The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

  “Wow,” they said together.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Augustus asked.

  Elias felt dizzy. He bit his lip and rose a little, then sat back down in Augustus’s lap.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so,” Augustus said. “I could see it on your face.”

  “I could feel it in your trousers.”

  Augustus held Elias’s hips, guiding them in a slow rocking motion.

  “Jesus.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like the idea of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of me…inside…down there…you, like that?”

  “Yes.” Elias’s heart was pounding. He put his hands on Augustus’s chest as they continued to grind through their clothes. This touch had real purpose to it.

  “You like that idea? Of me in your ass?”

  “Yes.” Elias’s hole ached. Was it supposed to?

  “Fucking your ass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pounding your sweet little ass while all you can do is moan my name over and over?”

  “Yes.”

  Augustus sat up, rolled Elias onto his stomach, and lay on top of him. He pressed his covered cock against him, thrusting forward. Elias clutched the blankets in his fists and gritted his teeth.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, pressing his forehead into the pillows. “Fuck, yes.”

  “Good. Someday I will make you come like this. While I fuck you like a dog.”

  Elias’s skin was prickling all over, and his dick was aching. He reached behind him, grabbed hold of Augustus’s hand, then yanked it forward and pulled it down the front of his trousers. He had a delicious idea.

  “Stroke me until I come.”

  Augustus did not need to be told twice. He rubbed Elias with great enthusiasm as he continued to rock against his ass, his nose buried in the side of Elias’s neck, whispering to him all they would do together someday. When Elias came, he gasped and heaved into the pillows, and Augustus bit his ear lobe.

  “Oh my God,” Augustus murmured. “That was fucking intense. That was unbelievable. You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  Elias, whose ears were ringing and whose breath was still coming fast and hard, withdrew Augustus’s hand from his trousers and kissed his knuckles.

  “I could do that to you, if you want.”

  So Augustus sat on the edge of the bed, and Elias sat in his lap, straddling his hips and kissed him as he jerked his cock out the front of his trousers and worked the shaft up and down, right in front of his own groin, until Augustus was twitching, biting, licking, and moaning.

  “Fuck, Eli, fuck. You’re making me wild…fuck…” His very words shivered.

  Elias was grateful he’d had time to practice on himself for a few days. Augustus put his hand over Elias’s, guiding it, and made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob when he came.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Elias was so reconciled to the humiliation of Augustus’s past robberies that he got careless. It was half an hour before opening a week later, and Augustus, who was now learning from Elias how to serve drinks, was behind the bar.

  “No, no, you’ve given me the wrong one,” Elias chided from his seat. Lord Nelson was kneading his lap. “I specifically asked you for a 1797 Mauzac, and you’ve given me the 1798. I don’t expect your nose to be as good as mine, but can you even read? And you’ve used entirely the wrong glass and filled it before letting me taste it properly.”

  “Ugh,” Augustus said, trying to take back the glass. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine, I’ll drink it anyway.” Elias sipped the wine.

  “I really thought I’d be better at this,” Augustus said.

  “Why? Because it’s so easy a blind man could do it?”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” Bess asked hopefully from where she swept along the far wall of the tavern.

  “No,” Elias replied. “You still need to pretend you’re going together.”

  “Fuck,” Bess groaned. “This is getting old. And now no other man in Kitwick wants anything to do with me because this sodding gentleman gives off enough of the stench of evil no one wants to cross him.”

  “Evil!” Augustus scoffed.

  “And here I thought no one had figured out you’re the dastardly highwayman of old,” Elias said. He gasped and put a hand over his mouth. The tavern was silent.

  “He’s what?” Bess whispered.

  “Oh, shit,” Elias muttered.

  “Shit,” Augustus echoed.

  “What did you say?” Bess repeated sharply.

  “The highwayman?” Elias asked faintly.

  “The what?”

  “The high-way-man,” Elias enunciated.

  “The one who stripped you bare?” Bess demanded.

  “The very one.”

  “The one who stole your hats?”

  “That’s him.”

  “The one who humiliated my twin, got him sacked, cost us a small fortune in property theft and lost wages?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s him, Bess.”

  “Now, Miss Burgess—” Augustus began.

  “Fucking goddamn sodding son of a bitch cunt-faced prissy toff bounder fake beau!” Bess screamed.

  “The one and only,” Elias confirmed. He knew where this was going, and there would be no stopping her. He might as well enjoy it.

  There was a shriek, and Elias could not be sure whether it was Augustus or Bess who made the sound. Lord Nelson leaped from Elias’s lap with a hiss.

  “She’s got my ear!” Augustus yelled amid a furious shuffling; it sounded as though Bess had dragged him out from behind the bar to get a good swing in.

  “Don’t mind my sister,” Elias said, stretching his legs and brushing cat hair from his trousers. “But you might want to guard your groin. She fights dirty.”

  There was a heavy thumping, then the distinct sound of two knees hitting the floor.

  “Too late.” Augustus gasped.

  “Sister dear, you must leave something for me.”

  “You’ll be lucky if he has eyes by the time Lord Nelson and I am done with him, let alone a dick!”

  “You’d have the blind lead the blind?”

