America: Chapter 6
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 6
July, 1773
Brian
I nearly fly down the main staircase at the first knock, but William is already there. He is greeting Justin warmly and clapping him on the back. When I finally reach the ground floor, I can feel my jaw drop open.
"Hello, cousin," says Justin coolly, with only the hint of a sly smile. He is dressed in an elegant blue satin suit that somehow makes his brilliant eyes even more breathtaking. I stammer some nonsense, before finally thinking to press his hand and greet him in kind.
It is with great effort that I finally release his hand, instead wishing to drag him by it straight to my bedroom. Thankfully, Henrietta's approach snaps me to my senses.
"Ah, the long-awaited cousin," she says, regarding Justin with a smile. "Welcome."
"Justin, this is Miss Henrietta Frye."
"Enchanted," he says sweetly, bowing before her. I want to ravish him there on the spot.
We four of us sit to a casual supper, along with the rest of the other household staff: the cook Mrs. Carroll, and Henrietta's shy maidservant Rachel. At first, Henrietta thought it inappropriate to have Justin dining with the servants, but I assured her that he had no such class snobbery.
In truth, it is a pleasant evening, though Justin periodically rubs his knee against mine under the table, and I lose all pace with the conversation. Whenever I can manage, I glance inconspicuously down to his lap, captivated by his tight fawn-colored breeches that hug his groin with intoxicating lewdness.
Justin
By some shameful strain of pettiness, I am glad to find that Henrietta is quite plain. She seems nice enough, though it is still odd to find Brian so friendly with a woman. Usually he cannot stand them, and I suppose I was suspicious of his regard for her. But I must not forget that I am a guest in her father's house, and must not think ill of her.
All through the meal, I am burning with the desire to tell Brian what I learned at the opera house, and about my new friend Amos. The idea that there are others like us--MANY others-- it's exhilarating! But also somewhat terrifying. If Amos could so easily spot me, might I be so obvious to others?
When the meal is finished, the women servants depart in classic English style, so that the men might banter over brandy and pipe tobacco. At first, I am worried that Henrietta will choose to stay--she has such queer, forward habits. But she leaves to take a plate up to her father, leaving William, Brian and I alone. We three talk about common things for a few moments, before William tactfully excuses himself. The door has not even finished swinging on its hinges before Brian's lips are on mine.
"Let me give you a tour of my rooms," he says breathlessly. I nod in agreement and we make for the main staircase, checking our pace to appear nonchalant and appropriate. After all, it is only natural for a cousin to want to see where his fellow kinsman might be taking residence.
Once inside the bedroom, Brian grabs me from behind and assaults my neck with hot kisses. One hand reaches around my front to grasp the bulge of my breeches. I can feel my groin heating up under his fingers, and the fabric quickly becomes painfully tight.
My knees begin to weaken under me and he promptly pushes me over to the large brocaded armchair in the corner. Kneeling between my legs, he leans down to press his mouth against the fullness of my groin. The thin layer of satin grows hot under his breath, and I find myself moaning and arching against his mouth.
Finally, he reaches under the waist of my breeches, freeing my swollen, aching member. He grasps the base with his hand, feeding the rest between his reddened lips, and I feel the delicious drenching fire of his mouth, spreading with long fingers throughout my veins.
Though my head falls back against the soft lushness of the chair, my back is arched away from it, desperate to force myself closer to his touch. Deep within his warm mouth, I feel his tongue swirling and sucking, drawing me closer and closer to release. My knuckles are bleached white, clutching the arms of the chair with animal ferocity.
I cry out suddenly, clasping one hand to my mouth, as the fire takes over and my body begins to shake. My breath catches sharply in my throat, and I feel the hot thick fluid pour out of me. He takes it in his throat, swallowing twice to get it all down. Through unfocused eyes I watch a tiny stream escape the corner of his lips. He releases me and reaches up his thumb to reclaim the last little bit from his chin, before sucking it back into his mouth.
