by Ruby Moone
“Children,” Alfie said, his tone conciliatory, but Tristan saw Samuel bristle. “Children. I mean no insult. I am no stranger to the delights of sodomy.” Sam looked blank, but Tristan knew he was staring, mouth open again. “I have loved men since I was old enough to know what desire was. I understand, truly I do, but if you are to appear in public you cannot behave like lovers. You cannot leap to defend the other, you cannot betray, by even the merest flicker of an eyelash, that there is anything between you other than manly companionship.” Alfie was more serious than Tristan had ever seen him. “Are you presenting him to the ton?” Alfie asked.
Tristan was momentarily speechless. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Samuel spoke before he could. “No, he will not. Tristan was good enough to lend me his aid when I needed it most. He is helping me now, but it is my intention to repay him.”
Tristan stared at him. “You have no need to repay me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Samuel…”
“And there you go again,” Alfie said, holding up his hands.
Tristan gave up and put his face in his hands.
“Who’s the bloody earl here?” Sam demanded, making Tristan look up. “Does he always push you around like this?”
Alfie laughed and for once it was not an unpleasant sound. “Dearest cousin. At least you picked one who has some backbone. Samuel, my dear, I am decades older than our young earl and have spent a lifetime looking on him as a very dear younger brother. Neither of us has siblings, so we have leaned on each other horribly for years. I feel inordinately protective of Tris, and quite resent someone usurping my position so pay me no heed.”
Tristan stared, sure he looked like a cod fish with his mouth open and eyes popping.
“That said,” Alfie continued, “you must take the greatest of care.” He stood up, dropped his napkin on the table, bowed, and made his exit, leaving Tristan and Samuel staring at each other.
“Are we so obvious?” Samuel said with a scowl.
Tristan worried that they were.
* * * *
Sam walked by Tristan’s side the short walk that it took from Brook Street to Half Moon Street. He made sure to keep a discreet distance from him, and walked with his head high looking straight forward.
“You can look at me occasionally; I am sure no-one will divine our secret if you do,” Tristan said with a small smile.
Sam glanced at him. He hadn’t recovered from the onslaught of ‘cousin’ Alfie over the breakfast cups. He kept his eyes forward and forbore from comment. They walked in silence until they came to a large property with a beautiful facade. Tristan led him to the solid looking front door and, taking a large key from his pocket, opened it to reveal a grand hallway with a magnificent staircase sweeping upwards. The walls were decorated with portraits and landscapes, and a grandfather clock ticked softly.
“It’s quite pleasant,” Tristan said, leading him up the staircase.
“Quite.” Sam drew in a stunned breath and followed.
At the top of the staircase they paused before a door and Tristan smiled up at him with a glint in his eye before opening it with another key and leading him into what Tristan had described as gentlemen’s rooms.
“Here we are. I hope you like it.” Tristan put the key into a ceramic dish on a polished wood table in the hallway and closed the door behind them. The hallway was dark, with some light spilling through the open doors that led off it. “Come, I will show you around.”
Sam followed, quite overwhelmed, as he followed Tristan about. Tristan was clearly excited as he showed him the parlour, a generously sized study, a huge bedroom with a separate dressing and bathing room. The property had small rooms for servants, presumably a valet or a housekeeper or something, and neat kitchens where food could be prepared and all of it was lavishly furnished.
Tristan was talking about hiring a cook, a valet, and a parlour maid, which galvanised Sam. He shook his head. “You will do no such thing. I couldn’t bear it. I can cook fine and I can dress myself and tidy. Tristan, this is too much. I was expecting a room, singular; room. Somewhere that I could hide from Dante and Mosely until I decide what to do, a place where we could perhaps spend a little time alone. This is…magnificent…it’s too much beyond me. I…”
“Don’t say that,” Tristan said, coming to stand alongside him. “We can be alone here, it means that we will have somewhere to meet safely, to spend time together. I won’t have to worry about you anymore.”
Sam looked down at him. He was beautiful through and through and in that moment Sam was certain he did not deserve him. He didn’t deserve such unrestrained kindness and generosity.
