‘So, now my man is a cat burglar,’ he grinned. ‘A master of disguise. A rescuer of men in distress. You’re a slippery customer, aren’t you?’
Silas pulled an apologetic face. ‘Oops.’
Archer’s lips were on his in a flash, pressing hard, his tongue demanding entry. Silas welcomed it, wrapping his arms around Archer’s back to hold him tighter. Archer didn’t let him. Instead, he pressed him against the couch, and still kissing passionately, unbuttoned his fly. Silas tried to reach for Archer’s, but again was denied. He held Archer’s head, his fingers lost in his dark hair as he breathed in the man’s scent.
The viscount’s hand explored his underwear, his palm running up and down Silas’ shaft as his fingernails scratched teasingly at the mound of his balls. When he felt Archer’s skin on his, Silas moaned gently, and when the cool air of the room touched his exposed cock, he tried again to return the pleasure, but again was deprived. It was as if Archer only wanted to give not receive.
Silas felt his shirt unbuttoned, and Archer’s mouth moved. He kissed Silas’ chin, gave a salacious wink and his soft lips parted as he licked them.
Lower, his kissed Silas’ chest, damping the vague line of soft hair before creeping closer to his nipples. They screamed for the heat of his lover’s mouth, and Silas’ body jerked when Archer touched them. He pressed his head harder to Silas’ chest, and the viscount bit gently. His fist wrapped around Silas’ cock, covering it all, apart from the tip which was covered and uncovered as the fist slowly stroked. He moved to the other jealous and craving nipple, and Silas bucked again.
The kisses descended. He put one hand on Silas’ face where he slipped a finger into his mouth for Silas to suck as his lips attended to his stomach. Archer’s tongue investigated his belly button and then gradually approached the tuft of hair beneath. He kissed there, his chin casually touching Silas’ inflamed cock head as his hand continued its rhythm unbroken. When Archer pulled Silas’ hood back and licked the bead of juice from the tip, Silas wanted to push his head down all the way and hard, but Archer eked out the agony, swallowing Silas’ length a fraction at a time. His finger delved into Silas’ mouth, mirroring the depth until his face was pressed to Silas’ crotch, and his throat closed around the raging cock.
‘Oh, fuck, Archie,’ Silas whispered, before grabbing at the finger with his mouth, sucking it eagerly.
The heat on his shaft and the vice of Archer’s lips increased when he cupped and massaged Silas’ balls. His head rose and fell steadily, his fingers delved below, and one circled Silas’ arse, probing it, entering, and sending thrilling shots of ecstasy to clash with the tingling in his balls and the swelling of his shaft. Archer didn’t let up and continued to draw him closer to a climax until Silas was jerking his hips and groaning, clenching Archer’s finger and gripping his neck.
There was no way to hold back, and Archer didn’t want him to. He sucked harder. More fingers slid deeper and faster until Silas was alive inside and out. His head spun. Unable to control himself, his gasps came with laughs of disbelief. How could anyone give him so much pleasure?
‘Archie,’ he gasped. ‘Archie…’
What had he done to deserve this much joy?
Archer grunted as Silas exploded deep in his throat, but he still didn’t let up. He drew his lips back to the tip, and they fell again firmly as Silas spurted and thrust until there was nothing more to give.
He jerked, wanting his over-sensitive flesh free from its ecstatic torture. The pleasure was unbearable, and he had to take a firm grip of Archer’s head and pull him away.
‘Stop,’ he said, a half-laugh a half-plea, sitting up to release himself. ‘Stop, you’ve had it all.’
Archer grinned up at him, his lips swollen and glistening.
‘Will you sleep in my bed tonight?’ he asked adding, ‘Please,’ as if he was a boy pleading for his parents to let him go out to play.
‘I’ll be there,’ Silas panted. ‘But I can’t promise I’ll do much sleeping.’
