Aimé tossed the paper across the room, watching the pages flutter down against the far wall. Really, if he read one more article talking about his 'dark eyes', 'olive complexion', or how his voice was 'as girlish as his figure', he would personally hunt down the journalist responsible. There would be hell to pay.
They could write anything: about how he was the only castrato to be invited to sing at the Royal Opera House, or how he had played roles in more performances this season than any other single performer.
But no, always they wrote about his appearance: how exotic he was, how feminine.
After another moment of sitting and scowling at the paper now on the floor, he stood and headed for the door that separated his sitting room from that of his flatmate.
Sabers greeted him. The emperor gave a finely-engraved saber to those honored for particular bravery in battle or other military service to the crown. Collette boasted a full wall of them.
"Collette," he called, and she stuck her head around the doorway that led to her study.
"Yes?"
Aimé frowned again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were taking me to the ballet? Why aren't you dressed?"
"I'm sorry." Collette rubbed at the long scar that crossed the bridge of her nose. "I have to appear in court tomorrow with Jacqualine D'Arras, representing the defendant, and God only knows what she will do. Go for the throat, most likely. Could we do it another time?"
Ordinarily Aimé understood that in Collette's world, work and duty to the Crown always came first, but now he just frowned harder. "You promised."
Collette shrugged, turning back to her paper-strewn desk and shuffling through some of the sheaves. "You can admire Badri Mukherjee's groin without me."
"I admire all of him," Aimé said, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, "and you promised you would go with me, because it is my birthday."
Judging by her guilty expression, he guessed she'd forgotten that small detail.
"All right." She ran her fingers across her scalp, where her hair was cropped so short that it made her look almost bald. "When does the ballet start?"
"Eight o'clock, I believe. But we should be ready to leave much earlier if we want to dine out." Aimé gave her another pointed look.
"Very well, I'll get ready." Collette disappeared back into her room again, and Aimé headed for his own.
*~*~*
The steps to the Royal Theatre were crowded by the time Aimé and Collette got there, now properly wined and dined for the evening.
Aimé was in a shimmering, silk, dark silver jacket and waistcoat with a striking black shirt to match his breeches. The silver enhanced his dark hair and eyes, and made him stand out in the sea of pastels. The close cut of the jacket showed off the rounded curves of his hips and backside, but Aimé liked that, liked the way it made people take notice. Let them look: his figure marked him as a castrato, and he had only ever been proud of that. Tonight, unlike his other trips to the ballet, Aimé carried a moderately-sized bouquet of wild roses.
Beside him, Collette was all long, elegant lines in her own jacket and breeches, closely tailored to show off the wide width of her shoulders and her long legs.
She took his arm as they descended from their carriage and moved up the steps. His dark brown hand seemed tiny and pale against her much darker, larger one. She was a good five inches taller than he was, and she held her head high.
They swept through the crowd of nobility, turning heads as they went. Aimé heard whispers of both their names and ignored them. He procured them wine once in the building, and brought her a glass.
"Commander."
She took it with a slight nod of her head. "Shall we go up to your box?"
He nodded and followed her.
Aimé did not often have time to watch ballet and plays, but he loved both, so he maintained a season pass just the same. Their box seats allowed for a spectacular view of the stage, and Aimé settled himself before taking out his opera glasses, ignoring Collette's small, amused snort.
The sounds of a packed theatre and the preparations of musicians in the pit made his heart pound with excitement, even though he knew it was not for him.
Everything grew quiet finally, the lamps dimmed among the audience, and the orchestra began to play their overture.
The curtain rose as the music died away. Pale light spilled over the stage from the new stage lamps designed by Professor Sushil Mukherjee, twin brother to Badri. Aimé had heard that Professor Mukherjee was one of the inner circle of the new science. The lights were his greatest contributions. They were still too costly to be widely used, but they were installed in both the Royal Theatre and the Royal Opera House.
Badri himself entered the stage almost immediately, as he played the lead. He was dressed in dancing shoes, stockings, and breeches: the shirt, waistcoat, and jacket were all made from some soft, supple material that clung to every inch of him, tight like a second skin. His fashionably long, dark curls were pulled back from his face as he spun across the stage.
He was the pride and joy of the Royal Ballet Company, and one of their two lead men. He did not falter even once, Aimé thought with amazement, not in all the productions he had seen him in and most certainly not now. Everything Badri did on stage looked light and effortless, although Aimé knew full well that it was not. More than that, Badri could act and dance at the same time, which in Aimé's opinion, set him head and shoulders above Désiré, who was the company's other male lead. Badri acted with his entire body: more than just performing the ballet moves, he danced the emotions.
