by Ruby Moone
It was hours before anyone came. Long enough for the sun to have moved out of the window. His entire body hurt. Just breathe. Just breathe.
“Mr. Callan? Oh my God, sir, sir, what happened?”
Milo stared at the elderly man hovering over him. “My valet decided to tender his resignation.”
“And left you like this?”
“And left me like this. I don’t think you will be able to lift me.” Milo rolled so that he could sit up. He could have moved and dragged himself up onto the bed, but the will to do so had gone. It was easier to lie down and accept it. Curl up and accept it. He wanted to curl up again.
“Don’t you worry, sir, the new man started yesterday. He’s a strapping young chap he will have you up in a trice.”
“What new man?”
“The one we agreed you need because I’m getting older.”
Milo had a vague recollection that they were getting someone in to look after the grounds and do the heavy work now that Brownlow was in his sixties.
“Perhaps we could prevail on him to add valet to his list of duties,” Milo muttered as he dragged himself to prop up by the bed.
“Now there’s a suggestion,” Brownlow said with a smile. “Sit tight, you’ll be right as a trivet in no time.” He disappeared.
Milo laid his head against the mattress. The summer sky was still blue. Breath taking, glorious blue. He wanted to go outside so much he ached with it, could taste it.
“In here, Mr. Grange.”
Milo looked up waiting to see the next person that he would have to inflict himself on, and his breath stopped in his throat at the sight of the man who walked through the door. Tall. So tall he had to stoop to get through. When he straightened and gave a short bow Milo was vaguely aware that Brownlow was talking, but all Milo could do was stare. The man was young, he’d wager younger than his own six and twenty years, but broad in the shoulder. Dark curling hair framed a smiling face and eyes so blue they looked as though they had been cut from the sky outside that enticed him so. He dragged his gaze away, suddenly conscious that he was staring.
“Shall we get you up?” the man said.
Milo stared again, but this time humiliation surged through every last fibre of his body. “Fuck off.” The words came from nowhere and dimmed the smile in the beautiful man’s eyes. Milo watched as he glanced warily at Brownlow. Any minute now they would start talking over his head, making arrangements for him.
“Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to offend. How can I best help?”
Milo stared. He was being asked? “Take me outside.”
The smile came back. “Right away. Is it best to carry the chair down and then you?”
“I don’t care how you do it, just get me outside.”
“Righto.” The man hesitated a moment and then picked up the monstrous wheelchair as though it weighed nothing and headed out of the door. Brownlow looked as astounded as Milo felt.
“Who on earth is he?” Milo asked.
“He answered the advertisement, sir. He came with excellent references and is a good hard worker.” Brownlow fidgeted a little. “I hadn’t realised that you wanted to go outside, sir.”
Milo smiled as best he could. “Think nothing of it. Just a whim.”
When Grange returned, Milo’s heart sped up alarmingly. The man bent down in front of him and eyed him consideringly. So close, Milo could feel the warmth from his large body.
“How will this work best?” he asked, and again, Milo’s heart flipped. “Perhaps if you put your arms around my neck and I lift you up so.” He gestured with his arms as though he were lifting a child. Milo nodded, if only to have the opportunity to put his arms around the man’s neck. He squatted closer and Milo took hold of those broad shoulders and in a moment he was held aloft like a maiden. Grange jiggled him a little to get a decent hold and then set off. Milo clung to his shoulders, excitement bubbling through his veins partly at the thought of being outside, but mainly at being held in strong arms with the scent of a man drifting tantalisingly about his nostrils. Milo had no doubt that whatever had destroyed his legs as a child had badly altered him inside. He recalled little of the illness, just searing, unbearable pain, and then afterwards being an invalid. Years later when he realised that he only became aroused at the sight of men not women, only imagined men when he took himself in hand, he could only assume that it was not only his legs that were damaged, something inside him had been too. He avoided Grange’s eye and held tight.
* * * *
Grange carried him out of the main door of the house onto the terrace. The dreaded chair was waiting for him. When Grange went to sit him in it, he held on to his shoulders tighter.
