The Devil's Choice
This story has sat neglected on my hard drive for much too long. It's a piece of Georgette Heyer slash, based on the novel These Old Shades, because I find the Duke of Avon irresistible.
Title: The Devil's Choice (1/1)
Author: fajrdrako
Rating: R
Fandom: These Old Shades
Pairing: Avon/Hugh Davenant
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
Length: 3050 words
Summary: When the Duke of Avon finds love, he is doubly dangerous.
Note: Special thanks to my skilled beta-readers, rosiespark, lmondegreen and acampbell..
The Devil's Choice
In bed, they lived in their own secret world.
Tonight, Hugh Davenant found Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon, uncommonly tender. Impossible to say that this was the way he liked him best, for there was no mood Avon could assume that Hugh did not love more than the last, on any occasion when Avon took him into his bed.
Hugh believed Avon to be a man of uncommon sexual stamina, though he had no experience that would allow him to make comparisons. He had asked him once whether other men were as he was, and Avon had said, chuckling, "You know I am unique, my dear," which reflected his ego as much as any possible insight into other men's affairs. High had been a virgin until he met Avon. In contrast, Avon's sexual experiences were, as far as Hugh could tell, far-reaching and broad, transcending class and gender. Other men might diddle their chamber-maids and be content to stay at home, but Avon treated his staff as untouchable, and the rest of the world as fair game.
Luckily for Hugh, Avon considered him to be among the ranks of the touchable. When they first had met, Hugh had liked the Duke at once - for his wit, his chameleon moods, the scope of his intelligence. Or so he had told himself. He had resolved to reform the rake and awaken the conscience of the devil - Satanas, they called him, who could and did destroy lives with a smile as bland as a parson's.
This resolve had lasted until the night Avon first chose to lure Hugh into his bed, and then he knew the reality: that Avon was truly Satanas, who would never change; and wherever he led, Hugh would follow. It was not that Hugh was blind to reason, it was that reason was helpless against the forces that made him crave Avon's touch.
He was not such a fool as to believe that it was love which made Avon turn to him with erratic unpredictability. Avon blandly claimed to be immune to love, and it seemed to be true. Hugh knew Avon liked him; he knew Avon enjoyed their bed-play; but he had long since realized that Avon's passionate heart was untamable and that his appetite craved both sensation and variety in such a way that no one person could fulfil it, not even someone as adaptable as Hugh. Sometimes Avon aroused their appetites by telling Hugh about his adventures: sexual play with a Russian count or an Austrian shepherdess or an Italian dancer.
Hugh had no claims on him, however much he wished otherwise. He could only crave more of Avon's attention, and wait through the days or weeks or months until Avon took it into his head to take Hugh into his bed once more. Then there would be a glance across a room, a sly smile, a tap of a fan or the flick of a playing card, and Hugh would know he was desired once more.
Usually their sexual games were more inventive than tender. Hugh knew that Avon took excitement from corrupting the incorruptible. Avon had considered it a great accomplishment: to take the most upright man he knew and turn him, with a glance or a touch, into a shameless creature of lust. Hugh was in turn inflamed by Avon's excitement, and where Avon was concerned, he had no limits - though he wondered sometimes whether Avon was trying to find such. In earlier years Hugh had afterwards stayed awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling in shame and fear for his soul; but always, lust overcame shame and pleasure overcame everything, and it would be hypocrisy (at best) to bemoan a weakness he valued over all else. So with Avon, he chose to abandon shame. He even abandoned his attempts to sort out the paradox. How could he, believing in all that was right and good, be so enamored of Avon's passionate darkness? He could not justify it. He could not explain it. It was simply the way things were, like day and night, like any force of nature.
If sometimes he resented Avon for not truly loving him in return, he hid his anger from the Duke and made sure it did not poison the love he could not help feeling.
Tonight it was balm to be wooed by Avon's gentle hands - hands that he had known at other times to be rough and dangerous and cruel. He let Avon court him with soft, meaningless words and soft, meaningful touches. He floated on a sea of Avon's kisses and caresses, until arousal become soaring, and the climax deep and sure. Then Avon began all over again - not demanding and forceful, but seductive and teasing, awakening Hugh's torpid and satiated body to new demands and needs. He whispered Hugh's name, calling him beautiful, using lips and tongue and hands until Hugh thought he would die of love.