There was no part of him that was not lovely, Aimé thought from where he sat in his box, glasses pressed to his face.
The story was a sad one. Badri embodied grief with every line of his being in the final scene in such a way that it made the hairs on Aimé's arms stand on end.
The curtains fell and the audience rose as one, applauding and calling encouragement. Aimé applauded as hard as he could, ignoring Collette smirking beside him. How she remained unmoved by something so beautiful was beyond him.
"I will see you back at the carriage?" he asked, as he picked up the bouquet again.
"Or the apartment, if you'd rather." She threw him a teasing smile, and he rolled his eyes before making his way down from the balcony and towards backstage.
Aimé had never performed here, but the building was originally constructed under the same reign as the Royal Opera House, so the layout was almost eerily familiar.
He saw the crowd of admirers as soon as he was close to Badri's room, his heart sinking, although he had expected it. In his dreams his and Badri's first meeting took place in private, away from prying eyes and culminated in passionate love-making, but that was hardly realistic and most certainly would not happen tonight.
"Excuse me, excuse me." He pushed his way between a group of women in long, flowing, jewel-colored dresses, with panels of lace up the front, each with her hair piled on her head and held in place by gold and silver pins.
"Oh! Aimé De Verley," one of them said, voice gone high with excitement.
"Really?" her companion asked.
"Yes! I saw him perform at the opera just last week; isn't he adorable? I could just steal him away now."
Aimé ignored them and kept pushing through the crowd towards Badri's dressing room.
"Aimé. Aimé De Verley's here." The news went through the crowd in a slow murmur that made Aimé want to put his head down and retreat as fast as possible.
The people in front of him parted as if by magic. Everyone turned to stare at Aimé, and even Badri turned from the young woman he'd been speaking with. In the crowd, Aimé caught a glimpse of Lady de la Valois, who always treated him like a little girl, no matter how many times he asked her not to. There was also Lord de la Falaise, who had once referred to him as an "exotic attraction" at one of his dinner parties right along with the peacocks he'd had in the garden. He'd then expressed outrage when Aimé declined to have anything more to do with him.
Aimé took a deep breath and started forward.
"Monsieur Mukherjee." Aimé bowed when he was close enough, actually inside the room and standing in front of Badri. "My compliments on a superb performance, I am a great admirer of your work." And the rest of you, Aimé thought, suppressing a sigh. No, this was not how he'd imagined their meeting at all, surrounded by a full audience of most of the cultured elite of the empire.
He held out his bouquet of delicate, wild roses and heard a titter go through the crowd behind him. Probably because the flowers meant something he did not know or care to know in that idiot secret flower language that was popular now.
Badri took the flowers with a small incline of his head. "Thank you," he said, his voice deep with a hint of an accent behind each word. "I feel greatly honored to receive such a compliment from you, since I, too, am a great fan of your work."
Aimé thanked God his skin was dark enough to hide the blush.
This close, Aimé could see how muscular Badri was: his body built solidly, every muscle beautifully sculpted and taut. He was also sweating, curls sticking to his neck and face. Aimé felt a pang of sympathy at that. The new lamps might light the stage to perfection, but they were almost unbearably hot to work under. Aimé found them so, and he was never as active on stage as Badri was.
"I look forward to attending more of your performances," he said, not sure what else to do when watched by so many.
"I hope you enjoy all of them." Badri bowed to him, and Aimé bowed again as well and began backing away.
As soon as he was back into the crowd, several ladies swooped in with large bouquets of their own, heading for Badri. Aimé felt someone tug at his sleeve but ignored it, pushing back through the throng and heading towards the closest exit as fast as possible.
At least, he thought, stepping out into the cool night air, he'd been able to give Badri the flowers and exchange a few words.
That was enough.
*~*~*
"Guess who was in my audience tonight?" Badri said as soon as he entered the sitting room. Sushil blinked up from the blueprints and charts of spells he had spread out across the table.
"I have no idea." It wasn't like Badri actually expected him to guess; he just wanted an excuse to talk. In fact, Sushil probably didn't even need to listen, long years of life together had taught him that Badri would ramble on happily to himself about dancing or parties while Sushil got on with the paper he was writing or designing his latest prototype.
