by Cooper, R.
And I Am Happy
R. Cooper
Published by R. Cooper at Smashwords
Copyright 2013
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Cover art by E. Diaz
To the original Charlie and Will and all the people who love them as I do.
Will had not meant to linger by the door but at a quarter past twelve when he heard it open he was there to watch as Charlie— his gentleman, Mr. Charles Howard, esq.— pushed open the door to let himself in. For a moment Charlie was a tall, strong figure silhouetted by yellow, flickering street lights and then he removed his hat to lean against the wall and sigh, which told Will all he needed to know about his master’s current state. He hurried closer without a thought and startled his master who must not have seen him in the dark.
“It’s just me, sir,” Will whispered as he slid one of his master’s arms around his shoulder in order to take his weight. He pulled the hat from his gentleman’s hand and set it aside. There was no sign of his master’s cane, so when Charlie attempted to stand on his own Will stubbornly stayed where he was. There was a cloying, heady scent on his master’s clothes that was neither the cologne Will sprayed onto Charlie’s handkerchief nor the crisp smell of the starch Will had personally used in his master’s collar.
It was Lily-of-the-Valley perfume. Will wanted to hide his face when he recognized it and was grateful for the darkened entryway, although even in broad daylight he did not think his gentleman would have noticed his reaction. There was much his gentleman did not notice.
Will eased one hand over Charlie’s shirtfront and pressed until he could feel warmth and the beat of a heart. “Let’s get you to bed.”
His gentleman attempted one more time to stand on his own but gave in when Will would not release him. His right foot hit the floor too heavily. Despite the rugs laid down over the marble a metallic echo carried up to Will’s ears. He could feel his master’s skin grow warmer. Charlie often got embarrassed about things that weren’t under his control, as though his occasional clumsiness were not understandable.
“I thought I instructed you not to wait up,” his master remarked as they turned toward his bedroom, which was on the ground floor and not upstairs. There were no stairs in the flat that his master was permitted to use beyond the ones to get in the front door and even those Will would do without if he had his way. But some things his gentleman insisted on and one of them was appearances. His flat would have more than one storey, and there would be stairs, and he would walk up those stairs, at least for the public to see.
Inside the flat, up further stairs where his master could not go, there was a guest room and a library. When asked to, Will fetched his gentleman’s books from that room, anything to keep his gentleman from attempting the feat himself. Charlie had agreed to install a lift after much prompting from his sisters but hadn’t yet committed to a timeframe to have the workmen in the house. His gentleman did not care much for strangers around him. It had taken time for him to grow comfortable in Will’s presence and Will was but a servant.
“I wasn’t tired, sir,” Will puffed against Charlie’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of lilies again. Will did not care for lilies or the women who wore their scent. He did not care for women at all for that matter, not in the way most men did.
“You just don’t like to listen.” His master’s tone was teasing.
Will answered in kind, or seemed to. “If anyone could make me listen, sir, it would be you.”
He felt the hitch in his master’s breathing more than he heard it but didn’t dare to lift his head to try to glimpse his expression. Once inside the bedroom, he eased Charlie down onto the edge of his bed and removed the perfume-drenched coat. He carried it into the closet and buried it under a pile of clothing waiting to be laundered.
Breathing freely again, Will went back to his master’s side, pausing only to turn up the gaslights. For a moment as he turned back he lost his breath at the sight of Charlie in the amber light. His gentleman was something from a painting with his shirt starkly pale, his skin warm and his hair dark. There were shadows along his square jaw and handsome face under his eyes. He looked grave and weary but his eyes were steady on Will.
Will was conscious of his dishabille. He’d half undressed, fully intending to retire some time ago before he’d finally accepted that he couldn’t sleep without knowing how his master’s evening had gone.
From the scent of those lilies it had gone very well.
Will scowled and hid his face, aware once again of what a dismal valet he was. At least his hands did not shake when he rested them against Charlie’s throat. He felt Charlie’s hot skin against his fingertips for a bare second before he tugged at the knot of Charlie’s cravat and slid it free.
The silk rushed through his fingers. Will watched his gentleman swallow and then set to work on his collar and the buttons of his waistcoat. “Did you have a good night, sir?” It was speak or lean forward to replace his hands with his mouth and that was the one thing Will could not do. He focused on pushing the sedate, simple waistcoat over his gentleman’s broad shoulders, taking care not to jar the right arm.
He’d set the waistcoat down and returned to finish undoing his master’s shirt buttons when Charlie sighed his answer. “Well enough. It was everything it should have been.” Will took some comfort from the lack of enthusiasm in his gentleman’s voice. “Will,” Charlie began, then stopped. Charlie, as Will called him in the safety his own mind, had a deep but soft voice, one hardly ever raised in anger. It reminded Will of brandy or port, something fine and dark and intoxicating but just beyond his reach. “Will,” Charlie said again, causing Will to shiver, “You do not have to undress me if you are tired. I gave you the night.”
