The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

Elias sat still and let Augustus tie his cravat.

  “Affection, you say?” Elias asked, trying to sound disinterested.

  “Yes,” Augustus said, tweaking the knot one more time. “There. Fancy waterfall. You look like a molly.”

  “Terrific.”

  “And it covers the marks on your throat.”

  “Marks?”

  “I kissed you pretty hard.”

  “You left marks? That people can see?”

  “Er, yes. Sorry.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “Little bruises.”

  Elias remembered how his father had asked him if he was courting a leech. Perhaps he was.

  “Bloody leech,” Elias muttered, tugging at his cravat.

  “They’re a specific-looking bruise, though. So unless you want questions, I’d keep your cravat high if I were you.”

  Elias muttered a few half-hearted insults.

  “Am I taming the savage beast?” Augustus asked, putting a hand on Elias’s shoulder.

  “No. Never. Fuck you.”

  “Good,” Augustus murmured, and kissed Elias’s cheek. “I’ll return later.”

  Elias made a mental note to try to get answers out of Augustus when he returned.

  * * * *

  The truth of the matter was that Augustus could be quite distracting when he wished. When he returned, Elias did not have the opportunity to pose any questions before Augustus swooped down, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I’ve been talking with the girls again.”

  “Why?” Elias asked. They were sitting in the spare room, which Augustus had claimed as his own.

  “I was asking them about sodomy.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday, while you were tending. They had some information and advice for us, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “Firstly, sodomy was as we suspected; however it also encompasses some of the activities we’ve already enjoyed.”

  “You mean sucking one another’s—”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah.”

  “Secondly, there’s an art to both types, but especially the…er…lower one.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Well, it can apparently be quite painful.”

  “Keep your dirty big cock away from me, you nasty bugger.”

  “But very enjoyable when done correctly.”

  Elias tilted his head. “Hmph.”

  Augustus brushed Elias’s hair back from his face. “I’m going to research this thoroughly,” Augustus murmured. “I would never want to hurt you, you know that, right?”

  Elias disliked when Augustus was serious. He shrugged him away.

  “I’ll tell you everything I learn,” Augustus continued, “and if you don’t want to do it, we never even have to try.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Do you want to know what I’ve learned so far?”

  Elias sighed and put his head in his hands. “Fine, fine…”

  “Well, you should really get to know yourself a bit better.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know how you studied before the first time we did anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “The girls say you should do that for this too.”

  Elias groaned. Why could not they just enjoy themselves now? Why did everything require preparation? “How?”

  “There are some exercises they told me about, and all you need is your fingers and some olive oil.”

  “Olive oil?”

  “It’s slick, and since you don’t…you know…get slick down there yourself, it means it’ll hurt less.”

  “And how does olive oil help with that?”

  “You put it on your fingers and smear it inside.”

  “I have to put my fingers in my ass?” Elias felt sick.

  “Only if you want to!” Augustus said hastily. “I mean, I could do this instead of you, if you prefer, as I’d like to try some day anyway. I only thought, since we’d already discussed—”

  “But if I want you to put your cock in me, I have to put my fingers—”

  “Well, I mean, I could put mine in there instead.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Elias roared.

  “Eli—”

  “It’s one thing to have your cock up there, I never have to deal with the thing, but my fingers? I eat with those! You eat with yours!”

  “God, do you never wash your hands? And what about when you suck me off?”

  “That’s beside the point!”

  “Anyway, if you plan your meals properly, you don’t really need to worry about—”

  “You’re putting me on a diet?”

  “What? No, your body’s perfect, that’s not what I—”

  “Blast!” Elias slammed his fists against his knees. He could not believe his ears. This was what being a sodomite was about? He was not sure he wanted to be one anymore. “Fucking goddamn sweet-talking sodomite lover boy on a horse—”

  “Eli,” Augustus said, taking his hand. “Calm down. If you don’t want any of this, we won’t do any of this. I won’t leave you over it. Nothing will change because of it. There’s absolutely no pressure. I just want you to be happy.” When Elias said nothing, Augustus continued. “Listen, just let me talk you through it once, so you understand the bigger picture. Then you can think about it. What do you think?”

  “Fine,” Elias muttered.

  Augustus took a deep breath. “So, olive oil. On your fingertips. Try it lying down, just reach between your legs and play around with your…your…” He was apparently at a loss of how to delicately describe Elias’s anatomy. “Venerable monosyllable of the masculine variety. Bottom. Hole. Ass. Er, you know what I mean. The first time, you don’t even need to put anything inside. Just get used to something being down there, yes? Do that a few times. If you like that, you can try putting a fingertip in. With oil, of course. Lots of oil. It’s apparently easier if you push down a little from inside while you’re pushing the finger in. Try putting the finger in deeper. Try putting in two. Lots of oil, remember, Lulu kept stressing that. She said men have something inside that’s supposed to feel really good when you push against it, but you have to be pretty deep to reach it. She said if I find that, I’ll never want to have any other kind of sex. Oh, and about the food. Light meals, lots of fruits and vegetables for a day or so before. Teas are good.”

  Elias rubbed his temples.