Tristan smiled, and Sam recognised the glint in his eye. Well, at least there was one thing that he knew he could give in return.
“We should try out the bed,” he said with enough growl in his voice to make Tristan’s eyes darken. “Now.” He bent and took Tristan’s mouth and let the concerns flow away on a tide of need. He only had to look at Tristan to want him, to need to feel his mouth beneath his, to feel that small, tight, manly body clench with need. Tristan’s arms went around him and held him. This was better, this was what they both understood. That heady, pulsating need that drew them together time and time again.
Tristan rubbed up against him and moaned, but then pulled away. “Do you want this?”
Sam smiled at him and pressed his cock against him. “What do you think?”
“Do…do you feel like I am still paying you or do you really want this?”
Sam was stunned. “What?”
“I’m…I’ve never done this before,” Tristan said in a rush, pushing his face into Sam’s neck.
“And you imagine that I have.” It was not a question. Sam pulled away and scrubbed his face. It was bad enough working in a brothel, but at least a fellow knew what the rules were. Here, here he was out of his depth completely. Being a kept man was infinitely preferable to having to service the entire brothel, and dodge Mosely at every turn, but surprisingly, he felt oddly out on a limb and disconnected from everything he knew.
“No, I…” Tristan moved away and went to look out of the window at the street below. “It sounded very straight forward. Find you somewhere to live, and spend as much time as we could together. It only now occurs to me that whilst you would be happy to be out of Dante’s you might not want this…with me…?”
Sam was confused. “You risked so much to get me out of there, you have found me a beautiful place to live that is beyond my wildest imagining. You can have anything that you want from me,” he said, and waited for Tristan to come back into his arms. Instead Tristan looked troubled. Looked like he did when he came to the brothel when he thought of him as his lordling. He went to touch him, but then thought better. He knew what Tristan liked.
“Hell’s teeth, why are we arguing? Just trust me when I say everything is freely given. Here we are, alone, in wonderful rooms with a soft bed. Get in the bedroom. Now. And get your clothes off.” He stood with his hands on his hips. Tristan looked at him for a moment and then with a wicked grin scrambled past him to the bedroom. Sam followed, peeling off his own clothes as he went. Tristan was pushing his breeches and smalls down his legs when Sam arrived and his breath caught at the sight of him. Weak sunlight filtered through the window, coating him in warmth. His skin glowed, his eyes were dark, and in that moment, he was everything that Sam had ever dreamed of in a lover, in a man.
“Do we have oil?” Sam asked, walking purposefully to him, kicking off the last of his clothes as he went. Tristan nodded. “Good.” He stood before Tristan, stroked his face, and watched those blue eyes flutter closed as he pushed into his hand, and then did what he had wanted to for a long time. Sank to his knees, took hold of Tristan’s cock that jutted from his body, hard and wet, and took it into his mouth. He sucked him down, relaxed his throat, and then swallowed. Tristan let out a high-pitched howl as Sam started to suck, lick, and swallow him. Hard fingers were in his hair and Tris
tan’s hips pushed into him. Sam grabbed his arse and started a rhythmic suckling that Tristan picked up on and, gently at first, started thrusting into his mouth. Sam relaxed and let him and watched as Tristan lost all semblance of control and thrust harder. He held him tight and sucked harder when he convulsed and emptied himself down his throat. Sam held him, and took everything that he gave him. Every drop, and then licked him clean. Tristan was doubled over, holding onto Sam’s shoulders and panting as though he had run twenty miles.
“Dear…God…” he murmured. “Dear…God…”
“Good?” Sam couldn’t keep the smug note from his voice.
“How do you do that? How do you…not…”
“Gag?”
“Yes.”
It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to say that it was down to plenty of practice, but decided that was not what he would want to hear. “I don’t know.” He smiled up at him.
Tristan stood up and pushed his hair out of his eyes with a shaking hand. “Get on the bed.”
