by Ruby Moone
A wicked smile lit Alfie’s face. “About whether or not you would like to sit…or walk around a little more.”
Chapter 6
Sam sat in the parlour of his new home tapping his fingers on the table. One leg set to jiggling, so he stood and paced a little. It was getting late and he hadn’t seen sight nor sound of Tristan all day. He had explained that he had obligations to attend to so Sam had agreed to entertain himself. He had walked the parks, investigated the delights of Bond Street, made a mental note to see if he could gain admittance to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing emporium, and eaten a splendid pie in a chop house. He kept himself well away from his usual haunts. Was this what a gentleman did all day? Went to shops, clubs, and paraded around? It sounded like a life of wonderful, idle luxury but after only a few days Sam was feeling not only distinctly out of place, but surprisingly lonely. The silence in the beautiful but huge apartment became oppressive. He was used to being constantly surrounded by people and animals. Chatter, laughter, arguments, and general noise were a constant part of his existence. He was used to sharing not only every moment, but every space that he had and it has ever been thus. Here…here there was no-one but himself for company. He was also terrified that at any moment Dante or Mosely would locate him, so was forced to keep away from the places he was familiar with, his friends, or anyone that might be connected to his old life. He felt the need to be constantly on his guard. He was wondering how to broach the subject of the money that he owed Dante with Tristan when the door sounded and he came into the room. Sam paused and looked at him. His blue eyes were bright and shone with a good humour that was the complete opposite to the way he used to look when he arrived at Dante’s. A smile curved his lips as he walked purposefully across the room, took him into his arms, and kissed him thoroughly. Sam smiled into the kiss, wrapped his arms around him and for a long moment they simply kissed. Breathing together, moving together they were one.
Tristan pulled away long enough to smile at him. “Hello,” he whispered. There was no sign of the miserable looking boy who had rescued him from the brothel.
Sam touched his nose to Tristan’s. “Hello.”
“What have you been up to today?” Tristan pecked him on the lips. “Have you eaten? My odious cousin has departed for the evening, so you would be more than welcome to join me for supper.”
“Wouldn’t you rather eat here? We could eat naked.” Sam waggled his eyebrows.
Tristan laughed and kissed him again. “What would we eat? You don’t have a cook yet.”
Sam squashed an entirely unreasonable feeling of irritation. “I can cook, you know. I just need to buy some food.” At Tristan’s arched eyebrow he gave in with a sigh. “As you please.” He hadn’t meant for Tristan to employ people to care for him. A room to live in and be safe would have been more than enough.
“Come, we will eat and then pop back here and coze the evening away.”
“I need to work out a way to repay Dante.” Sam had been reluctant to raise the issue of money, but the longer he held off paying Dante the worse it would get, and the likelihood of him finding him grew. Dante had connections throughout the entire ton, and would use them to get at him, of that there was no doubt.
“Of course, we must see to that. And while we are on the subject, would you take this?”
Sam looked at the parcel wrapped in paper and tied with string that Tristan had extracted from his coat pocket, and took it cautiously. “What is it?”
Tristan shrugged. “Pin money?”
Sam’s chest seized. “Pin money?” He stared at him. “Tristan…Tristan, I am not your wife,” he said as gently as possible.
“Of course not.” Tristan stroked his face briefly, “but you need money for day to day expenses. I have arranged for my tailor to visit tomorrow to arrange a new wardrobe for you and…”
“Tristan…Tristan,” Sam insisted as the man rambled on about formal wear, day wear, cravats and the like.
“What is it?”
“I don’t need all of those things. I will not be moving in circles that require formal attire, I will only need a few items, and I might even be able to get Gareth to bring my clothes from the club.”
“Oh. I thought you might like some new things.”
He looked so crestfallen that Sam felt guilty. “Of course I would like new things, of course I would…” He shook his head. “Forgive me?”
Tristan tilted his head to one side and smiled. “We are talking again.”
Sam paused, and then laughed aloud. Tristan laughed along with him and it was a little while before they set off to his town house.