It was not unusual for Avon to climax several times in a night. He might appear to the unobservant to be sleepy-eyed and slow, but he had an inner energy that was inexhaustible. For Hugh, it was somewhat less usual, and he cherished the vigour Avon brought to him.
Finally they lay spent, Hugh's head on Avon's chest. He could feel a gentle breeze from the window on his back, neither cold nor disturbing - just one more sensation on skin that had already experienced so many sensations tonight. Avon's fingers trailed along his arm, warm and sensuous. Left to himself Hugh might have slept, but Avon was clearly wide awake in the gentle light of the last candles in the sconce. So Hugh lay in utter relaxation, enjoying the moment, waiting for the next. He sensed that Avon had another surprise in store for him tonight. The only consistent thing about Avon was his unpredictability.
So he waited, because there was no hurry, and morning would come too soon. Naked body against naked body was a sensation to cherish and prolong. After a while Avon spoke in that mellow drawl that could raise the hairs on Hugh's back in the most pleasurable way, "My dear, I am afraid I have a confession to make to you."
Too lulled by his feelings to be sensible, Hugh chuckled into Avon's chest. "I'm a father confessor now, am I?"
There was a barely-perceptible pause in the movement of Avon's hand on his arm; an even less perceptible sense of tension somewhere in his mind. This was serious, though Avon spoke lightly. "Why, what sin could I mention that you do not already know about? The thing I am about to confess looks to me remarkably like a virtue."
Hugh could not help smiling. "Virtue? Justin, do you even know what the word means?"
"It has been explained to me. My understanding is not faulty."
Though the words were light and wry as always, Hugh again sensed something deeper behind them, and a sense of alarm began to disturb his mood of sleepy bliss. He fought it with good humour, teasing still, as Avon surely was teasing. "So having run through all the vices, what virtue are you going to attempt? Perhaps you plan to make an honest man of me?"
"The last thing you need is a further dose of honesty." Avon gave him a squeeze to emphasize the point, and his lips touched the top of Hugh's head. "No, this is another order of thing entirely."
"Well, then, Satanas?"
Avon's voice sounded abstracted. "I have fallen in love."
Just like that, the bottom of the world fell away.
Hugh found his voice, hoping he had not let the silence betray his shock, wishing Avon could not feel the sudden pounding of his heart. "Who?" he said, then realized the answer immediately and answered the question himself. "Leon."
"Leonie," agreed Avon.
The youth they had all believed to be a girlish boy, until they realized she was in fact a boyish girl. Leon, with the sparkling green eyes and the lively nature. Who was possibly the most beautiful being Hugh had ever seen, male or female. Whose young innocence rang out in every word she spoke, because every word came from her heart. And it was clear to a blind man that she adored Avon with unswerving devotion. It had seemed sweet, like a pet or a child, until Hugh had considered the implications.
"Justin, you must be joking."
Avon's chest moved under Hugh's cheek in a silent laugh. "I can understand why you think that. I didn't think I was capable, either. I astound myself."
"She is an innocent. If you seduce her you will destroy her."
Avon's hand resumed its caressing motion on Hugh's arm, and moved just as gently to his shoulder. His voice was sharper. "You do not know what I intend towards her. You have been trying since the day we met to awaken my better nature. Don't judge me now, in this. I judge myself harshly, but not as harshly as that. I will not destroy what I choose to protect."
"She is a child."
"Whatever she is, she is not a child."
Literal truth; but the strangeness of Leon's life - of Leonie's life - had affected her, robbed her of the normal experiences of a girl growing up. She was not like other women.
"You can see the purity in her eyes."
"Yes," said Justin, and the agreement in the light, sincere word spoke volumes.
"You must not - " The words were out of his mouth before Hugh could stop himself. These were words one never dared to say to the Duke of Avon, who denied any control and who believed there was nothing imaginable that could be forbidden to him.
"If I should give you my word that I will cause her no harm, you would not believe me. But it is true."
"If you awaken her womanly instincts, what will become of her? Avon, I know how you are. You lose interest, you abandon people."
"I will not abandon her. Did you not hear what I said? Love has its own demands. Even if I never touch her, she will be under my care forever."