Brian
Not willing to arouse suspicion by remaining upstairs for too great a time, we returned downstairs. Justin quickly requested a tour of the neighborhood, so we might be alone together a little longer.
The night is balmy and cloudless, perfect for a late stroll. Innumerable stars dot the blackened sky, and crickets serenade us from the shadows. We wander along quiet Pratt Street, and I begin to feel a keen sense of regret.
"I miss the feel of your hand in mine," I say quietly, thinking back to our many nightly strolls across the isolated moors.
Justin looks up at me sadly and reaches out his hand for mine. I clutch it desperately, fleetingly, for a moment. Then, we hear a door open down the lane and must quickly disengage once again.
"Brian, I nearly forgot!" he exclaims suddenly, before lowering his voice to a near whisper. "I met another...like us."
"What do you mean?"
"I was at the opera house the other night, lingering about outside so that I could hear the music. And I met a boy there. We began to talk, and he KNEW about me. He said he could see it."
I feel oddly uncomfortable about this. "I'm not sure that's possible, Justin."
"I hope it's not!" he replies. "In any case, maybe we are only secretly visible to each other."
"Sounds rather silly to me," I say.
"I know," he says, smiling. "But I like the thought. That there are many of us. A sort of... secret community. I want to meet every one of them, and see what they're like. It makes me feel like...we're not as alone in this."
I nod, in understanding, though I still feel a strange apprehension in the back of my mind. "So who is this boy?" I ask.
"His name is Amos."
"And how did you breach this sensitive topic? I don't think it a common thing to talk about in the streets."
"I had asked him what was his occupation, and he said that..." Justin pauses a moment, "...that he waits outside the opera house at night, and goes with men for money."
Suddenly my apprehension jumps to full-blown alarm.
"Justin..." I start, but he looks at me with such ready stubbornness that I am thwarted. His eyes remind me that he has no job, that I left him alone in a strange city, and that I dare not begrudge him his one friend. All of this is communicated in his face, and quickly I feel very much like the petulant wife. I hold my tongue.
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 6
July, 1773
Brian
I nearly fly down the main staircase at the first knock, but William is already there. He is greeting Justin warmly and clapping him on the back. When I finally reach the ground floor, I can feel my jaw drop open.
"Hello, cousin," says Justin coolly, with only the hint of a sly smile. He is dressed in an elegant blue satin suit that somehow makes his brilliant eyes even more breathtaking. I stammer some nonsense, before finally thinking to press his hand and greet him in kind.
It is with great effort that I finally release his hand, instead wishing to drag him by it straight to my bedroom. Thankfully, Henrietta's approach snaps me to my senses.
"Ah, the long-awaited cousin," she says, regarding Justin with a smile. "Welcome."
"Justin, this is Miss Henrietta Frye."
"Enchanted," he says sweetly, bowing before her. I want to ravish him there on the spot.
We four of us sit to a casual supper, along with the rest of the other household staff: the cook Mrs. Carroll, and Henrietta's shy maidservant Rachel. At first, Henrietta thought it inappropriate to have Justin dining with the servants, but I assured her that he had no such class snobbery.
In truth, it is a pleasant evening, though Justin periodically rubs his knee against mine under the table, and I lose all pace with the conversation. Whenever I can manage, I glance inconspicuously down to his lap, captivated by his tight fawn-colored breeches that hug his groin with intoxicating lewdness.
Justin
By some shameful strain of pettiness, I am glad to find that Henrietta is quite plain. She seems nice enough, though it is still odd to find Brian so friendly with a woman. Usually he cannot stand them, and I suppose I was suspicious of his regard for her. But I must not forget that I am a guest in her father's house, and must not think ill of her.
All through the meal, I am burning with the desire to tell Brian what I learned at the opera house, and about my new friend Amos. The idea that there are others like us--MANY others-- it's exhilarating! But also somewhat terrifying. If Amos could so easily spot me, might I be so obvious to others?
