The Licentious Lord by Pouncer (Harlequin Challenge)
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.
The Licentious Lord
by Pouncer
Chapter One
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?”
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.
* * *
“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.
“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.
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 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.
* * *
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
* * *
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.
* * *
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.
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.
Chapter Two
....
Notes: The scary thing is how much backstory sprang, full-grown, into my head. Including the Duke of Caldwell’s enmity for Sheppard, the way that losing his career in the Army set Sheppard off on his nihilistic quest, Peter Grodin (formerly king of the brothel heap) being jealous at Rodney's relationship with Lord John, Elizabeth discovering the existence of both Rodney and his sister and her young child, exciting scientific discoveries, and true love overcoming all!
My thanks to lalejandra and mswalter for their beta efforts, especially in reminding me of the function of paragraphs. Any and all remaining errors or shortcomings are mine.
Disclaimer: *hysterical laughter*
Feedback is the Almack’s of fanfiction. Help me gain entrée?
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.
The Licentious Lord
by Pouncer
Chapter One
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?”
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.
* * *
“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.
“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.
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 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.
* * *
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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
* * *
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.
* * *
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.
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.
Chapter Two
....
Notes: The scary thing is how much backstory sprang, full-grown, into my head. Including the Duke of Caldwell’s enmity for Sheppard, the way that losing his career in the Army set Sheppard off on his nihilistic quest, Peter Grodin (formerly king of the brothel heap) being jealous at Rodney's relationship with Lord John, Elizabeth discovering the existence of both Rodney and his sister and her young child, exciting scientific discoveries, and true love overcoming all!
My thanks to lalejandra and mswalter for their beta efforts, especially in reminding me of the function of paragraphs. Any and all remaining errors or shortcomings are mine.
Disclaimer: *hysterical laughter*
Feedback is the Almack’s of fanfiction. Help me gain entrée?