"As your mistress? You'll make a shambles of her life, and you don't even recognize it."
Avon spoke firmly. "I am not prepared to tell you or anyone else my intentions towards Leonie. I have not yet told her of my feelings and do not intend to do so until the time is right. I tell you now only because I something to ask of you."
"What?" Hugh's mouth was dry. He tried to pull back from Avon's sweet embrace, but Avon did not let him, and between the strength of his arm and the beguilement of his warm body, Hugh was unable to turn away.
The fingers of Avon's other hand ran along Hugh's face, traced his lips. "I want your agreement that I may tell her about us."
Hugh wondered how much worse this could get. His voice dried in his throat. "No."
"I owe her the truth about me."
"No."
"Why not?"
Over years, no one else had known of this. It was theirs, secret, private. That Avon could even think of revealing it to someone else was unthinkable - much less that naive, delightful child.
Hugh said angrily, "You may be able to get away with anything, but I would be disgraced and quite possibly hanged. Or worse. No."
Avon's hand played with Hugh's hair, strands running through his fingers. "She would not betray us."
"Would she not? I've never known you to be a fool before. She is a hot-tempered soul. Through jealousy alone she would destroy me."
"She would not. I would make sure of it."
This time, Hugh succeeded in pulling away from Avon, though only by inches. The air of the room seemed cold now against his skin, and those inches could have been leagues. "You could not stop her."
"It will not be yet. I want her to make her choices freely, knowing who I am. Knowing what I have done."
"What we have done, you mean." Hugh lay on his back, and Avon rolled to face him, propping himself on his arm. The unfolding catalogue of their lusts ran through Hugh's mind. The uses they had made of fingers and hands, legs, feet, toes, arse, tongues and mouths. There were a thousand different ways to make a man come and a thousand different places on the body where sensation could be coaxed, and Avon found them all. He thought of the first time Avon had tied him to the bed; the spanking, with hands or with paddles; the whipping, the games with pins. Hugh thought about the night they had made love before the fire in Avon's study, slowly, leisurely, deliciously, when at any moment a servant might have come through the unlocked door. He thought of the time they had played with a knife - the caressing, bloodless, terrifying touch of the blade. And the razor, when Avon had shaved him, including balls and arse, delicate as a feather. He remembered the time Avon had dressed him as a woman and taken him to a play, an actor in costume watching actors in costumes; and how, afterwards, Avon had fucked him in an alley, against the bricks, the air cold on his legs where his petticoats lifted. Hugh shivered now, remembering how each act they committed had at first filled him with horror, and how that horror had proportionately increased his arousal. Even now memory itself was making him half-hard. Or maybe that was the pressure of Avon's hand on his hip.
Now Avon would talk of this to Leonie, and Hugh could not bear it.
"No," said Hugh again. He meant it. He meant it even as Avon leaned over and licked his cock. He groaned and wound his fingers into Avon's soft hair. Avon blew on the wet skin, and took him into his mouth - briefly, painfully briefly. "Avon, you must not."
Avon moved away, reaching for something Hugh could not see. It turned out to be Hugh's hair-ribbon. He took Hugh's balls in his hands and played with them. "I will not tell her if you will not consent to it." The dangling ribbon tickled.
Hugh lifted his knee, spreading his legs further. "I will not."
Avon wound the ribbon around the base of his balls, making a knot by holding one end in his teeth and the other in his supple right hand, while the left played between Hugh's legs. He jerked back his head, pulling the knot tight, making Hugh groan. Avon tested the tightness with his finger and, satisfied, spat out the end of ribbon and let his lips follow it to suck reddened skin.
"Then I will tell her what I have done, but I will not mention your name. If I do it that way, this must be our last night together."
"Avon!" Hugh was panting now, shaking from arousal and distress. "You would blackmail me?"
"This is not blackmail." Fingers soothed his inner thighs, heightening tensions. " I will not have deception between myself and Leonie. If she believes that you and I are friends, then we must be friends and nothing more."
Hugh's voice was hoarse. "You think she would forgive you for your past?"
"I will stake my future on it."
"And mine?"
"And yours."
"No woman could ever do so."
"Leonie is not like any other woman. You know that. You have talked with her."