When the meal is finished, the women servants depart in classic English style, so that the men might banter over brandy and pipe tobacco. At first, I am worried that Henrietta will choose to stay--she has such queer, forward habits. But she leaves to take a plate up to her father, leaving William, Brian and I alone. We three talk about common things for a few moments, before William tactfully excuses himself. The door has not even finished swinging on its hinges before Brian's lips are on mine.
"Let me give you a tour of my rooms," he says breathlessly. I nod in agreement and we make for the main staircase, checking our pace to appear nonchalant and appropriate. After all, it is only natural for a cousin to want to see where his fellow kinsman might be taking residence.
Once inside the bedroom, Brian grabs me from behind and assaults my neck with hot kisses. One hand reaches around my front to grasp the bulge of my breeches. I can feel my groin heating up under his fingers, and the fabric quickly becomes painfully tight.
My knees begin to weaken under me and he promptly pushes me over to the large brocaded armchair in the corner. Kneeling between my legs, he leans down to press his mouth against the fullness of my groin. The thin layer of satin grows hot under his breath, and I find myself moaning and arching against his mouth.
Finally, he reaches under the waist of my breeches, freeing my swollen, aching member. He grasps the base with his hand, feeding the rest between his reddened lips, and I feel the delicious drenching fire of his mouth, spreading with long fingers throughout my veins.
Though my head falls back against the soft lushness of the chair, my back is arched away from it, desperate to force myself closer to his touch. Deep within his warm mouth, I feel his tongue swirling and sucking, drawing me closer and closer to release. My knuckles are bleached white, clutching the arms of the chair with animal ferocity.
I cry out suddenly, clasping one hand to my mouth, as the fire takes over and my body begins to shake. My breath catches sharply in my throat, and I feel the hot thick fluid pour out of me. He takes it in his throat, swallowing twice to get it all down. Through unfocused eyes I watch a tiny stream escape the corner of his lips. He releases me and reaches up his thumb to reclaim the last little bit from his chin, before sucking it back into his mouth.
Brian
Not willing to arouse suspicion by remaining upstairs for too great a time, we returned downstairs. Justin quickly requested a tour of the neighborhood, so we might be alone together a little longer.
The night is balmy and cloudless, perfect for a late stroll. Innumerable stars dot the blackened sky, and crickets serenade us from the shadows. We wander along quiet Pratt Street, and I begin to feel a keen sense of regret.
"I miss the feel of your hand in mine," I say quietly, thinking back to our many nightly strolls across the isolated moors.
Justin looks up at me sadly and reaches out his hand for mine. I clutch it desperately, fleetingly, for a moment. Then, we hear a door open down the lane and must quickly disengage once again.
"Brian, I nearly forgot!" he exclaims suddenly, before lowering his voice to a near whisper. "I met another...like us."
"What do you mean?"
"I was at the opera house the other night, lingering about outside so that I could hear the music. And I met a boy there. We began to talk, and he KNEW about me. He said he could see it."
I feel oddly uncomfortable about this. "I'm not sure that's possible, Justin."
"I hope it's not!" he replies. "In any case, maybe we are only secretly visible to each other."
"Sounds rather silly to me," I say.
"I know," he says, smiling. "But I like the thought. That there are many of us. A sort of... secret community. I want to meet every one of them, and see what they're like. It makes me feel like...we're not as alone in this."
I nod, in understanding, though I still feel a strange apprehension in the back of my mind. "So who is this boy?" I ask.
"His name is Amos."
"And how did you breach this sensitive topic? I don't think it a common thing to talk about in the streets."
"I had asked him what was his occupation, and he said that..." Justin pauses a moment, "...that he waits outside the opera house at night, and goes with men for money."
Suddenly my apprehension jumps to full-blown alarm.
"Justin..." I start, but he looks at me with such ready stubbornness that I am thwarted. His eyes remind me that he has no job, that I left him alone in a strange city, and that I dare not begrudge him his one friend. All of this is communicated in his face, and quickly I feel very much like the petulant wife. I hold my tongue.