Charlie tilted his chin up so Will could remove his shirt and then it was his turn to shiver as if the room were cold when it wasn’t. Will slid his master’s shirt and braces from him and had to bite back a delighted moan to see his master’s skin untouched. There was not a trace of an eager mouth or a rough hand on him, none of the kind of marks Will would have liked to leave on his master’s skin if ever given the chance. Will skated a hand over his gentleman’s chest, keeping his expression innocent despite the drag of his fingertips in the patch of dark hair. Then he curled his fingers over the shiny, warm metal at Charlie’s right shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be much of a valet if I left you to do this yourself. What would people say?” Will teased, his tone as light as he could make it with the pads of his fingers caressing scar tissue, trailing up toward the leather straps holding the prosthesis in place.
“I do not give a damn what they would say. You are my valet and—” His master gave a small grunt, as if pained, and Will gentled his movements even more. His master continued slowly. “You are my valet and I am happy.” The pain in his voice eased but Will could see how Charlie glanced away and breathed hard.
Will didn’t reach for the buckles to the arm piece until he’d eased the heavy, so very heavy, metal arm through the sleeve. He winced at each catch on the fabric, which would tear despite his efforts. The arm was not meant to be worn under clothes yet once again his gentleman had insisted.
For her he had insisted, not wishing to make her uncomfortable. For Miss Lily-of-the-Valley, although everyone in Lond
on already knew of the war hero and outspoken MP with metal arm and leg, the man with the will and body of steel, as the Fleet Street rags called him.
“Will.” His gentleman tried to protest once more. He would have been able to do this himself if left alone but it would have not have been easy. The arm had motion but buttons required concentration and the hour was late.
“Hush.” Will was bold though his mouth was dry. He stripped the shirt from his gentleman with a practiced gesture. Charlie only smiled faintly at his insolence. He should not do that. It only made Will long to be bolder. His hands went back to the ridge of scar tissue at Charlie’s shoulder. This close, Will could smell cologne and the leather of the straps. His fingers curled around them for a moment and his gaze rose. The muscles under his touch were tense. He studied the shadows under Charlie’s eyes, the tight, set line of his jaw, then ducked his head back down.
He should not care if Charlie found happiness with someone, even in the arms of a woman who wore too much perfume. He should want his master to be happy. Instead his other hand was grasping at Charlie’s side, splaying out in an attempt to be gentle before he undid the straps and unwound the mechanisms that allowed the arm to come free. Instead of being happy his gentleman might have found love Will was spitefully pleased that he was the only one allowed to touch him like this.
Charlie did not fight him again on the care he was taking, though more than once after a night off Will had come home to find his gentleman attempting to sleep with the arm attached, grooves from the weight in his shoulder, his body stiff and uncomfortable above the covers. His master went still when the metal prosthetic was gone and kept his head turned until Will returned with the top half of his Turkish pajamas. They were silk as well, Will’s doing, for Charles Howard, esq. had no taste for fabric or style. The colour was black, sombre and serious, and it suited him so well that Will almost did not mind covering up his nakedness with it.
He looked down as he slipped what remained of his master’s arm through one sleeve and caught his master’s eyes on his chest. Will had not bothered with his own buttons, not in the middle of the night. He held his breath but then his master’s eyes moved on.
“I can manage the rest, Will.” Charlie dismissed Will in a tight voice.
Will allowed himself a frown as he dropped his hands to his sides. “There’s nothing else, sir?” He had to clear his throat to ask it. Charlie glanced at him, his gaze sharp for a moment in the yellow light. Then he thinned his lips.
“No. Good night.” The frown was sad and familiar but his master’s voice was soft again. A whispering echo of his words followed Will through the closet to his small bedroom, as did the sounds of his gentleman shifting on the bed to slide his other prosthesis free from his leg. He swore, once, but quietly, as if not wanting Will to hear, as though Will didn’t leave the door open between them in case he was needed in the night.
Sometimes there were nightmares, and he was. Sometimes there were no nightmares but Will wanted the sound of his master’s breathing to help him fall asleep. Sometimes there were other sounds, intimate ones Will was too experienced to blush to hear, yet which set his skin afire just the same. Tonight was one of those nights and it was a long time after, with his own spunk cooling on his stomach and his bottom lip stinging from his teeth and the effort to keep silent, before he could recover enough to sleep.
He laid in the dark, listening to his master’s breathing grow slow and wondering what his master thought of when he pleasured himself, if it was anything like what Will thought of, if he also felt it would never be enough.
It was a stupid, lonely thought, but one Will had dared to have before. It kept him awake until early morning, when the sounds from the other room finally gentled into real sleep.
~~~
Will rose early despite his restless night. There was always much to do and it always seemed to take him longer than it would have taken others. He didn’t have a natural talent for making a gentleman’s home. In truth, his skills at ironing and button sewing were weak and he had no gifts in the kitchen. Even toast was beyond him. He did keep things neat, that was certainly true. He could answer the telephone, monitor appointments, and fix drinks. He could iron newspapers and shirts, trim hair, give a man a shave, but any valet could do those things, and usually better.
