And I Am Happy

by Cooper, R.

  Putting a hand to his master’s neck to soothe him seemed only natural. “I can clean them. Oil them where necessary?” Will offered in a rasp, petting his master’s skin far past the point of propriety. The cleaning would help a little, even if the problem was that his master was upset about something else. His pains were always worse when he was bothered by a problem. “Perhaps you could read,” Will suggested, pulling away just as Charlie’s hand came up to reach for his.

  The supplies needed were not far away. Will kept his gaze away from his master’s face, though he was aware of Charlie’s eyes on him as he fetched the kit for maintaining the gears in the prosthetics. Will was an old hand with them now. He took a pillow from the sofa as well and dropped it to the floor before pushing Charlie’s chair out from the desk. The chair to his desk was a wheeled chair, designed for his master to use on days when he did not wish to wear his prosthetics and yet wanted to move with ease. There was a small motor on the back that he hardly ever used, a gift from Peter Aucourte. Aucourte was handsome as well as brilliant. Will would have hated him if his master had not always spoken of him as a friend and nothing more, and if Will had not seen the way Aucourte’s eyes tracked Sebastian Harris whenever they were separated.

  “What book?” Will puffed with the effort of pushing the chair but raised his eyes at last. His gentleman still had a hand raised. It was near to Will’s face, so close that Will nearly turned into it.

  Charlie dropped his hand to the arm of the chair and made a noise. “You do not have to-”

  “Something Russian?” Will interrupted. “Gloomy and long-winded?

  “You dislike Russian novels so strongly you once started snoring when I began one,” Charlie pointed out, not sounding too upset at the memory. Will could tell his master had already given in and accepted the idea and nearly flew up to the library when Charlie suggested something light. He came back with The Moonstone.

  “At least it offers mystery, if not romance. Do not start at the beginning,” Will instructed his master as he handed it over, a little too breathless even for a run up the stairs. He looked away until his master’s eyes were on the book. Then he dropped down onto the pillow and settled in between his master’s knees.

  “You do not care for the beginning?” Charlie’s words were strained but when Will glanced up his master had the book open. He cleared his throat and read a line, “At the moment when I showed myself in the doorway, Rachel rose from the piano,” with a slight hint at the end that he was waiting for Will’s opinion. Will sighed happily—he loved a lover’s reunion scene—and Charlie continued to read. “We confronted each other in silence, with the full length of the room between us. The movement she had made in rising appeared to be the one exertion of which she was capable. All use of every other faculty, bodily or mental, seemed to be merged in the mere act of looking at me.”

  Will took another moment to fully appreciate both the scene being described and his master’s voice and then set to work. The prosthetics, especially the arm, were very sensitive, designed in some way Will didn’t understand to read what Charlie wished his arm and leg to do and then move accordingly. He knew enough to know the signals came through nerves, through the stump, but the science of it confused him. It did not seem comfortable either but he knew better than to ask if it was. If it was painful Charlie would never admit to it.

  The metal leg was heavy. The weight alone was a burden that could leave his master shaking, but he tripped much less when wearing his metallic leg with the toes that could flex than when he wore the simpler, earlier model.

  Will rolled up the trouser leg, taking his time but making sure his hands did not graze anywhere too intimate. He would not take advantage, especially not after his master had known him well enough to read the romantic scenes from the book despite what Will had said about the mystery. His master was kind and for him Will would try to be less selfish.

  The gears were partly exposed despite the casing over the top to protect them which closed over the knee itself and over the places where muscle would have been. The casing had been created from brass with an artist’s touch. Will had seen a fine lady once with an artificial arm that had a casing inlaid with silver and gold to depict birds in flight. His master’s leg was a man’s, a soldier’s, and resembled nothing so much as a scabbard. Will thought it fitting and beautiful.

  He ran his fingers over the cover one more time, then found the latch to lift it. He was gentle, but he heard the cessation of his master’s breathing as the casing clicked open and put a hand up to his flesh knee to rub away the tension. He could not imagine how it felt to be opened up so. His master could have Will every way imaginable and still would never see inside of him like this.

  “I will be quick,” Will whispered, “please don’t stop reading.”

  “I do not need the distraction,” Charlie answered with the book before his face. The gears in his legs whirred as if an attempt at motion had been stifled.

  “Master,” Will begged, using the term Charlie had never asked him to use as some of his previous gentlemen had. There was a world of difference in how Will said it to Charlie though his master could not have known.

  There was a moment or two where Will thought Charlie might argue the use of the term but then his master shook his head and continued reading. His was voice was strained as Will took the swabs of cotton and the cleaning solution and started to swipe lightly at anything that looked like accumulated dirt.

  It did not take long, even when done with care. The pain Charlie felt was most likely in his mind, but Will would do his best to ease it as if it were solid and in front of him. He reached for the can of lubricant and then nestled in closer as he greased pistons and gears. There was a warm leg at his back and the metal leg was pressed closed to him, making him feel like a puppy ensconced at his master’s feet. It was not an unpleasant feeling. The strain in Charlie’s voice was easing, becoming something more natural. Will half-listened to the story though they both already knew the ending, and continued to carefully apply the grease as needed. Sometimes his fingers would linger on a particular piece of steel, intrigued at the warmth he felt, but all too soon it was time to snap the casing back into place.