"Aimé De Verley. He came to my dressing room after the performance. He brought me these." Badri held up a rather bedraggled bouquet of wild roses. "He said he admired me, and had for a long time. And of course, the entire hall was full of court vultures just waiting for something juicy to swoop down on, so I was unbearably polite, and it all ended up being terribly awkward, and then he left like he could not wait to get away."
Sushil needed to contact Gregory about how to sustain a power spell once it was laid on the interworks of a steam engine. Steam could power the engine in its own right, of course, but magic most certainly would enhance it. Didn't this kind of technology exist in China already? He remembered reading an article about it. Maybe they should send someone – possibly Marcel, since he was their resident traveling scholar – to investigate. With effort, Sushil pulled his attention back to Badri and his court-related woes. "I am assuming that was not how you imagined it going."
Badri stared at him and then snorted. "This is Aimé De Verley we are talking about. The only castrato to sing at the Royal Opera House in his entire generation. He can bring an audience to its knees with an aria. I had hoped when we did meet we would talk about something more—" Badri waved one hand. "Meaningful." He paused for a moment. "Of course, in my fantasies, I'd just imagined fucking him on the nearest flat surface."
Sushil rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry it did not go according to plan." But really, his brother's sexual passions were the last thing he wanted to hear anything about, especially when he had spells he needed to diagram.
"I have to go to one of his operas, see if I can talk to him again." Badri disappeared back out of the sitting room and returned a few moments later, carrying a cut-glass vase, into which he put the roses and fussed with them.
"Don't you usually have a ballet or practice that late in the evening?"
"I do." Badri turned away from the still-limp flowers and threw himself down on one of the settees. "But he meant it, Sushil. He looked me in the eye and said my performance—my dancing—touched him, and he meant it. I've never had a lover who knew, who understood before, what it is like to create art with your body and nothing else."
That caught Sushil’s attention, finally. Badri might project himself as nothing but graceful limbs and effervescent smiles, but Sushil knew that Badri often felt deeply isolated, surrounded by people who did not truly understand commitment and passion when it came to his art. It was the reason Sushil believed Badri had never had a serious lover before. If Badri truly believed Aimé De Verley would be able to connect with him in this way so few could… Sushil was quiet, watching him for a long time. "So then, make time," he said at last, "and go see an opera."
*~*~*
They had come to this country so that Sushil could study.
Badri stretched to warm up, letting himself fall into a series of splits in a slow slide as he remembered it.
Sushil had loved studying, because Sushil always loved books and learning, taking things apart and putting them back together, but Badri had been lost. Too far from home, too far from Mother, he had cried himself to sleep every night.
They lived in their father's great house, but did not take their father's name. Their father would house and feed them, but never bring them to court or properly introduce them into society. He would never admit to having sons with dark skin. Sushil hadn’t much cared, but Badri had hated the social isolation, especially then, and hated the idea that his own father was ashamed of his existence. He'd needed something – anything – to distract himself with, but it had seemed then like there was nothing for him in the capital.
In the here and now, Badri lifted his leg high, holding himself precisely, and executed a series of spins across the polished wooden floor of his practice room.
He'd been adrift back then, staying in the city only so he could be close to Sushil. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that he could not survive without his brother. As always, dancing had been a comfort. He'd been dancing since he could walk, but what place that had in this new world, he had no idea. No one here understood his dance. He could not make anyone understand, could not make them feel the way that he felt when he moved across a room or a stage.
Then, he'd seen the ballet. To say he fell in love was almost too simple: he had been captivated by the beauty of it and intrigued by the discipline. Perhaps he had thought this would be a way to bring something that he loved into this new world he lived in, some way to make others understand him. He wanted to dance with passion and strength, grief and joy, and have others understand. He wanted those who watched him dance to feel that passion in their hearts as he felt it in his bones.
Aimé De Verley was like that, Badri thought. He sang like that, like he was trying to make people understand through the music alone.
He leapt and landed, precise and perfect, careful to keep his feet positioned correctly for form and safety in the landing.
For too long, Badri had watched Aimé De Verley from the sidelines, unsure about how to approach him or what to say. But Aimé had approached him, told Badri that he admired him. So now, what excuse did Badri have? He needed to find Aimé: they needed to speak together, away from the prying eyes of the court. Badri needed to tell Aimé how he felt.
*~*~*
The practice room that the Count de Fézensac had built for Aimé was small, with tall windows, but a domed ceiling. It was designed by the great architect and duelist Madam Béatrice de Valois, specifically to Aimé's tastes. There was nowhere else like it in the empire.