  “What’re you thinking?” Augustus asked.

  In spite of himself, Elias was curious. And he certainly felt pressure. In his trousers. Augustus’s tutorial, though deliberately devoid of sensuality, had had an effect on Elias nonetheless. Just thinking about Augustus inside him was enough to give Elias gooseflesh. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you,” Augustus murmured, and kissed Elias’s knuckles. Elias’s stomach whooshed. “I won’t mention it again unless you bring it up first.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  No matter how Elias thought of it, his relationship with Augustus required more attention and reflection than any other sort of relationship Elias had ever known. Gone were the days when daydreaming of unknown pastimes was enough. Elias was now learning what pastimes he might enjoy with Augustus, in more detail than he had ever once thought he might know. Meditating upon them required a great deal of his free time.

  Augustus no longer touched Elias’s ass when they kissed, which Elias missed. He knew it was because Augustus did not want Elias to feel pressured, for which Elias was grateful. Their kisses and sucking were no less frequent, but Elias felt they were more restrained than usual.

  The first time Elias succeeded in making Augustus come by oral stimulation, they were both surprised.

  “Oh my God,” Augustus said, his body heaving.

  Elias gagged and spit out the cum he had collected in his mouth. “What the fuck?” he yelled, wiping his lips.

  Once Augustus had settled, he explained to Elias what cum was. Elias, who had
of course masturbated and stroked Augustus to climax, had had no idea it was so viscous, plentiful, and bitter; it had always shot out and into a handkerchief or the air or across the bed. Elias did not have to deal with it and had no way of quantifying it. Now, he knew he could collect a modest mouthful from Augustus.

  “Clotted cream?” Elias demanded, horrified, when Augustus made the comparison. Cum did not taste like clotted cream.

  “A thin batch.”

  “You mean to tell me spunk resembles food?”

  “A food, yes…”

  “So am I supposed to eat it?”

  “Er, no, not if you don’t want to.”

  “No offense, but it tastes fucking disgusting.”

  “That’s fine if you think so. I don’t care if you swallow or not.”

  Augustus swallowed Elias’s cum when he got him off later that day.

  “Holy hell, did you just eat my cum?” Elias demanded when he heard the gulp, still holding Augustus by the hair.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it tastes good. And aren’t you flattered?”

  “Flattered? That’s disgusting.”

  “Lulu said her clients like it when she does that.”

  “Well, her clients are fucked up, then.”

  Thereafter, Elias always swallowed. He learned to love the taste and texture. Augustus never asked why he had the sudden change of heart.

  * * * *

  Two weeks after Augustus first educated him on the true nature of sodomy, Elias took a decision. They were in the tavern alone before opening, kissing against the bar as the hard rains of late November pounded against the glass. Elias took Augustus’s hands, which rested on his waist, and slid them to his ass. Augustus paused, mouth agape against Elias’s, his body stiff as a board. Then, without a word, he resumed their kiss, kneading Elias’s ass as Elias pushed Augustus against the bar, their crotches pressed together, Augustus’s tongue inside Elias’s mouth. Augustus’s fingers traced the central line down the back of Elias’s trousers, and Elias grabbed Augustus’s cravat in both his fists, drawing him closer.

  “I’m a good student when I put my mind to it,” Elias murmured, and bit Augustus’s earlobe.

  “Top marks on kissing, anyway,” Augustus replied, and they toppled to the floor.

  * * * *

  Augustus did not ask after Elias’s progress, so Elias would bring it up on occasion.

  “I studied yesterday afternoon,” he would say some mornings when Augustus either came from the Prissy Peacock or stumbled down the stairs at the Peach and Pear, depending on where he had stayed the night. Augustus would get quiet and the air would get thick, and sometimes Elias would receive a light shoulder squeeze.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bess would snap if she was present for such conversations. “You didn’t lay a finger on your pianoforte this afternoon.”

  While Elias had a lot more to think about these days, he practiced pianoforte with renewed enthusiasm. He continued his lessons with Mrs. Brown and had even begun composing his own pieces in earnest. He had always flirted with composition, but had experienced fresh focus and drive in recent weeks. The new pieces were sprawling and sentimental, and when he played a personal favorite for Mrs. Brown late one afternoon, she was silent a full minute before she put a hand on Elias’s knee.

  “I had no idea you had such a heart in you, boy,” she murmured. “You hide a great deal under that bravado of yours. What do you call it?”

  Elias thought of Augustus and felt his cheeks flush. “Down the Glen,” he muttered, biting a hangnail. The piece had sounded the best it ever had, given that Mrs. Brown’s pianoforte was in tune.

  “It’s beautiful.” Mrs. Brown drew Elias’s hand from his mouth. “Have you ever played it for anyone else?”

  “No. I suppose Bess or my father might’ve heard me composing, but no, I’ve never shared it before.” Elias liked to practice when he knew they were out, or when he was sure at least his father was asleep.

  Mrs. Brown breathed quietly a long moment. “You’ve a talent. A real gift. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now. Have you got anything else?”