"You ask too much." Hugh groaned, barely coherent.
Avon's lips against his skin made it difficult to speak. Avon could think and make love at the same time, one of his more maddening skills. Against Hugh's feelings for Avon, the word "friendship" was a mockery.
He had not dared to consider what would happen when the thread of Avon's wayward affections wound to its end and the tie between them dissipated. Would Avon forget? Hugh could not.
Nor could he bear to lose Avon, though he feared Avon would hardly feel the wrench.
Could Avon abandon him so easily?
No; that was petulance. He knew he meant a great deal to Avon, in numerous ways. It was not enough when weighed against the ineffable discovery of love.
Avon said, "It is a matter of choice."
"A choice to ruin a virgin? And to ruin me at the same time?" He groaned with what Avon was doing with his tongue, and tried to gather his thoughts. He heard Avon's chuckle with his ears, felt it on his balls. Avon's hand was on his cock now, and Hugh was pressing against it, his body disobeying his command to stop. His skin felt raw and needy, as if Avon's touch trailed heat.
"You were a virgin, and I ruined you when I took your virginity. Do you remember? You too were innocent then... Do you remember?"
"Yes." It was a whisper. His voice was no longer under his control "Do you regret it?"
"Never."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Then trust my trust in her."
"I can't." It was almost a cry, and he put his fingers in his own mouth to stop himself screaming. "You ask too much."
"I ask everything," said Avon, his voice firm. "Everything."
His fingers were inside Hugh now, wet and moving, and Hugh was writhing on the bed. He could not climax because of that damn ribbon. The pain and the pressure were driving him mad, and he loved every second even as he fought it, which was the story of his relationship with Avon from the beginning.
He realized then that he would agree to Avon's demand, because he always agreed to Avon's demands, and could do nothing else.
Hugh was lost as Avon loosened the knot, whipping it away, squeezing Hugh's cock with his hand as he lay on him for a long, open-mouthed kiss. Hugh's come spurted hot between them.
The spasms stilled. The tremors died. The kiss lingered.
Hugh wondered whether Avon noticed his tears. "You are the devil," he whispered.
Avon lay his head on Hugh's chest, and laughed gently in satisfaction. "I know."
- end -
Title: The Devil's Choice (1/1)
Author: fajrdrako
Rating: R
Fandom: These Old Shades
Pairing: Avon/Hugh Davenant
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
Length: 3050 words
Summary: When the Duke of Avon finds love, he is doubly dangerous.
Note: Special thanks to my skilled beta-readers, rosiespark, lmondegreen and acampbell..
The Devil's Choice
In bed, they lived in their own secret world.
Tonight, Hugh Davenant found Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon, uncommonly tender. Impossible to say that this was the way he liked him best, for there was no mood Avon could assume that Hugh did not love more than the last, on any occasion when Avon took him into his bed.
Hugh believed Avon to be a man of uncommon sexual stamina, though he had no experience that would allow him to make comparisons. He had asked him once whether other men were as he was, and Avon had said, chuckling, "You know I am unique, my dear," which reflected his ego as much as any possible insight into other men's affairs. High had been a virgin until he met Avon. In contrast, Avon's sexual experiences were, as far as Hugh could tell, far-reaching and broad, transcending class and gender. Other men might diddle their chamber-maids and be content to stay at home, but Avon treated his staff as untouchable, and the rest of the world as fair game.
Luckily for Hugh, Avon considered him to be among the ranks of the touchable. When they first had met, Hugh had liked the Duke at once - for his wit, his chameleon moods, the scope of his intelligence. Or so he had told himself. He had resolved to reform the rake and awaken the conscience of the devil - Satanas, they called him, who could and did destroy lives with a smile as bland as a parson's.
This resolve had lasted until the night Avon first chose to lure Hugh into his bed, and then he knew the reality: that Avon was truly Satanas, who would never change; and wherever he led, Hugh would follow. It was not that Hugh was blind to reason, it was that reason was helpless against the forces that made him crave Avon's touch.