Aimé let his voice fade away into nothing at the end of the aria and sighed. Sunlight poured through the windows, warming his face, casting the room in brilliant light.
Rubbing one hand across the back of his neck, Aimé gazed out the windows. In front of him was a music stand with the sheet music and notations for the pieces he was practicing, and over to one side was a small table laid out with the remains of breakfast. He had a few hours to practice, here in this small room attached to his patron's city estate. Then stage rehearsal for one performance, and finally, he would be performing that evening.
Aimé sat on one of the chairs next to the little breakfast table and straightened a cuff, gaze going once more to the window.
His day was booked solid and he needed to focus. Instead, his mind kept straying back to the awkward and stilted meeting between himself and Badri Mukherjee. Aimé had promised himself it would be enough just to meet Badri in person and exchange a few words. Now that he'd done it, though, it wasn't enough; not really.
Aimé's mind flashed to the way Badri looked on stage, the power in his legs and body as he moved. He thought of the way Badri had been afterwards, tired but exhilarated, thought of the way he himself felt standing upon a stage in front of a packed house.
I want to put on a performance with you both on and off stage: give the court something real to talk about.
Aimé felt himself flush even as arousal curled low in his belly.
There was absolutely no doubt he wanted Badri, but Badri captivated him with his abilities as an artist as well. His skill and beauty on stage was undeniable, the grace with which he moved, the way he drew the audience into the stories with the arch of his body, the expressiveness of his face. Aimé knew much of the storytelling in opera came from the emotions the singer projected through their voices and their own movements on stage. There were also words as well, though that they would sing to guide the audience. In the ballet, there were only the dancers and the music. That took Aimé's breath away every time.
Aimé wondered what it would be like to sit and have breakfast with Badri before practice in the morning, to talk about music and performance. It would be interesting to know what Badri thought about the lights his brother had designed, since as far as Aimé could tell, they existed to roast performers alive on stage. He had never spoken with a dancer in detail about anything before, and it was a craft he was less familiar with than his own.
Still, when Aimé watched Badri dance, the way he reacted to the music, lived into it with his whole body, it felt familiar to Aimé. Aimé wanted to know if that sense of familiarity was shared.
Badri had said he'd seen Aimé perform. When he watched Aimé, did he feel the same?
Standing with another sigh, Aimé walked back over to the music stand. For a moment, he was very still, and he then closed his eyes, trying to block out everything but the music. He would worry about a certain beautiful dancer later—for now, he wanted to concentrate on tonight's opera.
*~*~*
One of the good parts of being able to support himself on his own family's money was that Badri did not have to go to parties just because some noble acting as his patron said so. While Badri enjoyed balls, he was not so keen on the smaller, more private, events. Sushil had begged him to come to Count de Fézensac's latest soiree, though. Badri knew that Sushil hated crowds of people he did not know, especially nobles, and hated the attention his looks and position invariably attracted. So Badri had said yes, which was how he'd ended up leaning against the wall in one of Count de Fézensac's sitting rooms, arms folded over his chest, a glass of wine in his hand, trying not to make eye contact with anyone lest they take it as a come-on.
Someone sidled up beside him, and Badri turned his head enough to see Lord Fabien de la Falaise. Lord Fabien was tall, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. He had a finely-sculpted face, full lips, and blond waves that fell almost to his shoulders. His eyes were blue, and although his skin was pale, it was just dark enough to show he got sun, probably due to the hours he spent on horseback. The la Falaise were known for their thoroughbred horses.
"Lovely party." Fabien sipped his own wine. "If a little dull." He turned to give Badri a smile. "That's why I was so glad when I spotted you. Loved your performance earlier this week, by the way—such perfect form. You would be exquisite on a horse." He moved slightly closer to Badri as he spoke, hand straying to Badri's arm. "I must see you on horseback sometime." Dark gold eyelashes lowered. "I am sure you ride very well."
Such a blatant invitation from such a pretty man.
Badri reached down to grip Fabien's wrist and removed his arm before taking a step back. "Lord Fabien," he said. "Let me speak frankly. I do not bed men who have been known to refer to my brother as 'that bastard from the Orient' and my good friend Lord Marquis de la Marche as ‘that bitch woman who insists on calling herself a man.'" Fabien just stared at Badri with his mouth slightly open, and Badri's smile was more a baring of teeth. "If you speak to me or touch me ever again, I will hit you, most likely multiple times."
Lord Fabien had gone white, eyes wide and he opened his mouth, probably to angrily remind Badri of his place, but Badri didn't wait to hear it.