  He did not move when it was done, but then his master did not cease reading. Will did not know if the act of closing the casing had gone unnoticed, but with a pillow and a soft rug under him and his head nearly on his master’s knee, he was disinclined to draw attention to it. He did move but only to wrap a hand around his master’s ankle. Charlie was so involved in his reading that perhaps he did not notice how his fingers slid into Will’s hair or the way the faint pressure made it seem only natural and right for Will to ease his head back to rest on his master’s knee. He wanted to close his eyes as well and did so, knowing that the moment would end soon enough. He would take what memories he could, and exhaled in contentment as his gentleman continued to read to him of a lover’s misunderstanding.

  ~~~

  He woke to a disorienting numbness in his body that went away when he jerked his head up and realized he was still curled up at Charlie’s feet in the study. He jumped into motion. It was a foolish mistake. The moment he stumbled to his feet all the feeling returned to his limbs. He floundered against the desk at the waves of irritating pain and glanced over at Charlie. Charlie’s eyes were closed but Will could tell from his frown that he was awake and in great discomfort.

  There was grey light coming through the windows. It was morning. A night in the chair with could not have done his master any good.

  “I am so sorry, Charlie,” Will blurted, his mind taking far too long to fully wake. His master’s eyes opened and fixed on him but Will shook his head to clear his mind and tried to stand again. He couldn’t imagine how they had spent the night like that. “You should have woken me,” he chided breathlessly, only to gulp back the words. “Sorry, sir. Are you in pain?” He came closer, running his hands over Charlie without much thought until Charlie drew in a sharp breath.


  “I’m fine,” he was told, but Will knew better than to listen.

  “Can you move? Do not.” If it was anything like Will’s first attempt to move his stiff muscles it would hurt and Charlie would fall. “Give me a moment, sir,” Will pushed out what had the sound of an order but didn’t stop to wonder at himself. He made his clumsy way first into the bedroom to gather the pain powders and a glass of water and then back into the study with more ease of movement.

  Charlie had removed the spectacles he must have slept in. “I do not need—” Charlie started to say with his chin at a stubborn angle but stopped when Will mixed a half dose and handed it to him.

  Will had tasted those powders once. They were bitter but they worked, sometimes too well. Both the doctor and Miss Ann had warned him to keep the doses low. Many veterans of the war developed cravings for the opiates they were given. Charlie rarely asked for them at all anymore, perhaps because an especially strong dose turned him into a different man, a man of flushed, hot skin and hands that reached for Will, a man Will was hard-pressed to deny. He did only because he knew of the shame Charlie would feel the next morning. On that point his master had been very clear; he was not the sort to take advantage of servants, not ever, not even when the servant would not mind.

  In truth, Will not only would not mind, he would love it were a sober Charlie ever to reach for him. Some of his greatest fantasies involved his master buggering him, sometimes tenderly, slowly, with their faces close, and other times forcefully, over his desk or the side of his bed, with Will’s arse red from his hand and Will moaning for him. He did not think either likely to happen but it did not stop him from wishing.

  He watched his master reluctantly drink most of the potion then set the glass aside and came around to the back of the chair. He pushed it to the doorway over his gentleman’s protests.

  “I cannot help you all the way to the bedroom,” Will reasoned with him at the threshold, and bent down. He could not look into those wounded, brown eyes but he nodded in relief when Charlie at last accepted his help to stand. His arms looped around Will though he probably had no intention of using Will as a crutch until the first wave of pain hit him as sensation flooded back through his lower body. He bit back a noise and Will hurried, walking him to his bed and sitting him down on the edge.

  He made short work of both waistcoat and shirt, and when Charlie was shirtless, Will unbuckled the prosthetic arm and winced at the angry marks left in Charlie’s skin from having it on so long. His master’s eyes were closed and he had not one word about being undressed when he was capable of doing it himself. Will wanted to kiss the buckle marks from his chest but forced himself to skip on to his trousers and shoes. The straps for the leg had dug grooves into his master’s thigh. Will put his hand over them without thinking. He could not control his breathing when he raised his head and found his gentleman watching him.

  “A massage,” Will told him, stupid and thrilled into full wakefulness, “a massage and a bath and you will be right as rain and ready to work again. Perhaps a hot chocolate for breakfast.” He could fetch one from the boulangerie down the street, perhaps two. He would need one as well after the massage was over.

  He could not speak or even swallow at that thought and left Charlie in order to wash his hands in the bathroom and find the oil he would need. Charlie was still sitting up when he returned. He frowned over his shoulder at Will, his tension obvious, but turned and laid down the moment Will reached for him. He slid one-handed over the sheets where the bed had been turned down and put his face in a pillow. He was naked and very, very beautiful.

  Will knew himself to be breathing too hard and paused to roll up his sleeves and give himself the appearance of calm. He climbed onto the bed but not yet over his master’s tense, prone body. He rubbed the oil between his palms until it was warm and then placed both hands on his master’s thigh, the one still red and marked by the straps.