* * * *
Over dinner Tristan brought up the subject of the money that he owed once the room was cleared of footmen. It was odd eating with Tristan in his home as one’s conversation had to stop intermittently as servants moved silently in and out. Fortunately, it was an informal supper so there were no footmen stood behind them. To say the meal was informal when they sat at an alarmingly large table covered with, what Sam considered to be, very ugly silverware, was a bit of a stretch.
“How can I get the money to Dante for you?” Tristan said, as he cut up a piece of chicken. “I have it, but I am not sure of the best way to convey it.”
“I can get a message to my friend Gareth. He works for Dante and he could get the money to him safely.” Sam speared a piece of buttery potato and popped it in his mouth. It was divine. “Then, I think you should go back as a customer.”
Tristan’s fork hit the plate with a clatter. “What? What are you talking about?” His eyes were wide and shocked.
Sam chose his words carefully. “I am worried that Dante will associate my disappearance with you if you stop attending.”
“You want me to…” he gestured vaguely with one hand. “With someone else?”
“Good lord! No,” Sam said, shocked. He stared at his plate for a moment, the thought of someone else with Tristan was discomfiting in the extreme.
“Well, I don’t want to either,” Tristan said, and Sam enjoyed the frostiness in his tone and the pinched mouth expression.
“I have been thinking about this, and I think you should go and ask for me. When I am not available, obviously, ask for Gareth. His working name is Romeo.” Tristan was staring with his mouth open so Sam continued. “Gareth is my friend. He knows about you and how I feel about you. If you tell him why you are there he will understand. You will be able to pass the money to him and he will give it to Dante.”
“I see.” Tristan licked his lips. “What if they are spying on us again?”
“It’s a risk, but if you just ask to be kissed again they would accept that. Many men come to the club just to be held and kissed. Nothing more.”
“Really?”
Sam nodded. “Really. Some people are dreadfully lonely.”
Sam’s chest ached when Tristan immediately dropped his gaze to look at his plate.
“Very well. I will go tomorrow as usual.”
The footman came back at that moment so conversation became mundane and Tristan chatted about people that Sam didn’t know, and Sam talked about people that Tristan didn’t know, and they smiled awkwardly at each other.
* * * *
Tristan stood in the alley outside Dante’s club, tucked discreetly away off St James’, and pulled his evening cape closer around him against the cold fog. He adjusted his hat and then rapped on the door with his cane. Moments later the door opened and he was invited in. The club was high quality. It catered to the tastes of a wide variety of people but, on the surface, it was a small, quiet, respectable gentleman’s club where a man could have a peaceful meal and conversation with friends and engage in a spot of gambling. In reality, it was a place where a man could have his wildest fantasies satisfied. He strolled into the main room and headed for his favourite chair, and Tolson appeared as if by magic.
“My lord, how good to see you. I was afraid you might have been offended by our little…problem at your last visit.
”
“Well, if I am honest, I did give it second thoughts.”
Tolson nodded sagely. “Will sir be requiring a private room tonight?”
“I will.” Tristan wondered if Tolson could hear his heart beating, it was hammering so hard against his ribs.
Tolson disappeared and returned with the brandy decanter and left it by his elbow. He sat in silence for some time, no-one bothered him, but then no-one ever did. There were not from his usual set here, not that he had many friends to speak of, and he would have been shocked to the back teeth to see any of them, so he simply watched until Tolson came back to escort him. Tolson stood back and allowed Tristan to enter the room where he had met Samuel, loved Samuel, and rescued Samuel. It was their room.
“Sir?” Tolson broke his reverie. “I am afraid Henri is no longer with us.”
“I am hardly surprised.” Tolson looked relieved and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Tristan jumped in again. “There was a young man that night. Small, long dark hair. I fancy I have had my fill of brutish types.”