The room was suddenly too hot and too enclosed. He needed air, needed to go outside. Storming through the sitting room, he pulled open the first pair of glass French doors he came to and stepped out into the cool night air.
He'd stepped out on to a balcony. Badri walked to the stone railing at the far end and set his wine glass down on it, leaning both elbows on top and resting his face in his hands.
He should have just punched Fabien and been done with it.
Alternatively, he should find Sushil, so they could leave. He had to be up early tomorrow, and Sushil was probably just as ready to get away as he was.
"What are you doing out here?"
Badri turned to see Aimé De Verley standing by the glass doors, dressed in dark plum, with amethyst drops hanging from each ear.
"I just needed some air."
"I hate these parties." Aimé came to lean against the balcony railing beside him. "I'm only here because Count de Fézensac is my patron."
"I don't mind parties." Badri turned his head, his gaze meeting Aimé's. "I hate how everyone shows off, and how title and money is everything. That and the dancing."
Aimé laughed: a light, high sound. "The dancing? Don't tell me you don't like to dance!"
"Not that stiff, awful party dancing. There is no sensuality, no life or art to it."
"I've never thought about that," Aimé said, still seeming amused, but more thoughtful now, as if really considering Badri's words. "It's the only kind of dancing I'm good at."
Badri smiled at that, both at the idea of Aimé De Verley being shy of his ability do anything, and at how Aimé had chosen to linger and speak with him even over such a trivial matter as Badri's distastes for court dancing "I should teach you to really dance. The way I used to dance when I was a boy, the way my mother taught me to dance."
"Oh no, I could never." Aimé pressed one small hand against his chest, looking adorably self-conscious. "I'm really not very good at dancing."
"And I am really not very good at singing." Badri offered him with a wide smile that he hoped came off with the right amount of easy flirtation. He did not want to seem over-eager, but at the same time, he was not going to let this opportunity pass, either.
Aimé laughed again, smiling up at Badri with a sweet, familiar edge Badri hoped he was reading correctly. "Well, I won't hold it against you, if you don't hold the fact that I only dance dances that have no sensuality against me."
Badri bit his tongue on the comment that Aimé did almost everything sensually. That would indeed be too eager. He reached for his wine instead.
"I like your jacket." Aimé seemed suddenly unsure again, not meeting Badri's eyes. "That color looks good on you."
Badri glanced down at the rust-colored jacket with gold embroidery he was wearing. "Thank you, and you look beautiful as well."
Aimé's eyes drew wide for a moment and Badri wanted to smack himself in the face.
"I'm sorry. I overstepped."
"No." Aimé shook his head. He didn't seem upset. If anything, he seemed pleased, if still a little shy. "I'm glad… I'm glad you like the way I look today."
Time to take the bull by the horns, then. "Aimé De Verley." Badri turned to face him fully now, watching for his reaction. "I always like the way you look."
Aimé was staring at him, expression stunned. "Thank you." Badri watched the muscles in Aimé's throat work as he swallowed. "I've always found you a very attractive man."
Badri leaned forward as Aimé tipped his face up. He had no real, fully-formed plan, aside from admiring how soft and full his lips were. Aimé pressed close as well, hands rising to grasp at Badri's coat.
"Badri?"
They both started, and turned to see Sushil standing by the glass doors. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting." Sushil glanced between the two of them. "I was just leaving, and I thought Badri might like to share the carriage with me… but he doesn't have to." He looked over at Badri now. "If you don't want to, or have other plans."
"It's fine." Aimé reached for his glass of wine, a small smile playing across his lips. "I need to say my farewells as well and make my excuses. I have an early morning tomorrow."
Sushil gave Badri a final questioning look and headed back inside.
"Wait," Badri called as Aimé moved to follow Sushil back to the party
Aimé turned back to face him, one hand on the handle of the glass doors.
"I …" Badri rubbed one hand across the back of his head. He was good at the hot press of bodies in a carriage, alley, his dressing room, or bed, but not this. He'd never done this. "I would like it if you joined me for dinner, if you would allow it."
Aimé cocked his head to the side. "People will talk."
"Let them." Badri grinned, picking up his own wine glass in a toast, and after a moment, Aimé smiled back.
"All right. Sunday evening. I'll be free then."
*~*~*
"You're nervous."
Collette watched Aimé fuss with his cravat in the mirror from where she stood in the doorway to his bedroom.
"Of course I'm nervous." Aimé pulled off his plain white cravat and reached for one of the colored silk ones instead. "It's Badri Mukherjee."