  Charlie moved his head to face away from Will.

  “Do you remember the first time I did this for you, sir?” Will wondered aloud, sliding his palms over Charlie’s strong thigh, stopping only to apply more oil before sweeping his hands up and down over bared skin with increasing pressure.

  “Yes.” Charlie spoke into the pillow, his one hand curled into the bedding. That hand gave no clue as to his thoughts on that night however Will wished it would. When Will had offered the massage then, he had thought it a prelude to further intimacies. His thoughts had been a muddle; confusion and fear of his new, frowning gentleman, amazement at the scarred and missing parts of his body, concern over what he might be expected to do if his master was not whole. He had worked briefly for an older man who had reacted angrily when his cock had not worked as he wished and Will had not desired another such situation.

  He also remembered surprise at the fit state of his new gentleman’s body. Now he knew that it was the work required to walk with the metal leg and how Charlie relied on one arm more than the other, but at the time he had seen Charlie without his clothing and thought only that perhaps it would not be a chore to touch him intimately, not that Will ever stayed long with gentlemen he did not wish to touch. But when his hands had strayed to his new master’s lap, he had found himself rebuffed with agonizing directness.

  “You quite surprised me,” Will explained, the air rushing in and out of him. Charlie’s skin was hot, the oil pleasantly slick. He could move his hands almost anywhere he wished. He slid a leg over Charlie’s to start to massage his back.

  “You quite surprised me,” Charlie answered, his voice muffled. “But I do not—”

  “I know, sir,” Will cut him off and swept a long, loving sweep up to his master’s shoulder blades. He leaned in to caress them and enjoyed the soft sound of pleasure Charlie did not hide. “It’s all right, sir.”

  “Especially not in this…” Charlie left the rest unsaid but Will could guess his intended words. Not in this condition. Will could not even truly deny it. He had been shocked that first night though he had tried to hide his reaction when he had noticed his new master’s hesitation in undressing before him.

  “I did not understand your reasons in hiring me.” Will referenced his past as directly as he could and focused on kneading the tension from Charlie’s shoulders. His fingers traced the length Charlie’s spine with covetous touches. “I did not realize you required more than a convenience.” He voice did not even break. He was almost pleased. “I am happy to be your helpmeet, sir.”

  All Charlie had required of him that first night was help with his pain and assistance at getting into bed. Will had thought it strange that so brave and famous a figure had wanted Will around to offer his strength. So strange that he had not been able to sleep that night, or many nights after.

  When Charlie had looked to him for news of popular trends on the streets, and considered Will’s opinion on his speeches, or asked if Will thought a visitor had been honest with him, Will had known the cause of his disturbance. He was ardently in love with his gentleman.

  It was the kind of irony that Will only appreciated in the theatre. In life it was much more like gulping tea that hadn’t been allowed to cool. He knew it would burn but he could not stop drinking it.

  “Helpmeet.” Charlie groaned into the pillow as though the word itself bothered him. Will dipped his hands down to the base of his master’s spine and watched Charlie’s hand flex into the bedding. His master groaned again. “I am glad you are happy. I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

  Will could have buried his face in his master’s skin and offered himself as his plaything. “I know, sir,” he breathed, not calm at all, “nothing I don’t want to do.” There was too much emphasis in the single word and Will swore and leapt from his master’s body and off the bed.

  He dashed to the bathroom to wipe his hands and draw a bath, trying to will away his state of partial arousal. His master did not move from his position on the bed but turned to watch Will, something about him s
o still that Will could not approach him. “If you do not want help into the tub, I will go and see about breakfast,” Will called out without meeting his eyes.

  “I do not need the help, if you have other things to attend to,” Charlie corrected him warmly, a red flush in his cheeks that was probably from the powders. He did not rise, so Will stayed uncertainly where he was. He ought to change his clothes if he were going to leave the house. He ought to choose his gentleman’s clothing for the day. He ought to do many things. He did not move.

  “Do you enjoy your work, Will?” There was a slow, ecstatic note in his master’s voice, the work of some good feeling or just the dragon in his pain powders. “Would you rather work for another?”

  “No.” Will put his back to the door and shook his head. “No, sir.” He tried to smile to lessen the ferocity of his answer. “No, I find I enjoy playing valet for you.”

  “You are a very good valet,” his master responded, his voice thick and ever so delirious with ease and pleasure. Will had made him feel that, with some assistance from the poppy flower.

  Will ignored the obvious untruth of his master’s statement and permitted himself a moment of truth. “Before… I never realized how unwanted it made me feel.”

  “Being wanted?” Charlie pushed himself up a fraction from the pillow to frown bemusedly at him. Will wondered if his gentleman truly thought of Will as so irresistible that he could not understand anyone not wanting him. Will crept closer by one step, then two.

  “Being let go when I… when my services were no longer desired, having no place to stay, sleeping alone, always,” Will listed complaints he had not realized until he had come here. “I do not miss it. This is all I need.” He firmed his voice and nodded, sure of this one thing. He might want more, but he could survive with this, the two of them just as they were.