Sixteen
The City Arts Review, Saturday, December 3rd, 1888
Aeneas and Dido
Aeneas and Dido is a re-imagining of the classic myth of Dido and Aeneas in which the tragic heroine, Dido, takes her own life on the sword of the man who spurned her. In Bruch’s retelling (with a libretto by Giulio Cesare), it is Aeneas who takes the role of the spurned lover suffering all the dramatic consequences of lost love. The opera has received nothing but praise on the continent, but it remains to be seen how our own public will take to the story. As was recently mooted in this journal, such a daring presentation for a debut performance and in aid of such a new and controversial charity, could either be the success of the season and the making of Mr Roxton as Aeneas, or the undoing of everyone involved.
Johann Bruch, a contemporary of Wagner, was born in Korneuburg, outside Vienna, in 1823 to impoverished parents. Poverty didn’t prevent them from recognising his talents, and, after completing his basic schooling, an endowment from a benefactor enabled him to attend St Thomas’ School.
He was in good company, although not at the same time. The establishment’s notable alumni include sons of JS Bach, and Richard Wagner himself. Indeed, Bruch was tutored in counterpoint and harmony by Weinlig, as was Wagner, and one can detect similarities in Bruch’s early works. Following his schooling, Bruch was mentored by Holzer, then kapellmeister at Saint Stephen’s Cathedral, who was also responsible for his appointment as Director of Music at Die Josefstadt Theatre.
There, Bruch was able to develop his talent for theatrical music (his first opera, ‘Die Liebenden’ had been performed at his school when he was twelve), studying opera under Muller while composing incidental music for theatrical productions.
At twenty-five, he met and married actress and singer, Julianna Volti, daughter of Italian composer, Volti. His father-in-law is now more widely known as the man who “found” Bruch, more so than he is for composing sixteen operas. Volti’s influence, however, can be heard in Bruch’s earlier staged works, although by the time “Aeneas and Dido” was composed, the style is unmistakeably Bruch alone.
His fame spread when, in 1853, Bruch was awarded a commission by the King of the Netherlands, Wilhelm III, then in the fourth year of his reign. His Majesty is due to arrive in the city today, but his itinerary is unknown, and it is unlikely that he will attend the Clearwater Foundation performance of “Dido”, despite it being, “A work of unnatural beauty”, the King’s words, and composed by his former friend.
Johann Bruch died in August 1887, after suffering a long illness. He left behind no children, giving rise to the rumour that although he was a maestro at the composition table and podium, he was also a devotee of the beastliness now more politely referred to as aestheticism; a euphemism in anyone’s book.
“Aeneas and Dido” will be performed by the Opera House chorus and orchestra, with the title roles sung by Mr Cadwell Roxton and Signora Campanelli. Mr Arthur McDurling, a favourite with City audiences, will take the comprimario role as Aeneas’ confidant-come-messenger who delivers the method of suicide to the hero before the classic aria, “When I am Laid in Earth”.
“Aeneas and Dido” was Bruch’s last completed work and has never been performed in this country before.
The City Arts Review will be present, and our opinion of the gala will appear in next week’s edition.
Seventeen
Silas woke at some point during the night to find the bed empty. He was in Archer’s room, the fire had died to a few faint embers, and the sheet beside him was still warm. The scent of sweat and sex remained in the air, and he spread himself to Archer’s side to breathe more of the heady memories.
There was no sound from the house at first, and he assumed that Archer was in the bathroom, but then he heard a door close and a floorboard creak overhea
d. Probably Thomas rising early, he thought and drifted back to sleep.
When he awoke next, Archer was back in bed, and Silas was spooning him, their warm bodies pressed firmly together, with Silas holding him as if he couldn’t bear to let him go. Archer’s solid chest beneath his hand and his steady in-out breathing were as reassuring as they were welcome. Archer hadn’t flown off the handle last night as Silas had first feared, he’d listened calmly, and the fact that Silas had gone behind his back hadn’t disturbed him. If he was angry, Archer hadn’t shown it and had forgiven immediately. Silas was grateful for the way Archer believed his story without question. The problem now was what were they to do.