"And he asked you out," Collette said as Aimé went to change his jacket to one of a different color. "Which is a good sign. What are you hoping for from all this, anyway? Some bed fun, an affair, something more?"
Aimé could feel his pulse speed up at the thought of having Badri in his bed, but he shook his head. "Right now, I'm happy to have dinner with another artist." He settled on the dark blue jacket and pulled it on. "I don't need anything more."
"Don't need or don't want?" Collette asked. "Because if you want it, then I say take it. Maybe he wants that, too."
"Don't you have a poker game?" Aimé settled on his onyx earrings.
Leaning against the doorframe, Collette grinned. "Oh yes, although Miriam will win. She always does. Don't wait up for me."
"I never do. Especially when you go out drinking and gambling with the crown's best prosecutor."
Collette just chuckled, low and deep, and headed for her own room. "Enjoy your dinner," she called over her shoulder.
Adding color to his lips, Aimé regarded himself critically in the mirror for a moment. The papers routinely ran article criticizing him for wearing makeup both on and off the stage, and Aimé knew most people saw it as just another way that he was more of a woman than a man, but he'd always liked himself best with a little color on his lips or around his eyes. Hesitating for a moment, he wondered if Badri would find it strange or off-putting. Perhaps he should not wear it and leave his face bare tonight. One hand reached out to pick up the small cloth that he used to remove his makeup, then he curled it into a fist. Raising his chin, he gave himself one last look in the mirror. He liked himself with the dark red across his lips, that was what had always mattered most, and he wasn't going to change now. Without giving himself time to second guess that decision, he headed out of his apartment to the waiting carriage.
Badri and Sushil Mukherjee lived in a tall, stone city house. Badri opened the door himself when Aimé tugged on the chain to ring the bell.
"Come in." He held open the door and Aimé moved into the hall.
"Our chef tells me dinner is nearly ready." Badri led the way into a small sitting room with walls done up in a soft yellow cream. "Drink?"
"I would love one." If nothing else, it would help steady his nerves. He could feel his palms sweating a little bit and risked a glance at Badri, who looked both relaxed and elegant in eveningwear, his hair pulled back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. Badri turned towards the sideboard where a decanter of wine and two glasses sat and Aimé watched that long plait of hair move against his back. His fingers itched to reach out and touch, to find out if Badri's hair felt as soft and silken as it looked.
Badri poured them both small glasses of wine, and turned to hand one to Aimé. Swallowing dryly, Aimé accepted, trying to shake such thoughts from his mind. They were there to have dinner, and not necessarily anything beyond that. Although if the evening continued the way it had been, Aimé feared he was going to have a hard time keeping his intentions pure. He took a sip of wine to steady himself, eyebrows rising as he did. The wine was good. Very good, in fact.
"Do you like it?" Aimé looked up to see Badri watching him, his expression caught between strangely anxious and resigned.
"Yes." He took another sip. "It is extremely good."
"It is." Badri took a small sip from his own glass, seeming almost unwilling to agree, although he must have known the wine’s quality before he offered it. "It is from my father's vineyard. My father's fortune is in wine, and he has hundreds of acres of vineyard. This is one of his fall wines; very expensive if you buy it."
"Will the vineyards be yours one day?" Aimé took another sip, trying to imagine it. His own mother had been a seamstress, and his father a soldier-turned-schoolmaster.
"Sushil might inherit them, since he is technically the eldest." Badri's expression was one of distaste. "But who knows? My father is very strange when it comes to the two of us. Paternal about some things, cold and distant about others."
"I'm sorry." There was obviously very little love lost between Badri and his father, and perhaps those complicated feelings had spilled over to color Badri's own feeling about the wine his father's family made. At least Aimé had always been on good terms with his own parents, even if he was not terribly close with them these days.
Badri shrugged. "My father never quite reconciled himself to the fact that the only children to carry his blood have dark skin. But I've grown used to that."
"My father is from the southernmost reaches of the empire," Aimé said. He rarely spoke about his parents and his life before coming to the capital. The fact that Badri had confided in him about his own past, though, made Aimé more willing to share such details as well. "He joined the army young and served for many years before he was injured and had to retire. Once that happened, he moved north, hoping that if he settled close to the capital, he would find work. Then he met my mother, who was born and bred in a little farming town several hours' ride from here. They fell in love, got married, and had me." He trailed one finger around the edge of the glass. "I never thought it was odd that his skin was darker then hers or that mine was, until I began performing professionally and people began to comment on it, on how 'exotic' I was." He made a face of his own and took another sip of wine.