“No. I want to sit on the grass.” He was sick of the chair. Spent his life in the bloody chair.
Grange looked at him. Their faces were close and Milo could see the faintest shadow of whiskers on his cheek, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and feel the whisper of the man’s breath. “Would you like to go down to the lake?” he asked.
Milo nodded as he clung. It wasn’t too much of a walk, and the man seemed inordinately strong. Milo knew he wasn’t much of a weight, but he wasn’t exactly a feather either.
“Hold tight,” Grange said as he dipped to grab the blanket from the seat of the chair and then he stepped off the pathway and headed to the left towards the small ornamental lake.
As they walked Milo bobbed up and down, rubbing against Grange with every step. He could feel his gait, the movement of his hips, and he ached to bury his face in his neck. Milo swallowed. He wanted to lick his way from the man’s cravat to his ear and then bite. As they walked in the sun a bead of perspiration ran down the Grange’s temple and Milo ached to taste it. He held his breath when the man paused, hefted him, and then carried on.
When they got to the lake, he hesitated. “Can you stand and lean on me while I put the rug down?” Milo nodded. He couldn’t bear his weight, but he could stand a little if he had support. The man eased his useless legs down gently until he stood. He never got to stand. As his feet touched the ground, and he stood up supported by Grange, he realised that he came up just past man’s shoulder. He’d never really measured his adult self against another.
“Wait.” The word came out as a bark, and the man froze. “Hold me so I can stand longer.”
“If I stand behind you and hold you steady would that work?”
“Yes.”
Milo leaned against the broad chest at his back, and then the man’s arms came around his middle and held firm. Milo stood tall. Like a man. Stood in the summer sunshine and looked out across his land. His throat closed and he blinked. A breeze ruffled his hair and tickled his neck. Something buzzed close by and he could smell the heavy scent of some unknown flower. For a moment he let his head loll against Grange’s broad shoulder and immediately he was held tighter. He was mortified to realise that the he was going to cry.
“Set me down and leave.”
He was lowered to the ground. “Are you sure, do you…”
“Put me down and leave. Now.”
“Of course.” The sunshine had disappeared from the voice, but he couldn’t look. Couldn’t let him see. He settled himself into a position where he stood the best chance of being unobserved, fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, clamped it over his mouth, and squeezed tight his eyes. Tears rolled over his hands, and into his mouth and nose as he wept.
Chapter 2
After the tears subsided, his back started to ache so he lowered himself down to lie on the blanket. The earth was still cold underneath despite the sun, but he didn’t care. He put his hands behind his head and watched the birds, the clouds, felt the heat of the sun on his face and just listened. He was drifting off to sleep when a soft cough alerted him to the return of his rescuer.
“What now?” He didn’t seem to be able to speak pleasantly. He hadn’t meant to snap again.
“Just checking if there is anything you need, sir.”
Milo peered up and could see Grange behind him. “You look ridiculous upside down,” he said and felt glad when the wariness in those blue eyes melted away into a smile.
“So do you.”
It was hardly the comment a servant made to a master, but Milo couldn’t care. He felt his mouth twitch. “Well don’t just stand there, get me up.”
“Do you want to go in the chair?”
“No, I bloody well don’t.”
“Do you want to swim?”
Milo gasped as he was pulled back up to a sitting position and his muscles protested. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous? Can’t you swim?”
Milo stared. “I do not appreciate sarcasm at my expense. Desist.”
Grange blinked, looked confused, and then shrugged. “Well, why don’t we dip our feet in and sit on the edge?” he said. “It will cool us down.” To his everlasting surprise Grange sat on the blanket beside him and began pulling off his shoes and stockings. Milo stared at the strong, bare feet. Hugely developed calves dusted with dark hair that looked young and healthy. The thought of exposing his withered, pale limbs made him feel ill, but the prospect of sitting and dangling his feet in the water…
“Take them off.”