Tolson nodded, his tall frame bending slightly. Tristan settled himself in the chair to wait. He remembered the first night he had come to Dante’s. He had almost run before Samuel arrived, but when he did, when he walked through the door, tall, broad, and impossibly handsome, Tristan had known he was lost. Irretrievably.
Moments later the door opened again, and the young man walked in. He was roughly the same height as Tristan, but looked younger. Long, straight shiny dark hair swirled about his shoulders, and Tristan could have sworn he had some black liner around his dark eyes making them stand out. He pouted and put a hand on one hip. “Are you familiar with the house rules?” he asked. His voice was curiously husky.
“I am.”
“How can I serve?”
“I want to kiss.”
Tristan found he was shaking as the young man sauntered over to him, stood before him, and looked him up and down. He lifted a hand and trailed the backs of his fingers down Tristan’s cheek, slid his fingers along his jaw, and then kissed him. It was an exceptionally good kiss. Expert, practiced, and calculating. Tristan returned the kiss in half-hearted fashion, feeling like he was betraying Samuel. The kiss was good but the man felt wrong, tasted wrong. Smelled wrong. He pulled away. “Lie on the bed with me.”
The man smiled and took his hand. They climbed onto the bed together, and Tristan lay on his back with the man over him. He pulled him closer. “I have a message for you.”
The man kissed him softly and ran a hand down his chest. “Do I get to fuck you whilst I listen to it?” he said.
“No. You get to listen and pretend.”
Gareth pouted. “But you are so pretty.” He ran his hand to his stomach and Tristan tensed. Gareth leaned down and kissed him again and then ran his hand further down his body and took hold of his cock through his breeches. Tristan was mortified to find he was hard. He ran his fingers through Gareth’s hair and then gripped hard making him wince and pull his mouth away.
“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. “I am here for Samuel. Nothing more. You will listen to what I have to say and go. I do not want your services or your tricks. Understood?”
Gareth paused, gave him a squeeze, and then released him. “As you wish, it’s your blunt.”
“It is. Now listen.”
* * * *
Tristan arrived at Half Moon Street feeling distinctly guilty. Samuel was waiting for him, those grey green eyes worried.
“Safely delivered.” Samuel met him halfway across the hallway with a kiss. Tristan decided that he could get used to having someone to come home to, someone to kiss him when he walked in.
“Bless you,” Samuel whispered against his mouth.
Tristan’s scalp prickled and he pulled away. “I should tell you I had to kiss Gareth.”
Samuel smiled at him, a lopsided smile with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you now. I would have liked to see that.”
Tristan was certain his jaw fell open. “What?”
“Did you do more?”
“Well…he…touched me.” Tristan watched Samuel’s eyes grow hooded and dark.
“Where?”
His voice had a hint of a growl that lit a fire in Tristan’s belly. Emboldened, he took Samuel’s hand and place it on his iron hard cock. “He touched me there.”
Samuel squeezed him hard making him gasp. Tristan moaned softly. “Bastard.”
Tristan’s heart thundered. “He wanted more,” he whispered. “He wanted to fuck me.”
“Did you let him?”
“No. Not without you there to watch.”
Samuel’s breathing hitched, his eyes darkened, and Tristan felt as though he would come if Samuel so much as rubbed him. Samuel moved closer so his face was a hairsbreadth from Tristan’s. “Clothes off. On the rug. Now.” Tristan watched as Samuel strode away, presumably to fetch the oil. Tristan dragged his clothing off and was dragging his shirt over his head when he returned.
“All fours.”
Tristan was aching all over. He knelt and heard Samuel moan, then the soft scent of oil filled the room, and Tristan’s heart stopped when Samuel leaned over him and kissed the back of his neck. He was unspeakably aroused and Samuel’s instant need to claim him after his encounter with Gareth made him feel ten feet tall. This handsome, wonderful man wanted him. Needed him. Loved him. Tristan moaned as Samuel kissed his way down his spine, running his hands down his sides, making him twitch. When Samuel reached around him and grasped his cock, Tristan moaned aloud.
“Tell me what you want,” Samuel said, moving to kiss the base of his spine.