"Oh, yes, people tell me that as well." Badri's expression was sympathetic, but in the way of someone who understood well what Aimé was speaking of, and not merely pretending to do so.
Someone cleared their throat behind them, and they both turned to see a servant standing in the doorway. "Gentlemen, dinner is served." The serving man bowed and then left again, and Badri reached for Aimé's arm.
"Come. It's going to be exquisite, I promise."
Aimé enjoyed the warmth of Badri so close to his side; the weight of Badri's arm entwined with his as Badri led the way down the hall the dining room.
The long mahogany table seemed almost ridiculously big for just the two of them, even though Badri sat at one end and settled Aimé right by his side.
"Will your brother be joining us?" Aimé asked, hoping it would just be the two of them, but not necessarily expecting it. This was Sushil's house as well, after all.
Badri shook his head. "He's dining with the Marquis de la Marche this evening. Besides, I thought it might be nice to have some time to speak together, just the two of us."
"I'm sure it will." Aimé smiled at him warmly.
The soup was brought in, and Aimé found when he picked up his spoon and took a tentative sip that Badri had not been exaggerating about the skill of his chef.
"This is delicious." Aimé polished off his bowl faster than what was probably polite. "If I had your chef, I would weigh considerably more than I do."
Badri laughed. "It is a struggle sometimes not to overindulge. Most of the time, though, I stick to a very strict diet."
Aimé's mind flashed to a memory of Badri dancing, his costume clinging to every line, curve, and swell. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, luckily for me, I have no such restrictions." Since there was no more soup in his bowl, he set aside his spoon. "So what do you enjoy doing when you are not dancing? For pleasure, I mean." Aimé just managed not to wince at his poor choice of word and then thought his heart might stop at the momentary flash of heat in Badri's eyes.
"I enjoy horseback riding." Badri set aside his spoon as well, and a servant came to take their empty bowls. "I do not hunt for sport, since I find that cruel, but I have always enjoyed riding."
Aimé wasn't sure if he imagined the meaningful look Badri gave him at that, and reached for his wine before he said something he shouldn't.
"I enjoy fencing as well," Badri continued. "I am by no means a duelist, but many of the ways that you train your body for work with the sword is the same as for dance. And then, of course, dance itself. As much as I adore ballet, there are some many other wonderful dances from all across the empire and the world. I never pass up a chance to learn something new."
The servants were back, setting more dishes in front of them and across the table.
"What about you?"
"I enjoy reading," Aimé said, deciding to start simply. "I always have, since I was a boy, and I box."
"What!" Badri burst out with a small laugh before trying to sober. "I mean, you just hardly seem the type."
Aimé grinned at that, hardly taking offense. He knew he did not have the body of an athlete, but that had never stopped him from loving the sport. "I went through a rebellious phase back when I still sang choir music. I am not allowed to actually fight against anyone now. Count de Fézensac has always been afraid I would damage myself in some way and be unable to sing. I am trying to keep up with my practice, though, and enjoy going to see fights."
"I've never seen a boxing match," Badri admitted, sounding slightly dubious, as if he could not imagine finding such a thing entertaining.
"Oh, but you must." Aimé felt himself leaning forward in his enthusiasm. "I will take you to see a fight. It will be fun. You'll enjoy it, or at least appreciate the form and physicality of it. Or, if you really don't want to…" Aimé trailed off, some of his enthusiasm waning, as Badri still seemed doubtful. He didn't want to pressure Badri into anything, after all. None of his lovers had ever been interested in boxing, though a few had even laughed in his face when he'd told them he used to box. To share this other passion with Badri would be amazing.
"Maybe," Badri said carefully, as if weighing his words, and in some ways Aimé preferred that over carelessly-given agreement. "I could come with you to one fight to see how it is done."
Aimé felt warmth bloom in his chest at that.
The rest of the meal was just as good as the soup had been. Badri kept the conversation light, mostly about music and the art scene here in the capital. After they were done eating, they retired to the sitting room again.
"Would you like wine or brandy?" Badri asked, moving over to the small table with decanters on it.
"Wine, please. I just tend not to drink spirits during the season." Aimé settled himself on the settee.
"Hmm." Badri took a sip of his own wine, walking over to hand Aimé a glass. "What shall we do now?"