He was not such a fool as to believe that it was love which made Avon turn to him with erratic unpredictability. Avon blandly claimed to be immune to love, and it seemed to be true. Hugh knew Avon liked him; he knew Avon enjoyed their bed-play; but he had long since realized that Avon's passionate heart was untamable and that his appetite craved both sensation and variety in such a way that no one person could fulfil it, not even someone as adaptable as Hugh. Sometimes Avon aroused their appetites by telling Hugh about his adventures: sexual play with a Russian count or an Austrian shepherdess or an Italian dancer.
Hugh had no claims on him, however much he wished otherwise. He could only crave more of Avon's attention, and wait through the days or weeks or months until Avon took it into his head to take Hugh into his bed once more. Then there would be a glance across a room, a sly smile, a tap of a fan or the flick of a playing card, and Hugh would know he was desired once more.
Usually their sexual games were more inventive than tender. Hugh knew that Avon took excitement from corrupting the incorruptible. Avon had considered it a great accomplishment: to take the most upright man he knew and turn him, with a glance or a touch, into a shameless creature of lust. Hugh was in turn inflamed by Avon's excitement, and where Avon was concerned, he had no limits - though he wondered sometimes whether Avon was trying to find such. In earlier years Hugh had afterwards stayed awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling in shame and fear for his soul; but always, lust overcame shame and pleasure overcame everything, and it would be hypocrisy (at best) to bemoan a weakness he valued over all else. So with Avon, he chose to abandon shame. He even abandoned his attempts to sort out the paradox. How could he, believing in all that was right and good, be so enamored of Avon's passionate darkness? He could not justify it. He could not explain it. It was simply the way things were, like day and night, like any force of nature.
If sometimes he resented Avon for not truly loving him in return, he hid his anger from the Duke and made sure it did not poison the love he could not help feeling.
Tonight it was balm to be wooed by Avon's gentle hands - hands that he had known at other times to be rough and dangerous and cruel. He let Avon court him with soft, meaningless words and soft, meaningful touches. He floated on a sea of Avon's kisses and caresses, until arousal become soaring, and the climax deep and sure. Then Avon began all over again - not demanding and forceful, but seductive and teasing, awakening Hugh's torpid and satiated body to new demands and needs. He whispered Hugh's name, calling him beautiful, using lips and tongue and hands until Hugh thought he would die of love.
It was not unusual for Avon to climax several times in a night. He might appear to the unobservant to be sleepy-eyed and slow, but he had an inner energy that was inexhaustible. For Hugh, it was somewhat less usual, and he cherished the vigour Avon brought to him.
Finally they lay spent, Hugh's head on Avon's chest. He could feel a gentle breeze from the window on his back, neither cold nor disturbing - just one more sensation on skin that had already experienced so many sensations tonight. Avon's fingers trailed along his arm, warm and sensuous. Left to himself Hugh might have slept, but Avon was clearly wide awake in the gentle light of the last candles in the sconce. So Hugh lay in utter relaxation, enjoying the moment, waiting for the next. He sensed that Avon had another surprise in store for him tonight. The only consistent thing about Avon was his unpredictability.
So he waited, because there was no hurry, and morning would come too soon. Naked body against naked body was a sensation to cherish and prolong. After a while Avon spoke in that mellow drawl that could raise the hairs on Hugh's back in the most pleasurable way, "My dear, I am afraid I have a confession to make to you."
Too lulled by his feelings to be sensible, Hugh chuckled into Avon's chest. "I'm a father confessor now, am I?"
There was a barely-perceptible pause in the movement of Avon's hand on his arm; an even less perceptible sense of tension somewhere in his mind. This was serious, though Avon spoke lightly. "Why, what sin could I mention that you do not already know about? The thing I am about to confess looks to me remarkably like a virtue."
Hugh could not help smiling. "Virtue? Justin, do you even know what the word means?"
"It has been explained to me. My understanding is not faulty."
Though the words were light and wry as always, Hugh again sensed something deeper behind them, and a sense of alarm began to disturb his mood of sleepy bliss. He fought it with good humour, teasing still, as Avon surely was teasing. "So having run through all the vices, what virtue are you going to attempt? Perhaps you plan to make an honest man of me?"
"The last thing you need is a further dose of honesty." Avon gave him a squeeze to emphasize the point, and his lips touched the top of Hugh's head. "No, this is another order of thing entirely."
"Well, then, Satanas?"