  So Elias played for her, the entirety of his lesson block overflowing with the compositions he had created during months of confusion, teasing, infatuation, and, yes, affection. In the beginning, he had found it odd to distill his bantering with Augustus and dalliances with Mr. Sweeton into music, but now, as he stroked the melodies from ivory, it made sense. This was how he reflected, processed, and developed. Some people kept diaries, but Elias, who could not write, kept compositions in his head, and each conveyed an intense internal narrative.

  “That second last one,” Mrs. Brown said. “What’s it called?”

  “Sunrise,” Elias replied.

  “Dear child,” Mrs. Brown drew a breath. Elias was shocked to realize she was crying. She cleared her throat. “I must write a contact in Town. She will know what to do with such ability. I am over my head, but I can recognize a true artist when I hear one.”

  Elias walked home on a cloud.

  “What the hell are you looking so pleased about?” Bess asked when he entered the Peach and Pear through the front door, so he knew they were alone.

  “I had a good lesson,” Elias said, sitting.

  “What made it good?” Bess asked, squeaking into a stool next to him.

  “I played some of my own work for Mrs. Brown, and she liked it.”

  “That old bat? I thought she was hard to impress.”

  It was true. Elias put his head in his hands. “She says she’s going to write a friend in Town about me.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bess put a hand on his shoulder. “You should play some for us sometime,” she said, and Elias knew she meant Augustus and herself.

  “I might,” Elias said, wondering if he wanted Augustus to know him like that. To know what he was like when he was laid bare—not physically, but emotionally—for everyone to hear. “I’d need to think about it.”

  “Well, do. I’ve had enough of your secret-keeping.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On lazy days, Elias and Augustus could make out for hours. It was not a steady, hot and heavy affair, but a waxing and waning of kisses, groping, and murmured conversation. Sometimes Augustus would join Elias on the pianoforte bench, and Elias would play as Augustus rested his hand on Elias’s thigh and kissed his neck. Elias would play the compositions Mrs. Brown had taught him, and Augustus would make requests. Sometimes, Augustus would hum a tune and Elias would learn it on the spot.

  “You’re very talented,” Augustus observed one morning.

  “Hmm,” Elias said, his fingers skipping over the keys as he coaxed out a familiar old melody.

  “I mean, this thing is so out of tune I think Lord Nelson would sound better if I stepped on his tail, but you touch it and it makes music.”

  “You haven’t played violin for me,” Elias said, tilting his ear to the keys as he continued to play.

  “I had to sell mine earlier this year,” Augustus said.

  “Oh.”

  “I miss it dearly.”

  “I wonder if Mrs. Brown knows where you could get one?”

  “It’s fine. I’ve had my eye on one in Town for a while now.”

  “Going to steal it?”

  “No. I’m waiting until I have enough money.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? You haven’t done any thieving for sale of late judging by the state of my wardrobe, so—”

  Augustus laid his hands atop Elias’s, and the pianoforte tinkled to silence. “I won’t always be a dastardly highwayman, you know,” Augustus said. “And you’re the furthest thing from an idiot I’ve ever known.”

  “Stuff it.”

  Augustus kissed Elias’s lips. “Stuff it where?” he asked slyly.

  Before long, Elias was sprawled on the pianoforte bench, legs dangling, Aug
ustus seated between his thighs and curled over him, smothering him with kisses. Elias was almost ready for it, he could feel Augustus’s cock pressing into his leg, knew where it belonged and what they were going to do.

  Augustus, one hand down the front of Elias’s trousers, put the other over Elias’s mouth. Elias took Augustus’s index finger in his mouth and sucked it as Augustus massaged Elias’s dick.

  “Damn it, Eli.”

  Elias slid his lips from Augustus’s finger.

  “What?” he demanded, flushing. He was doing that a lot lately, and it bothered him.

  “No, I meant it in a good way.”

  “Explain.”

  “You’ve never seen couples kissing or cavorting in a corner. What you do, you think up all on your own. It’s not for show. It’s not mimicry. You do it because you think of it and think we’d enjoy it. That makes me so hot.” There was a rustling sound.

  “Are you taking off your cravat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I want to kiss your neck.”

  Elias leaned forward and kissed the side of Augustus’s neck. He sucked on his skin.

  “Fuck, Eli.” Augustus hissed through his teeth, withdrawing his hands from Elias’s trousers and clutching Elias’s elbow. From the discordant plonking from the pianoforte, Elias supposed Augustus had put his other hand on the keyboard to steady himself. “That’s…oh…you…”

  They laced their fingers together, Augustus’s trailing spit.

  “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

  “Well, to some extent I do,” Elias mumbled into Augustus’s neck.

  “I want to kiss you until my lips bleed.”

  “That sounds unhygienic.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Fuck, I wonder if you’re this annoying even in bed. Are you ever caught off guard?”

  “Any time you touch me.” Elias had not meant to say it, but it was true.

  “Good.” Augustus slid his hands between the pianoforte bench and Elias’s ass, dragging Elias forward until their groins touched. “Nice,” he murmured, squeezing. “I love your ass.”

  “Thanks,” Elias said, skin prickling.

  “But you’ve more sass than ass, and that’s saying something,” Augustus purred.