Until he had started work in this house, Will had not been the kind of valet expected to excel at such ordinary tasks. Until this house, he had been more of a rich man’s convenience than a valet.
Now he got up before first light to shave and wash and dress himself, then slipped quietly into his master’s bedroom to gather his gentleman’s stray clothes and send the necessaries off to be laundered. He started a fire in the bedroom fireplace before leaving and then headed to the small kitchen on the other side of the entranceway. In the Howard family’s larger estate in the country, as well as in the townhouse in the city, there were full kitchens with a cook, but this was a single man’s flat and his gentleman went out for most of his meals.
Will put on the water for tea while eating a piece of untoasted bread. He refrained from toasting any for his master. He had learned his lesson after one too many black and charred attempts. While the water was getting hot he went out into the study to open the curtains, start a fire in that fireplace, and check the appointments for today one more time in case he’d forgotten anything.
He considered his tasks for the day as well, nearly buzzing with pleasure to know they were tasks easily done and his master would have no reason to be disappointed in him. His master always pretended otherwise, far kinder than a man with such a saturnine face should be, but Will knew when he had truly pleased and when he had not. Reading expressions was a courtesan’s art and skill, for often her life and livelihood depended on it, and it had served Will well over the years. It had served him especially well in this home since his current gentleman was intensely private and preferred to keep his thoughts to himself. He had been startled the first few times Will had correctly interpreted his mood, blinking through his spectacles in consternation before his alarm had given way to wonder.
Will hummed a ditty from an operetta he’d recently seen, then went back for the tea and a few biscuits. He took the tray into the bedroom without even a glance at the clock. His master liked to wake early and was already stirring as Will came in, pushing himself up with his good arm and giving Will a view of part of his chest where his pajamas had come open.
There were no late-blooming love marks that Will might have missed, only the shrapnel scars from the underground exploding torpedo that had taken his master’s leg at the knee and his arm above the elbow in the Afghan campaigns. Will smiled before looking up. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning.” The shadows under Charlie’s eyes weren’t so obvious when he smiled back. He must have gotten more sleep than it seemed, because he didn’t ask for the opium powders the doctor had given him for pain relief, he only stretched and reached for his tea. He exhaled delightedly over the biscuits the way he always did. Will was not fooled by the show, done for his benefit. The biscuits were from a tin and a poor substitute for a real breakfast but his gentleman ate each and every one every morning while Will chose a suit for him. His gentleman was due to work in his study today but he had tea with his sisters that afternoon and there were usually a few callers even on his at home days. He had to look handsome and impeccable.
Will chose a blue striped cravat, simple but eye-catching, and ignored Charlie’s raised eyebrows as he saw it. But his master said nothing, accepting Will’s choice in waistcoat while finishing his second cup of tea. His expression remained stern and sad but the crinkle at the corner of his eyes let Will know when his gentleman was on the verge of a smile.
“Your sisters for tea, nothing else pressing,” Will filled him in, warm in the face and trembling in his limbs in a way that was certain to be noticed. He had made his master smile with little more than a cravat and the blood was singing through his veins. I
t was difficult to be still, especially with his master regarding him fondly from over the top of his cup. His master did not make Will work for praise yet strangely this made Will want to work harder and please him even more. He could not explain the urge; he only knew that sometimes he wanted it so much he could hardly stop himself from dropping to his knees. It was an itch that his other gentlemen had never scratched and which had never been so great until he had come to this house, to this gentleman.
Will took a breath and forced himself to sound calm. “I’ll be out at the shops today and at your tailor. Did you need anything I did not anticipate?” Merely saying the words thrilled him.
Charlie rolled his eyes. “How can I answer that?” he chided, frowning slightly in honest confusion. “I cannot know what you anticipated. I can’t read your mind as you seem to read mine, though I often wish I could.”
It was good he could not. Will took another deep breath to control himself. His master wasn’t angry but Will enjoyed imagining he was, and what he might do to force Will to be clearer. Will had watched his master give speeches, seen him argue from the gallery; his master was capable of a most firm hand.
A change in topic was needed for the sake of Will’s dignity. “Did you want to bathe?”
It was not what he should have said. It was growing more and more difficult to ask that every morning, especially on the mornings when he knew a bath would be needed, mornings where there would be dried spunk on his master’s cock and thighs and sweat itching along his skin. The hot water would soothe Charlie’s aches, turn his skin an even darker shade, make it hot and clean. Will’s mouth went dry to think of it.
Charlie put down his cup with more force than was required, clanging porcelain that fortunately did not break. Baths still seemed to discomfort him. Will thought him anxious about his body and how others perceived it. In Will’s first days here, his gentleman had insisting on bathing by himself, nearly falling into the tub in his haste to get under the water. It had taken Will too long to realize that his gentleman had still been worried about his appearance. The scars had been slightly angrier then and ill-fitting prosthetics had left marks on the stumps of his arm and leg.