Avon's voice sounded abstracted. "I have fallen in love."
Just like that, the bottom of the world fell away.
Hugh found his voice, hoping he had not let the silence betray his shock, wishing Avon could not feel the sudden pounding of his heart. "Who?" he said, then realized the answer immediately and answered the question himself. "Leon."
"Leonie," agreed Avon.
The youth they had all believed to be a girlish boy, until they realized she was in fact a boyish girl. Leon, with the sparkling green eyes and the lively nature. Who was possibly the most beautiful being Hugh had ever seen, male or female. Whose young innocence rang out in every word she spoke, because every word came from her heart. And it was clear to a blind man that she adored Avon with unswerving devotion. It had seemed sweet, like a pet or a child, until Hugh had considered the implications.
"Justin, you must be joking."
Avon's chest moved under Hugh's cheek in a silent laugh. "I can understand why you think that. I didn't think I was capable, either. I astound myself."
"She is an innocent. If you seduce her you will destroy her."
Avon's hand resumed its caressing motion on Hugh's arm, and moved just as gently to his shoulder. His voice was sharper. "You do not know what I intend towards her. You have been trying since the day we met to awaken my better nature. Don't judge me now, in this. I judge myself harshly, but not as harshly as that. I will not destroy what I choose to protect."
"She is a child."
"Whatever she is, she is not a child."
Literal truth; but the strangeness of Leon's life - of Leonie's life - had affected her, robbed her of the normal experiences of a girl growing up. She was not like other women.
"You can see the purity in her eyes."
"Yes," said Justin, and the agreement in the light, sincere word spoke volumes.
"You must not - " The words were out of his mouth before Hugh could stop himself. These were words one never dared to say to the Duke of Avon, who denied any control and who believed there was nothing imaginable that could be forbidden to him.
"If I should give you my word that I will cause her no harm, you would not believe me. But it is true."
"If you awaken her womanly instincts, what will become of her? Avon, I know how you are. You lose interest, you abandon people."
"I will not abandon her. Did you not hear what I said? Love has its own demands. Even if I never touch her, she will be under my care forever."
"As your mistress? You'll make a shambles of her life, and you don't even recognize it."
Avon spoke firmly. "I am not prepared to tell you or anyone else my intentions towards Leonie. I have not yet told her of my feelings and do not intend to do so until the time is right. I tell you now only because I something to ask of you."
"What?" Hugh's mouth was dry. He tried to pull back from Avon's sweet embrace, but Avon did not let him, and between the strength of his arm and the beguilement of his warm body, Hugh was unable to turn away.
The fingers of Avon's other hand ran along Hugh's face, traced his lips. "I want your agreement that I may tell her about us."
Hugh wondered how much worse this could get. His voice dried in his throat. "No."
"I owe her the truth about me."
"No."
"Why not?"
Over years, no one else had known of this. It was theirs, secret, private. That Avon could even think of revealing it to someone else was unthinkable - much less that naive, delightful child.
Hugh said angrily, "You may be able to get away with anything, but I would be disgraced and quite possibly hanged. Or worse. No."
Avon's hand played with Hugh's hair, strands running through his fingers. "She would not betray us."
"Would she not? I've never known you to be a fool before. She is a hot-tempered soul. Through jealousy alone she would destroy me."
"She would not. I would make sure of it."
This time, Hugh succeeded in pulling away from Avon, though only by inches. The air of the room seemed cold now against his skin, and those inches could have been leagues. "You could not stop her."
"It will not be yet. I want her to make her choices freely, knowing who I am. Knowing what I have done."
"What we have done, you mean." Hugh lay on his back, and Avon rolled to face him, propping himself on his arm. The unfolding catalogue of their lusts ran through Hugh's mind. The uses they had made of fingers and hands, legs, feet, toes, arse, tongues and mouths. There were a thousand different ways to make a man come and a thousand different places on the body where sensation could be coaxed, and Avon found them all. He thought of the first time Avon had tied him to the bed; the spanking, with hands or with paddles; the whipping, the games with pins. Hugh thought about the night they had made love before the fire in Avon's study, slowly, leisurely, deliciously, when at any moment a servant might have come through the unlocked door. He thought of the time they had played with a knife - the caressing, bloodless, terrifying touch of the blade. And the razor, when Avon had shaved him, including balls and arse, delicate as a feather. He remembered the time Avon had dressed him as a woman and taken him to a play, an actor in costume watching actors in costumes; and how, afterwards, Avon had fucked him in an alley, against the bricks, the air cold on his legs where his petticoats lifted. Hugh shivered now, remembering how each act they committed had at first filled him with horror, and how that horror had proportionately increased his arousal. Even now memory itself was making him half-hard. Or maybe that was the pressure of Avon's hand on his hip.