Grange sat forward and took each foot in his huge hands and undressed them. He didn’t comment on Milo’s soft, unused feet, or his stick thin calves, instead he handled him with the utmost gentleness. Milo had some sensation, and he felt rather than saw him caress the arch of his foot with a thumb. Grange stood quite suddenly and cleared his throat.
“Hold on,” he said, bending down, so Milo put his arms around those strong shoulders again and held tight. They managed to get him sat on the edge of the water, and let his feet down until they were submerged almost to the knee. Grange sat beside him and put his own feet in and yelped and dragged them back out. “It’s colder than it looks,” he said on a laugh.
“Don’t be soft,” Milo said with a smirk.
Grange stuck his feet back in with another laugh, and swished them about.
“We should take off our coats.”
Grange turned and smiled. He stripped off the coat, and the waistcoat beneath, until he was left in a white linen shirt that was thin enough for Milo to make out the pattern of hair beneath it, and then he rolled up his sleeves. His arms were dark as though he spent a lot of time in the sun and again, dusted with hair. Milo could feel a fascination with body hair developing.
“Let me help,” he said and moved so he could tug off Milo’s coat. Milo removed his waistcoat and then rolled up his own sleeves. It was alarmingly liberating to be out in the hot sunshine in a minimum of clothing.
They sat without speaking for a long time just soaking up the sun, listening to the buzz of insects, batting away a few curious bees. Grange was the first to move; he bent forward and let his fingers dangle in the water by his feet. He swished and splashed and then suddenly lifted his hand, flicked his fingers, and Milo was showered in freezing drops of water.
Milo sat open mouthed, with his arms out by his side and stared. “You utter bastard.”
Grange’s response was to do it again, this time with more water and then laughed. Milo’s temper teetered on the brink of eruption when he realised with a jolt that he wasn’t being laughed at. Wasn’t being mocked or taunted or bullied. Grange was inviting him to laugh and play along. It was galling to realise that he had no idea how to play. He stared some more and then leaned down and scooped up a handful of water and flung it at his tormentor. Grange gasped and then shoved two handfuls of water in what felt like a tidal wave all over him. Milo blinked, and then both were engaged in a ferocious battle of throwing water at each other. Milo was astonished to find he was laughing. He couldn’t remember when he had last laughed like it. He was drenched, freezing…slipping. He tried to right himself, but one moment he sat on the edge of the lake the next he was in it.
Milo opened his mouth to shout and it filled with water as he sank into the depths. He couldn’t see, his hearing was muffled, he didn’t know which way was up. He tried to use his arms but could find no purchase and his heart was pounding so hard he thought he might explode. Then, when all seemed lost, he was scooped up and dragged to the surface. His head broke out and he frantically filled his lungs with air, then coughed and gasped and retched. Tears stung his eyes again, but tears of a different kind as he clung to Grange’s strength and this time did bury his face in the man’s neck.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Grange was muttering as he held him tight.
“Can you stand?” Milo asked, hating the tremor in his voice.
“Yes, it’s fine, I promise. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Grange was wading to the edge with Milo trembling in his arms. He managed to push Milo out of the water. He rolled awkwardly onto the blanket as naked relief washed over him, and watched as Grange pulled himself up, water streaming from him as he did so. His sodden clothes clung to him, showing contours of muscle and to his mortification, even in his wet, terrified state Milo grew instantly hard. His whole body ached with a rush of lust so intense he didn’t know what to do. He flailed about trying to grab the blanket, anything to cover himself, but then Grange was towering over him, panting.
“Don’t stare at me.”
Grange continued to stare, but his eyes were riveted on Milo’s groin. Milo’s mouth went dry as he watched the bulge grow in Grange’s breeches. His eyes widened and his heart sped up again. Grange dropped to his knees by his side. He leaned over and gently pushed the wet hair from Milo’s forehead, rubbed a drop of water from his cheek with a thumb, and then he sank back on his heels.
“I’m sorry,” he said again and his sunshine-blue eyes were tortured.
“Stop damn well apologising. I’m not dead.”
Grange rubbed his face and then sighed. “No. I can tell that.”