  “Fuck you! Fuck you both!” Bess screamed.

  Augustus gave shouts of pain, each preceded by walloping sounds or growls in turn. “Your sister is beating me with a broom! Your cat is ripping me to shreds!” he yelled.

  “Could always be worse,” Elias said, reaching for his wineglass. He found it, drew it toward him, and took a sip.

  “Call them off!”

  “Call me off? Off? As though I’m his bitch!” Bess demanded. “Those first few were for him, but these are for me!” Augustus emitted more cries of pain.

  “I won’t draw my pistol because you’re a lady.”

  “Don’t worry. He lost his pistol,” Elias called.

  “I bought a new one!” Augustus roared.

  The beating stopped only when their father came downstairs.

  “What’s all this commotion?” he barked from the stairwell door.

  Angry though she was, Bess would not endanger Augustus by revealing his identity to their father. Even Lord Nelson gave Augustus a moment of respite.

  “A rat,” Bess called, panting. “Mr. Westwood was quite frightened by it, but I’ve taken care of it.”

  “That’s my girl,” their father said, and returned upstairs.

  “Miss Burgess, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for not telling—oh, fuck.” Augustus’s speech disintegrated into a moan. Elias was having difficulty deciding whether he found this sound arousing.

  “Have you finished, Bess?” he asked after a moment.

  “One more lick,” Bess said.

  “Please no,” Augustus groaned. There was another walloping sound, and then the clattering of Bess hurling her broom to the floor.<
br />
  “Lord Nelson, come. Did you knock him out?” Elias asked.

  “No. Though I imagine he wishes he was unconscious now.”

  “I do,” Augustus rasped. “Oh God, do I ever.”

  “I need to take a walk,” Bess said. “Elias, get your beau to finish tidying by opening.”

  “Not my beau,” Elias snapped as Lord Nelson returned to his lap. The door slammed behind Bess.

  Elias tossed Lord Nelson back to the floor, stood, and made his way out from behind the bar. “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Here,” Augustus replied tremulously.

  Elias made his way to the source of his voice.

  “Here! Don’t trip over me,” Augustus said once he got close.

  Elias knelt next to him. “What’d they do to you?”

  “I might be a eunuch now,” Augustus grumbled.

  “Shit, really?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You had me worried for a moment.”

  “Ass.”

  Elias snorted. “Is that all I am to you?”

  “Well, I do stare at yours a lot, but I know there’s a man attached to it.”

  “I can hear they haven’t hurt you too badly, then.”

  “I have a number of wounds,” Augustus said, sounding hopeful.

  “I can’t help you with those.”

  “You could kiss them better.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Mostly on my cock, by the feel of it.”

  “Fuck you,” Elias snarled.

  “Wish you would,” Augustus said, taking Elias’s hand.

  “Ugh, let go.”

  “Come off it, honey. You like me.”

  “Unless you want more wounds on your cock, you’ll release me at once.”

  “Nasty bugger.” Augustus let him go.

  “True. In theory.”

  “I might have a black eye,” Augustus said, gasping in pain. “It feels mushy.”

  “I’ve two black eyes, so they tell me. Neither are mushy.”

  “No, I meant I’ve a bruise. My skin turns blue-black when it bruises.”

  “Hm.”

  “At least kiss my mouth?” Augustus asked. “I got a beating and a scratching for your loose lips.”

  “You got a beating and a scratching because you were a good-for-nothing highwayman who stripped me bare and sold my clothes. And lost me my job.”

  “Yes. That’s true.”

  “So I refuse to take responsibility for what they did to you.”

  “Fine, fine. Do you know, I thought I’d seduced the cat? He took all the treats I gave him since I arrived and hasn’t batted at me once until today.”

  “Lord Nelson will always be more loyal to Bess and me than you.”

  “Bizarre animal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now what about that kiss?”

  Elias tossed his head. “What about it?”

  “You are maddening, Elias Burgess.”

  “And that’s why you like me. In any case, I assume since you’ve only one mushy eye you can still see to sweep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then sweep. We open soon. Maybe you’ll get a kiss for your troubles later.”

  There was a rustling and creaking as Augustus stood with difficulty. He took Elias’s hand and drew him up. “Where would that kiss be?” Augustus asked slyly.

  “Wait and see, cheeky fucker,” Elias said, heading for the bar.

  * * * *

  When Bess returned, she said nothing to Augustus and gave Elias the cold shoulder. A slow trickle of patrons entered, with Mr. Jones in the lead.

  “Miss Burgess said you had an argument,” Mr. Jones said to Augustus when he was up for his first refill of the evening. Augustus was behind the bar this evening, practicing what Elias had taught him for the past few days. He had already made a few errors, distracted as he was by, he said, Elias’s face, and Elias had taken to drinking the mistakes. Elias was never one for heavy drinking, given how he had witnessed his father deteriorate over the years, but he did indulge on occasion.

  “Ah, yes, a little disagreement,” Augustus replied, sounding stressed.

  “She says you admitted the goat allegations were more than allegations?”

  “What? No!”

  “Knew it. Knew there was something off about you.”