Now Avon would talk of this to Leonie, and Hugh could not bear it.
"No," said Hugh again. He meant it. He meant it even as Avon leaned over and licked his cock. He groaned and wound his fingers into Avon's soft hair. Avon blew on the wet skin, and took him into his mouth - briefly, painfully briefly. "Avon, you must not."
Avon moved away, reaching for something Hugh could not see. It turned out to be Hugh's hair-ribbon. He took Hugh's balls in his hands and played with them. "I will not tell her if you will not consent to it." The dangling ribbon tickled.
Hugh lifted his knee, spreading his legs further. "I will not."
Avon wound the ribbon around the base of his balls, making a knot by holding one end in his teeth and the other in his supple right hand, while the left played between Hugh's legs. He jerked back his head, pulling the knot tight, making Hugh groan. Avon tested the tightness with his finger and, satisfied, spat out the end of ribbon and let his lips follow it to suck reddened skin.
"Then I will tell her what I have done, but I will not mention your name. If I do it that way, this must be our last night together."
"Avon!" Hugh was panting now, shaking from arousal and distress. "You would blackmail me?"
"This is not blackmail." Fingers soothed his inner thighs, heightening tensions. " I will not have deception between myself and Leonie. If she believes that you and I are friends, then we must be friends and nothing more."
Hugh's voice was hoarse. "You think she would forgive you for your past?"
"I will stake my future on it."
"And mine?"
"And yours."
"No woman could ever do so."
"Leonie is not like any other woman. You know that. You have talked with her."
"You ask too much." Hugh groaned, barely coherent.
Avon's lips against his skin made it difficult to speak. Avon could think and make love at the same time, one of his more maddening skills. Against Hugh's feelings for Avon, the word "friendship" was a mockery.
He had not dared to consider what would happen when the thread of Avon's wayward affections wound to its end and the tie between them dissipated. Would Avon forget? Hugh could not.
Nor could he bear to lose Avon, though he feared Avon would hardly feel the wrench.
Could Avon abandon him so easily?
No; that was petulance. He knew he meant a great deal to Avon, in numerous ways. It was not enough when weighed against the ineffable discovery of love.
Avon said, "It is a matter of choice."
"A choice to ruin a virgin? And to ruin me at the same time?" He groaned with what Avon was doing with his tongue, and tried to gather his thoughts. He heard Avon's chuckle with his ears, felt it on his balls. Avon's hand was on his cock now, and Hugh was pressing against it, his body disobeying his command to stop. His skin felt raw and needy, as if Avon's touch trailed heat.
"You were a virgin, and I ruined you when I took your virginity. Do you remember? You too were innocent then... Do you remember?"
"Yes." It was a whisper. His voice was no longer under his control "Do you regret it?"
"Never."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Then trust my trust in her."
"I can't." It was almost a cry, and he put his fingers in his own mouth to stop himself screaming. "You ask too much."
"I ask everything," said Avon, his voice firm. "Everything."
His fingers were inside Hugh now, wet and moving, and Hugh was writhing on the bed. He could not climax because of that damn ribbon. The pain and the pressure were driving him mad, and he loved every second even as he fought it, which was the story of his relationship with Avon from the beginning.
He realized then that he would agree to Avon's demand, because he always agreed to Avon's demands, and could do nothing else.
Hugh was lost as Avon loosened the knot, whipping it away, squeezing Hugh's cock with his hand as he lay on him for a long, open-mouthed kiss. Hugh's come spurted hot between them.
The spasms stilled. The tremors died. The kiss lingered.
Hugh wondered whether Avon noticed his tears. "You are the devil," he whispered.
Avon lay his head on Hugh's chest, and laughed gently in satisfaction. "I know."
- end -