Sam grinned and did as he was told and Tristan followed him. He pushed him back and Sam went willingly. Tristan took hold of his aching cock and swallowed him. Well, as much as he could without coughing, but then Sam didn’t care as he gave himself over to the feel of Tristan’s beautiful mouth around him. The pressure built to an unbearable point and as his impending crisis feathered over his skin he pulled Tristan off him. Tristan came away, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth looking utterly debauched, then he took Sam’s cock in his sure fingers and tugged. Sam exploded with a yell and let all the joy and happiness he felt at being with Tristan surge through him.
As they lay together tangled on the bed, with Tristan’s head tucked on his shoulder, Sam ran a hand down his back to his bare arse and squeezed.
“See. We are wonderful together. We only get in a knot when start thinking and try to talk about things.”
He felt Tristan laugh. “You may have a point.” He dropped a kiss on Sam’s chest. “At least I now know what to do with your mouth if you are talking too much.”
Sam shook with laughter. “You do indeed.”
They lay entwined together for some time, and dozed in comfortable silence. As they room grew chilly, Tristan pulled up the sheets and they settled themselves again. Sam played idly with a strand of Tristan’s fair hair and sighed as Tristan stroked his hip.
Eventually Tristan broke the silence. “You’ve never done that to me before,” he said, and dropped a kiss on Sam’s chest.
Sam knew what he meant. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted it. You were paying, so you called the tune.” He then winced, and cursed himself. Why the hell did he have to remind him. He waited for Tristan to get upset again, and when he scrambled out of his arms Sam’s heart sank.
“Tristan, I’m sorry, that was…Oof.” Sam sank back into the pillows when Tristan straddled his chest and grabbed his hands to pin them to the pillows by his head.
“You. Are. Talking. Again,” he said, punctuating his words with kisses.
Sam grinned. “I also thought you might be a little sore from last night.” He reached up and tried to deepen the kisses, but Tristan broke free and shuffled up so he was pinning Sam’s shoulders almost with his knees. He was hard again and Sam’s mouth watered. He looked up, a little uncertain, but the devilment in Tristan’s eyes made him laugh and lunge forward to take him into his mouth. Tristan groaned, and levered himself up so that he could slide in further, and Sam gave himself up to a playful side to Tristan he never imagined existed.
* * * *
Tristan sat by the window in White’s, sipped his brandy, and willed his hands to stop trembling. Although, in fairness, he was shaking all over. He could scarcely believe what he had done. He had a lover. A male lover. He took another drink. Not only that, but one he had rescued from a brothel and established in one of the most select parts of town. His heart was beating rapidly, making his breathing short. What in God’s name had he done? He took another drink and rubbed his hand over his face. What he had done was take control of his dismal life and throw in his lot with a man who loved him. Tristan closed his eyes momentarily and sucked in a deep breath before taking another drink. Samuel loved him. Loved him. Him. He couldn’t recall being loved by anyone. His mother, perhaps, but he hadn’t really known her, she had died when he was so young. His father had, it seemed, somehow divined his nature and despised him for it. The closest thing to any kind of vague affection came from Alfie, and that was sporadic at best. But Samuel loved him. He suppressed a smile and drained the glass. He admired Samuel for his courage in saying so because although he was certain that he loved him back, he had not returned the sentiment. He couldn’t find it in him to say the words. He wondered if that made him a coward.
Moments later Alfie slouched into the chair beside him, interrupting his reverie.
“Penny for them?” he said, taking a healthy swallow of his drink.
“Sod off,” Tristan said, without rancour, and Alfie laughed.
“Can you sit comfortably or would you like to perambulate?”
Tristan closed his eyes and willed the heat from his cheeks away. “Must you?”
“But you make it so easy, my dear,” Alfie said, raising his glass. “It truth, I am deeply envious of you.”