“Meaning?” Milo was still trying to find something to cover his arousal.
“Meaning you must be alive because your tongue is still sharp as a blade.” Grange leaned over, grabbed a towel, and thrust it at him. He must have brought them when he came back.
Milo rubbed himself and ruffled the water out of his hair, then quickly draped it over his lap to cover his erection and his pathetically thin legs. “For a servant your subservience is sadly lacking,” he said and ran his hands through his hair again, trying to tame it. His hair was a strange colour. Somewhere between ginger and blond and with a tendency to stick up.
“That’s why I work in the gardens and not in the house. Never was terribly good at subservience.” Grange emerged from the white towel with his own dark hair standing on end. “Mind if I take this off?” he plucked at his wet shirt. Milo shook his head, mouth dry again and watched as Grange peeled out of the wet material. His heart was hammering at his ribs. Grange rubbed the towel slowly across a torso that was muscled and dusted with dark hair between the nipples. He rubbed under each armpit and Milo’s heart beat so hard that his head was starting to swim, but when he dried lower over his hard belly and the dusting of hair that trailed down to his breeches, leading Milo’s eyes down to the now substantial bulge, a grain of something terrifyingly like hope burgeoned in his chest.
Grange was standing still. The towel hung loosely in his hand. His legs were spread and he towered over Milo. “Want me to do something about that?” He nodded and looked between Milo’s legs.
“Such fucking insolence,” Milo said, fear, embarrassment, and fury bringing blood to his cheeks. “How dare you…” Grange bent down and grabbed Milo’s hand. He somehow managed to get his shoulder beneath his armpit and before he could offer any further comment, he was flung over Grange’s muscled shoulder. He let out an unmanly squawk as he found himself dangling. Grange had his arm firmly clamped under his buttocks, holding his legs tight, and Milo was staring upside down at the man’s back. He grabbed hold of the waist of Grange’s breeches and held on.
“Jesus Christ!” he said,
struggling to breathe and speak as Grange started walking and his midsection jolted against Grange’s shoulder. “What in God’s name are you doing?” He grabbed tighter hold and the material of the breeches sagged allowing Milo a view of the top of Grange’s arse. “Put me down this instant. Put me down. I insist….” His breath gave way as he felt a large hand cover his backside and he started to struggle in earnest. “You bastard, let me go.” The direct sunlight was no longer burning his back, and he realised they were under a huge tree. Grange stopped, and holding tight to Milo as he knelt down and then laid him on the grass. Milo found himself staring up at Grange’s face. It was too close. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and pushed, but he was caged by strong arms. Grange moved Milo’s leg with his knee and knelt between.
Milo was shaking. “Fucking move,” he said pushing again and struggling but Grange didn’t budge.
“Do you have any idea how stunningly handsome you are?” Grange said.
Milo shut up, stopped moving, and stared, heart hammering.
Grange closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again they were filled with something that Milo didn’t dare put a name to. “Your eyes are…” He tilted his head as if considering. “Not quite blue yet not quite green. They’re like a stone I once found as a boy. Agate.” He shook his head again. “If it makes you feel any better, just looking at you gives me a cockstand.” Before Milo could say a word Grange leaned down and touched their lips together. Milo moaned. He had never been kissed. Never been touched. Grange’s mouth moved on his and Milo didn’t dare move. Afraid to do it wrong.
When Grange pulled away Milo was panting. “Stop that,” he said. “Stop it at once. You mustn’t.”
Grange pulled back and smiled down into Milo’s eyes. “Why mustn’t I?”
“Because, because…” Milo was shaking with need but didn’t dare reach out.
Grange touched a thumb to Milo’s chin, opened his mouth, and then took it with his own and Milo moaned again when Grange’s tongue plunged inside and he was kissed in a way he never even dreamed existed. He hesitated a second and then moved tentatively and was rewarded with a moan from Grange as if he were as aroused as Milo. Grange pulled away again. Milo wanted to weep with frustration. He needed more. So much more.