  “Mr. Jones, you are reiterating slander.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t prove I didn’t fuck a goat,” Augustus said indignantly. The tavern fell quiet.

  “Well, then,” Mr. Jones said, as though this proved Augustus had. Elias snorted into his drink.

  “Take your drink, you incorrigible drunkard, and pray you aren’t poisoned before you retake your seat.”

  “You can’t talk to patrons that way,” Elias said, once Mr. Jones had, grumbling, returned to his seat and the noise levels returned to normal.

  “You’re rude to patrons all the time.”

  “They know me, and they know I’m not a goat fucker. And there’s a proper way to be rude.”

  “I’m not a goat fucker!”

  “Sure, I believe you.”

  “Fuck off. And do you mean to say you possess an actual filter? What you say to patrons is not the first thing that tumbles from your brain and into your mouth?”

  “Years of training.”

  “And me? Do you have a filter with me?”

  Elias bit back a giggle. “Not really.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  Midway through the evening, when the patrons were all served and Augustus had taken a seat next to Elias, Augustus leaned in close.

  “Do you think Bess will ever forgive me?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You only need to please me.”

  “You’re all flushed,” Augustus observed.

  “I’ve had to drink all your mistakes. I’m surprised I haven’t slipped into a coma yet.”

  “Do you still remember that kiss you owe me?” Augustus asked.

  “Owe you?”

  “Er, that is to say, that kiss you will most generously bestow upon me out of the pure beneficence of your sweet heart?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Well, there’s a start.”

  “I’m half-sprung already,” Elias whispered, putting aside his glass. He nudged Augustus’s knee with his.

  “Hmm,” murmured Augustus. Elias heard the door across the tavern open and the sound of autumn rain splattering against the floorboards. Elias felt Augustus slide from his side. Shocked, he did not have time to ask where he was going before a familiar deep voice interrupted him.

  “Mr. Burgess.”

  “Mr. Sweeton,” Elias said, scowling. He hoped Augustus would come back soon, for he was feeling too giddy to tend. Trying not to think how he would manage Mr. Sweeton until Augustus returned, a bolt of irritation struck Elias. Augustus ought to have at least given Elias a warning he was leaving; what if he had not felt him depart and was left talking to himself in the middle of the tavern? “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “Only or the weekend. May I join you?”

  “My friend’s just left, but he should—”

  “Thanks.” Mr. Sweeton sat at Elias’s side in Augustus’s abandoned stool.

  “I didn’t say you could sit.”

  Mr. Sweeton touched his elbow. “I forgot how frank you are. It’s charming.”

  Elias jerked his arm away. “I forgot how forward you are. It’s alarming.”

  “There’s no sign of your friend. Are you quite sure he’s real?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Is he a particular friend?”

  “Don’t pry. It’s unattractive.” Elias suspected Kenneth Davies had tattled on him again after he saw him returning from the glen beyond the Joneses’ on Augustus’s arm.

  Mr.
Sweeton ordered a flask of ale, which Bess served and set on the bar.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sweeton. Seems I’ll be tending and serving tonight, given the help has fled and my brother’s in no state to stand.”

  “Good evening, Miss Burgess.”

  “Bess, couldn’t you go get—”

  “No, he’s left.”

  “Left? You mean he has gone gone?” Elias demanded.

  “Went out the back.”

  How rude. Well, if Augustus felt it appropriate to abandon Elias in his time of need, not to mention overwork Bess, Elias supposed he could try to enjoy Mr. Sweeton’s company.

  “Right. Fine. I’ll make do with Mr. Sweeton, then.”

  “I’m right here, you know.”

  Elias took another sip of wine after Bess had swished away. “You should try this. It’s a Napoleon. Much better than your boring old ale.”

  “What’s a Napoleon?”

  “A famous Portuguese red wine. Predates the man. Expensive but delightful. Like me.”

  “May I?”

  “By all means.”

  Mr. Sweeton took his glass. Elias heard him smell the wine, sip it, swish it, and swallow.

  “Not bad. There’s a hint of cabernet sauvignon, as in a fine Bordeaux, but with an exotic bouquet.”

  Elias snorted. He was drinking plain claret; there was no exotic bouquet.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t think a common militiaman knew anything about wine, that’s all.”

  “Nothing to rival the son of a tavern keeper, I’m sure, but I can hold my own.”

  Elias retrieved his glass and took a gulp. Damn Augustus, departing as he had. What could be the meaning of it? He said he would be back, but Bess had said he had left. Where in Kitwick had he to go? And now Elias was trapped with Mr. Sweeton. Many minutes of boring chitchat ticked by, and still Augustus did not return.

  Was he standing him up? Elias polished off the glass of claret over the next half hour, then helped himself to a half-empty bottle from behind the bar. He tried not think how much it all cost.

  “Care for some of my ale?” Mr. Sweeton offered. He was on his second flask.

  “God, if I must,” Elias muttered. He reached and took hold of Mr. Sweeton’s forearm. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” He felt his way down to his wrist, then to his hand. Mr. Sweeton’s fingers were sturdy and warm. Since they felt so nice, Elias let his touch linger a moment before he continued and secured the flask. “Bottoms up,” he said, and drank it all.