner.
* * *
The server looked rather like a fox Sheppard had tracked during his last hunt at the Duke of Caldwell’s estate: startled and fearful. Sheppard came to his feet and stepped close to the man, reaching up to draw his fingers down the line of the man’s chin. “What’s your name?” he murmured.
The Duke of Caldwell is not a friend of Sheppard’s family. He wants to get his hands on their vulnerable estates, and also has a disturbing way of eyeing Lord John up and down. His Grace admires Lord John’s riding breeches a bit too much for comfort, but he’s too powerful to allow open hostilities to arise.
Bright blue eyes met him, pupils huge in the dim firelight. “Rodney.”
Rodney looked like he wanted to stammer onwards, some objection no doubt, but Sheppard had confidence that his skill would quash any trepidation. One hand burrowed into the hair behind Rodney’s ear, and the other tilted Rodney’s head to the perfect angle. His mouth was sweet and tasted of mint when Sheppard pushed his tongue past the barrier of Rodney’s lips. Rodney was stiff against Sheppard, startled like few Sheppard had played with since he relinquished his commission and returned to England.
There was plenty of playing in the Army as well.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be well paid.”
In Sheppard’s experience, the fortune his bride had provided upon their nuptials was more useful than her bluestocking impulses. Let Elizabeth crusade for the underclasses, so long as Sheppard could wile away the long night with pleasure.
Elizabeth only married because social rules said she had to, and chose John because she realized he’d let her do whatever the hell she wanted. He pursued her because she’s rich, but also because he prefers smart women to the simpering debutantes the ton normally offers up at Almack’s. And he realized she wouldn’t care if he spent vast sums on his pleasure. The Weir estates are substantial enough that even John’s father’s incompetence and gambling debts could be wiped away with the match.
The bed beckoned, thick linens Sheppard swept back with one arm while pulling Rodney toward his surrender. He looked, again, like he wanted to object, but Sheppard’s hands were just as deft with buttons and fastenings as they’d been with his charger’s tack. Rodney’s torso was deceptively thick hidden under his shirt. Unclothed, his arms were delightfully muscled and his chest defined. Sheppard kissed him harder, and finally felt the first yielding as passion crept over the formerly reluctant.
John loves to ride horses almost more than anything in the world - the rush of mounted combat fed his adrenaline junkie ways and he’s been jonesing ever since he returned to London. He never should have been forced to leave the army.
Divested of his own shirt, Sheppard held himself above Rodney, tracing the bumps of his ribs with light pressure. Rodney gasped, his hands clenching in the bed linen, and Sheppard knew he had him. A knee between Rodney’s legs sufficed to open them for Sheppard’s body. He groaned when their cocks met, delightful friction exploding darts of fire throughout his belly. Sheppard set a slow rhythm, rubbing up and down while discovering the spots that made Rodney shiver and gasp. There were many of them, enough that Sheppard lost himself in the increasing urgency of Rodney’s breath, the thrill of turning this man to putty beneath his hands.
Time to get them both naked. Rodney was too far gone to object, only moaned as Sheppard traced the inside of his thighs, planted kiss after kiss on the hollows of his knees. Rodney’s cock looked as gorgeous as it felt, big and hard, and Sheppard smiled a tight grin at how intensely he was going to make this man come. Not yet, though. Oh no, first Sheppard would breach the taut pucker revealed when Rodney’s feet slid up the bed toward his hips. Sheppard encouraged that vulnerability, caressed and tickled the crease between thigh and groin, the places where sweat had begun to drip down, and reveled in the way Rodney’s hips rocked upwards, seeking more. Sheppard was only too happy to oblige, turning Rodney over onto his belly, stroking the long muscles of his back and seeking out more spots that would make Rodney tremble. And tremble he did, even when Sheppard’s hands steadily pushed Rodney’s legs open. A delectable handful of heart-shaped ass led to the rosy flower surrounding the entrance to Rodney’s body.
Sheppard moaned himself at the sight, and reached over to the bedside table for the pot of grease left there for his convenience. Rodney tried to push himself up, started to object, and Sheppard blanketed his back, kissed his way up Rodney’s neck to the thin skin beneath his ear. A deliberate bite, gentle but with intent, was enough to make Rodney collapse underneath Sheppard. Rodney’s warm bulk was more intoxicating than wine, and Sheppard nuzzled like a cat to increase his pleasure.
Sheppard wouldn’t have let Rodney’s objections override his intentions, although if Rodney had really struggled John wouldn’t have forced him. John’s good enough in bed that he’s never had to deal with real protests, just momentary panic that can be soothed away by the right kind of attention to sensitive spots.
Now that Rodney was relaxed again, Sheppard slid his hand down Rodney’s backbone to the inviting crease. Sheppard’s fingers were slick, and he teased Rodney’s opening for long moments, listening to his breathing quicken and stutter before he pressed inwards. One finger slid into the tight, dark place and Rodney froze, a harsh inhale signaling his shock.
Nobody had ever done that to Rodney before. Nobody had ever made him feel this good. He’s spent his life trying to deny his body in favor of his intellect, and here this stranger is creating the most intense pleasure Rodney has ever known. It’s a revelation.
“Shhhh,” Sheppard soothed. “Relax. You’ll love this.” He rained kisses down on Rodney’s shoulders, his other arm wrapped around Rodney’s damp chest to support and restrain. Sheppard began a gentle movement in and out, circling and searching for the spot that would make Rodney want this again and again. Soon enough, he found it, and reveled in the jerk and groan, the way Rodney’s hips pressed upwards, seeking more. Sheppard was happy to give it to him, sliding in a second finger and increasing his tempo. Sheppard’s hips matched the movement, his cock rubbing against Rodney’s thigh and luxuriating in the tightening spiral at the base of his spine. Rodney buried his face in the goose down pillow, turning it from side to side frantically. He was close.