“Envious of this young whelp?” A hand clapped Tristan on the shoulder, making him start violently. He held onto his composure, horrified that their conversation may have been overheard. He stared up at the man who had interjected. Wallingford. What the hell did Wallingford want with him? The Marquess of Wallingford was an incredibly influential man. Well connected, an intimate of the Prince Regent, and a notorious busybody. Alfie slouched even further into the depths of his chair, and arched an eyebrow at the man, making Tristan want to kick him on the ankle. He had no idea why Alfie had to be so damned provocative.
“Indeed,” Alfie said. He took a sip of his brandy, watching Wallingford carefully. “He beat me to the most magnificent filly and has been riding her mercilessly.”
It was all Tristan could do not to splutter. He had no idea if Alfie was talking about a horse or a woman, and he was certain that was his intent. Wallingford chortled amiably and positioned himself in the seat opposite. He was a large man, probably of a similar age to Alfie and the kind that made his presence felt the moment he stepped into a room. Handsome in a bluff way, but not to Tristan’s taste. The man was too intense, too full of his own self-importance.
“I haven’t seen you for quite a while, Chiltern. My condolences on the loss of your father. He was a good man.”
“Thank you.” Tristan didn’t really know what else to say.
Wallingford nodded sagely and at that point Lord Cawley joined them and the conversation turned to horseflesh, a subject that Tristan felt marginally more comfortable with. He joined in, but couldn’t help but notice that Alfie was suspiciously quiet. After Wallingford and Cawley had wandered off in search of fresh entertainment, Tristan nudged his cousin.
“What is wrong? Don’t you like Wallingford?”
“Not especially. We were at school together. Oxford, too.”
“I see.”
“Do you, my dear?” Alfie’s dark eyes shone.
Tristan stared, open mouthed “Were you…” He gestured vaguely, looking about in case anyone could hear.
Alfie smiled slowly. “Might have been.”
“Oh my word.” Tristan actually put a hand to his mouth. “I cannot believe you never told me. Wallingford is….” It was the most salacious titbit of gossip he had heard in an age
“My dear boy, how could I?” Alfie stood up and Tristan followed as Alfie gestured towards the dining room and then slid his hand through the crook of Tristan’s arm. “You were the most appalling late bloomer. I had to wait and see which side of the fence you would fall. I was reasonably certain you would fall my way, but I had to be sure. I would never have wanted to appall you.” He patted Tristan’s arm. “You were always my favourite member of
the family. I couldn’t have borne your disdain.”
Tristan was both surprised and incredibly moved by this. He had to concur. Alfie’s disdain would have been hard to bear, too. Having something in common, something so personal and desperately secret, was, in an odd way, reassuring and made him feel more connected to his cousin than he had ever been. As they headed towards supper Tristan’s heart felt full, and his entire body felt to be tingling with anticipation. He had a lover. A magnificent, lover. And his cousin actually liked him.
“Do wipe that smile off your face, my love,” Alfie said in his best bored tone. “People will talk.”
Tristan laughed. “Perhaps we should speak of sober things?”
“There is little sobriety in my life, dear one, this will have to come from you.”
Tristan shook his head and matched his step to Alfie’s. “I met with Millican earlier.”
“Good God. You have my condolences.”
“Hmm.” Was all Tristan could say. Millican was his man of business. A worthy soul, incredibly talented, but dreadfully serious. “He thinks that I should consider selling some of my smaller properties and expend more energy on the most productive.”
“Sounds eminently sensible,” Alfie said as they arrived at the table.
“He thinks Havering should go.”
Alfie pulled a face. “I thought you were particularly fond of Havering.
“I am, but since the tenants left it has fallen into disrepair. It needs a lot spending on it, and the tenant farmers deserve better than I am giving them at the moment.”
They paused whilst they were seated and the waiters settled them into their seats and poured the wine that Alfie had ordered.
Tristan took a sip and looked at his cousin over the rim of his glass. “I don’t suppose you fancy purchasing it?”
Alfie’s lips twitched. “Do I strike you as the kind of man to invest in rundown abbeys?”
Tristan laughed.
“Enough.” Alfie waved a hand. “Enough sobriety. Let us return to our previous topic.”
Tristan shook his head. “Which was…?”