He wrapped himself more tightly, and Archer mumbled something in his sleep. Daylight was creeping around the edge of the curtains and the embers he had seen during the night were gone; the fire was now only ash, and the room was cold.
A light, rhythmic knock on the door alerted him to Thomas’ arrival, but there was no need to hide or flee.
The door opened, and the butler entered, stately and quiet as always. He placed a tray beside the bed and caught Silas’ eye.
‘Good morning,’ he mouthed silently, and Silas replied with a gentle finger wave.
Thomas was used to finding the viscount in bed with his secretary and thought nothing of it. He glided to the curtains and parted them quietly, hooking them back with their tasselled ties and peering through the nets at the morning.
‘Another grey one,’ he announced with a little more volume. ‘Ah, good morning, My Lord.’ He turned his attention to the dressing room.
‘Morning, Tom,’ Archer mumbled, pulling Silas’s arm and drawing him closer. He kissed his hand by way of greeting, and Silas hugged him. ‘How did you get on?’
Silas didn’t understand the question, but it wasn’t aimed at him.
‘A success, My Lord,’ Thomas said. ‘You are expected at nine.’
‘It was too early in the morning for Silas to wonder what he meant, and reluctantly letting Archer go, he rolled onto his back and covered his eyes. Beside him, the bed dipped and when he looked, Archer was standing over him, his hair all over the pace as it usually was, and his smile fixed and ready.
‘Meet me in the study at ten,’ he said, before kissing Silas and throwing back the covers.
The chill air hit him, and he was about to pull the blankets over and go back to sleep when Thomas announced the time.
Archer was already walking naked into the bathroom, as unbothered by the butler’s presence as Thomas was unconcerned about his master’s nudity. It was strangely erotic to know that his lover was attended to by his best friend, and that when dressing and bathing, Thomas saw as much of the man’s arousing physique as Silas. Thomas was as discreet as James when he assisted Silas in the mornings; there was no discussion of nudity. It was expected for a valet to know his master intimately, and yet nothing was ever said. It never bothered Silas, he had no problems showing off his body. Although it was nowhere near as fit and strong as Archer’s, he had caught James watching him on many occasions; not leering as Silas might have done had he seen James naked, but just watching out of interest, as if the sight of a naked man was something new.
Thinking of James spurred him into action. It was eight o’clock, and the footman would be on his way to prepare him for the day. Not that James was a valet, or Silas needed help dressing, but he enjoyed the alone time and wanted to talk through the events of last night.
Mumbled voices discussed shirts and collar studs, as Silas swung his feet to the carpet. He collected his discarded clothes from the floor, and, putting on his trousers in case Lucy was about, returned to his own room.
James didn’t attend him that morning, and he remembered he had told him not to. He found him in the breakfast room by which time, Archer had already eaten and left.
‘Good morning, Sir,’ James greeted him, placing the newly arrived newspaper on the table. ‘His Lordship ate early, but left instructions for you to join him in the study at ten if you would.’
‘He told me. Morning, Jimmy. You alright?’
‘I am, thank you, Sir.’ James attended to the array of dishes on the sideboard. ‘Shall I serve your usual?’
Silas played by the rules and allowed James to wait on him. Every time it happened, it felt more awkward, because every day he felt closer to James and saw him as a friend rather than staff.
‘Did you get any trouble from Thomas last night?’ he asked, as James poured his coffee.
‘Not at all, Sir.’
‘That’s good. Where’s the viscount gone?’
‘He had an early visit,’ James explained. ‘I don’t know where. He will be back shortly.’ Leaning in to add sugar to Silas’ cup, he whispered, ‘Did you tell him?’
‘I did, Jimmy, and there’s no need to whisper. He took it well and was interested rather than angry.’
‘That’s good.’
‘What do you make of it? Have you had time to think about what happened?’
‘Not a lot of time, Sir,’ James replied, putting down a rack of toast. ‘Eggs?’