Sheppard slicked up his cock and moved into position. More kisses on the back of Rodney’s neck, nips and bites to up the sensation while Sheppard pressed inside. Rodney was hot and tight and perfect, and Sheppard had to force himself to attend to Rodney’s reaction to this invasion. Rodney shuddered and tensed, moaning while sweat dripped from his temple. Sheppard held himself still with effort; the clench and heat incited an urge to move fast and frantically. Soon enough, Rodney eased back down onto the bed, and Sheppard began his plunge to oblivion. In and in and in, the almost endless glide of cock opening Rodney up for Sheppard’s pleasure. He would wager anything that he was the first to take Rodney this way, maybe the first to have Rodney at all, and ardor grew in his chest at the way Rodney whined when Sheppard rediscovered the perfect angle. God, he was a treasure. Sheppard wrapped his arms underneath Rodney’s armpits to get better leverage, braced his feet, and lowered his head to the back of Rodney’s neck. Drops of sweat stung his eyes, but Sheppard didn’t want to close them, wanted to remember every instant of this even as the unrestrained jerk of his hips drove him closer and closer to the edge.
It was Rodney’s fall that triggered Sheppard’s own, the choked off groan and shudder of the body beneath his own, the grip of his ass, the scent of his climax filling the room. Sheppard thrust over and over and over, long last seconds of glory before the world exploded into insensibility.
John is more than a little bit surprised that he felt so much with this plaything, a man who should have provided only sport and diversion for a single night. Rodney’s unstudied and honest responses pique John’s interest, and the remainder of their night is spent in a variety of outré sexual positions and antics. John hasn’t been this intrigued since he was planning his last battle, trying to outthink the blasted French, lost in the high that is strategy and tactics.
* * *
The sun had risen over St. Paul’s dome before Rodney left Madame de l’Amour’s, golden guineas secreted in his pocket. The ache in his body would not let him forget Lord John’s hunger for him, the way they had rested entangled in each other’s arms, legs twined and incapable of determining where one ended and the other began, only to start again with small kisses and gentle strokes. Rodney had never experienced a night like this, one of peak after peak, interlevened with sips of fine wine to bolster their strength. He walked to his cheap rooms in a daze, wondering if Lord John would keep his whispered promise, to return that very night for a repeat engagement.
John does keep his promise, and then there’s trouble with the brothel servants, who become jealous that the newest, clumsy one is getting paid all this money when he shouldn’t even be allowed into the bedchamber. They’re also sulky that Lord John isn’t spreading his attentions among the rest of the staff. They know an evening with him means pleasure instead of boredom or unpleasantness.
Once the trouble simmers for a while, it boils over into conflict, and Rodney is sacked. At which point Lord John has to hunt him down (having become more involved than he realized), and sees an entirely different side of Rodney - his lover under the spell of scientific discovery. And John realizes that Rodney has far more to offer than bedsport.
* * *
Lady Elizabeth was breaking her fast when Sheppard returned to their house in St. James Square. Ford, Sheppard’s dependable butler, opened the door for his master himself, informing him of milady’s whereabouts. Sheppard darted up the stairs to his rooms, ringing for Markham, who had served as his batman before the death of Sheppard’s elder brother had made a career in the army an impossibility. A quick wash and change, with Markham’s hands arranging his cravat into the latest style dictated by Brummel, and Sheppard descended to the morning room.
His wife’s dark head was bent over her needlework, and she looked up at his entrance. Her gaze was cool as ever as she greeted him. “Lord John. What a delight to be graced with your presence.” Her voice drawled the words with an underlying air of insouciance, the confidence of a woman who had never known hardship or want.
Sheppard sometimes wondered if her campaign to improve the lives of the wretched arose from guilt. However, so long as she didn’t cause a scandal, and made herself available for his intermittent quest to sire an heir, Sheppard cared not how she occupied her time. He had his estates to manage, now that the Weir fortune had repaired the worst of his father’s depredations--the crops had been record-breaking the past two years, and revenues continued to rise. And surely Elizabeth cared not for how he occupied his own time, so long as he continued to provide for her in the style to which she was accustomed, and kept his nose out of her never-ending attempts to convince the peerage to care about the poor.
Elizabeth hears rumors of her husband’s latest paramour, and has seen enough in her time amidst the lower classes to suspect that he’s taking advantage of some innocent. Soon enough, she learns otherwise. She isn’t especially shocked by John’s preference for men, and she gets to know Rodney’s Bohemian friend Radek, who admires Elizabeth’s zeal.
Ford glided into the room holding the post on a silver tray. Sheppard sighed, and turned his attention to social obligations and business. Every so often, though, his lips quirked upwards at the thought of the upcoming night.
After weeks of pain and anguish, attempts by the Duke of Caldwell to ruin Lord John’s reputation, and the involvement of almost every single one of John and Rodney’s friends, they overcome all odds and find a way to be together. John and Elizabeth remain married, but she resides in London and spends a lot of time with Radek, crusading for social justice. John and Rodney retreat to the countryside, and John sets up a lab that has everything an aspiring chemist could want to test his hypotheses. John rides his horses about the estate, and Rodney manages not to blow up his lab, they have scorching hot sex every night, and live happily ever after.
Chapter Two
. . .
This story exemplifies why I don’t post works-in-progress: once something is up, I lose the incentive to keep working at it. I had intentions of continuing this, but soon enough other stories took over my imagination and I can’t recapture the thread of the story. Although the thought of writing an entire novel is daunting; short stories suits me better than lengthy ones. I hope you enjoyed this. I certainly had enormous fun writing the story, even if I was kind of scared at how easy it was to adopt this style. Purple prose forever!