“Anything. Whatever you want to do to me,” Tristan said. He meant it. He had told Samuel what he needed in the brothel, but here, now he wanted Samuel to be a part of their lovemaking, not just at his beck and call. He wanted Samuel to know how different the relationship could be.
Something occurred to him. He glanced back over his shoulder and Samuel kissed him softly.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Tristan asked. “I know we always did it this way at the brothel because that was what I asked for. I need to know what you want. What you need.”
He watched Sam’s face carefully and saw the surprise, swiftly followed by a wicked smile. “I would like you to fuck me one day, but today I need you.” He slid his hand down and let his fingers drift down Tristan’s crease, making him shiver. “I want to claim you. Mark you. Make sure that you are mine.”
“I’m yours. God, I’m yours,” Tristan said, his voice almost hoarse with need. He let out a long, harsh moan as Samuel took his balls and squeezed them gently.
“Lie on your back.” Samuel pushed him and arranged him on the rug. Tristan looked back at him, puzzled.
“I’ve changed my mind; I want to do it looking at you. I want to see your face when I fuck you.”
Tristan’s heart squeezed. They had never done it this way before but when Samuel settled between his thighs and lined their aching cocks up, his breathing faltered. Samuel leaned in and kissed him. It was a long, searching kiss that demanded everything Tristan had and he gave it freely. Samuel broke free to rub oil over himself and then pushed Tristan’s legs back so that he could ease into him Tristan’s heart felt so incredibly full. Samuel had never said that he loved him since that day in the brothel, and he still felt guilty for never saying them back, but when Samuel held him this way he knew in his heart that he was loved. Samuel pushed in hard, stealing his breath, and then pulled out, only to plunge back and then Tristan simply held on. True to his word Samuel watched him as their bodies came together and it was almost too intense to bear. Samuel’s eyes drifted closed, and his face contorted as his thrusts grew ragged. He dropped his head onto Tristan’s shoulder and slid a hand between them to take Tristan’s cock and within moments they both erupted, shouting and clutching as they exploded into one another and for a moment had no idea where one ended and the other began.
* * * *
A few days later, Tristan watched Samuel parade in the new clothes with a tight feeling in his chest. He really did look every inch the gentleman. Those shoulders, those thighs. He shook his head.
“You look splendid,” he said, walking over to twitch the set of his coat. His waistcoat was a soft green that made his eyes look even greener. Tristan tilted his head to one side and considered. Jade. He needed jade. Perhaps a cravat pin…
“Beg pardon?” He stared at Samuel, who had been speaking.
“If you keep looking at me like that these clothes are not going to stay on long.”
Samuel was grinning at him and Tristan felt himself blush. He was so relieved that Samuel liked the clothes.
“I like your new hair,” he said. Tristan’s valet had done a superlative job in taming Samuel’s curls into a fashionable a la Brutus.
Samuel rubbed a hand through it. “Do you? You don’t think it’s a little…dandyish? Something that Alfie might have done?”
“Definitely something Alfie would like to do but he has such straight hair it would never take.”
Samuel laughed, and then stood upright. “My lord,” he said, with a deferential bow of just the right depth. “How might I be of service?”
“Very good,” Tristan said, bowing in response. “You would easily pass as a gentleman.” Samuel didn’t respond, he just smiled. Tristan closed the distance between them and took his hands. Sometimes he worried that Samuel would become bored of him. Truth be told, he felt like that frequently. They didn’t mix in the same circles so they spent little time together out of the bed chamber and wonderful though that was, sometimes Tristan felt he wanted more. Felt Samuel wanted more, but he couldn’t for the life of him fathom out how to do that. If he’d been a woman he would have begged for his hand, married him, and by now they would have been setting up home with a mutual group of friends with whom they would socialise. Tristan had several times over the last few days pondered the possibility of discreetly introducing Samuel to some of his friends. They could conjure up a reasonable explanation for his presence, and for his lack of town bronze, he was sure.