More used to existing off a crust of bread and the occasional pie, Silas fell on his breakfast like a starving man. He still ate as though every meal would be his last.
‘I believe…’ James went on, ‘… that His Lordship has already started on a course of action.’
‘Really?’ Archer had said nothing to Silas, but then there hadn’t been time.
‘Ten o’clock in the study. I am to be there too.’ James, now standing opposite, was concerned.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Silas said, offering a comforting smile. ‘If he’s angry, it’s my fault, not yours.’
Archer wasn’t angry, but he was late for the ten o’clock meeting. Silas arrived at the study to find hot coffee in a pot and James lighting the fire. Outside, the sky was a mass of grey drizzle, and the wind blew the rain against the windows in short, sudden squalls. It was a day for being by the hearth, cosy and warm. On similar days in the East End, he would have hung about Molly’s rope-house for as long as she would allow before finding shelter at the bathhouse if he could afford it, or a church mission where at least he would be fed and could stay dry. Today, he could easily stay in the study, or his private sitting room upstairs, and do nothing but read the newspaper, or lie in Archer’s arms. If Fecks wasn’t so busy grooming the horses for the evening’s carriage, he would have spent the morning with him in the coach house.
He had taken up a seat in the armchair nearest the fireplace when Thomas entered, bringing a tray of coffee.
‘Unlike His Lordship to be late,’ he said, examining the mantle clock and comparing it to his pocket watch.
‘Do you know what this is about, Mr Payne?’ James asked, rising from the fire and watching it take.
‘I do not, James,’ Thomas replied. ‘But we are instructed to take a seat and wait.’
It was strange to hear the two speak so formally to each other, particularly as Silas knew the closeness of their relationship. The game had to be played, but at least they had learnt to bend the rules. They sat beside each other on the couch in silence, something which, according to Thomas, would never be seen in any other house.
Archer didn’t keep them waiting long. They heard his approach through the drawing room and stood before he entered.
‘Good, you’re all here,’ he said. ‘Shall we sit at the table?’
His men did as instructed and sat one on each side. Archer collected the tray from the sideboard. ‘Anyone else?’ he offered as if they were a group of same-status individuals meeting for a game of cards.
‘Allow me.’ Thomas was on his feet in a second, but Archer told him to sit as he brought the coffee to the table so everyone could help themselves.
He put a folded newspaper in
the centre with a notebook and a pen.
‘Fecker and Lucy are out seeing to groceries or some such,’ he said. ‘We shan’t be disturbed. From now on, until this meeting is concluded, we are a team and come together for the sake of an old friend.’
‘Sounds official.’ Silas helped himself from the tray.
‘It’s baffling,’ Archer said. ‘But, following on from what Silas told me last night, I have done some thinking. Now, we can’t stay still for too long, things will have to move fast, and I have people to see later today, appointments that I must keep. But, for now, I suggest we start at the beginning because I am not sure what Thomas knows, if anything. We will bring him up to date and pool our thoughts.’
Thomas poured coffee for James opposite and slid it across. The footman glanced at the viscount for permission, but Archer waved it away.
‘As you want, Jimmy,’ he said, using the name to show the roles of footman and viscount were to be dropped.
His eyes twinkled as if they had met to plan an evening’s entertainment. He had washed his hair and shaved, he wore a high collar, a green cravat and had donned an intricately patterned smoking jacket. He fingered his fringe away from his face, sweeping his thick hair back over his high forehead before cracking his knuckles.
‘Right! The way forward,’ he said, as if everyone knew what he was talking about, ‘is to go back.’
‘You’re going to have to explain what you’re getting at,’ Silas said, furrowing his brow.
‘Yes, quite,’ Archer agreed. ‘Tom, can you write while I speak? We have questions to answer. Everyone chip in. Perhaps you should start, Silas.’
Archer gave him one of his raised eyebrow looks. It was his way of delivering an order without actually giving one.
Unspeakable Acts Page 16