Aimé's pulse quickened as he looked at Badri. His mind flashed to a hundred different things they could do, a hundred things he wanted to do to Badri. He took a large mouthful of the wine to steady himself, but also to keep from blurting some of it out.
"I know." Badri set aside his own glass. "I will teach you to dance."
"Oh, no, I don't think—"
"Just a few steps." Badri held out his hand. "It will be easy. I promise."
"I—" Aimé took another large gulp of wine before he let Badri pull him to his feet.
"Take off your shoes, stockings, and jacket," Badri ordered, stripping off his own jacket and nudging off his shoes. Once again, Aimé was glad Badri could not tell he was blushing. He fumbled off his jacket, letting it fall on the settee, and then stripped off his shoes and stockings as well.
That left them both in only breeches, shirtsleeves, and waistcoats. Aimé could not help but notice that Badri's legs were even more muscular without stockings. His calves especially seemed like they had been crafted from stone, with a dusting of dark hair.
"All right, this is a simple dance. It's the first one I ever learned." Badri came to stand next to, and a little behind, Aimé. "Loosen your knees and elbows, bend your arms and legs a little bit. Now roll forward just a little onto your toes like this." Badri demonstrated while Aimé tried to copy the easy, fluid motion. "Here." Badri's hand settled, large and warm, on the small of Aimé's back, guiding his movements. "Like that, and now back onto your heels. All your foot motions will be about keeping your knees soft and slightly bent, and shifting from toe to heel, heel to toe."
"I can't—"
"You can." Badri smiled at him. "You said you boxed, so you know how to use your body. Come now, it's easy. Just let yourself relax and move. Just like this."
Aimé tried again. He felt a little ridiculous, but also excited, and almost giddy, to be so close to Badri. Even though he was sure he was doing it horribly wrong, with Badri's hand on his back just above the curve of his backside, he didn't care.
Both of Badri's hands slid to his hips. "Knees soft," Badri reminded him.
Truthfully, Aimé's knees were starting to feel a little weak, especially when Badri pressed up close, his front hot against Aimé's back, turning their bodies both sideways.
"All right, we are going to move now. Stay on your toes, knees just like that. And go—" Badri let go of him to move across the sitting room, knees very slightly bent, light on his toes, making it seem ungodly easy, when Aimé suspected it was actually incredibly hard.
"And that's without the arms." Badri turned back to him with a wide smile. "But we can worry about them later. Now you try."
It was, as Aimé had suspected, far, far harder than Badri made it appear.
"No, like you are stamping." Badri slid back behind him again, hands once more at Aimé's waist. "But don't put your foot down as hard."
"I will never be able to do this." Aimé tried it again anyway, and found himself giggling at how ridiculous he must look. "I swear I'm making you learn to sing at least one choir piece after this."
"Stamp," Badri ordered, but Aimé didn't have to see him to hear the smile.
Aimé stamped and Badri burst out laughing as well. Turning slightly in Badri's arms, Aimé craned his neck to peer at him. Badri smiled down at him, and Aimé turned more fully and leaned up.
Badri looked surprised for a brief moment, but he still bent his head to meet Aimé's halfway in a kiss. Badri's lips were so warm and soft, and his mouth tasted of wine and the rich sauces they'd had for dinner. Aimé's eyes slid shut and he made a soft noise of want, pressing close as Badri's arms came around him. Badri's body, flush against his, was hard under fine cloth, and Badri's own hands roamed up and down Aimé's back, and cupping the swell of his backside, pulled their hips flush.
Aimé ate at Badri's mouth with teeth and tongue until Badri groaned a deep, rumbling sound into Aimé's mouth.
They broke apart as Aimé's back hit the wall. Badri laced their fingers together and pressed their joined hands against the wall above Aimé's head, thrusting their hips together. Badri's cock was a long, hard bulge in his breeches that rubbed against Aimé's equally-hard length. Head falling back against the wall, Aimé struggled to breathe.
It didn't take long. Badri ground his hips in a slow circle against Aimé's, mouth meeting Aimé's with enough force to bruise, and grunted as he came. The warm wetness of Badri's release seeping through his breeches was enough to push Aimé over the edge.
The touch of their lips this time was slow and gentle, before Badri pulling away and looking down with obvious dismay at his ruined clothes. Not for the first time, Aimé was glad his body no longer produced seed for him to soil his clothes with. Badri's breeches were a mess, though.
"I had not intended that to happen when I asked you to come to dinner," Badri said, sounding earnest and slightly worried, and Aimé laughed.
"I don't mind." He stepped forward again to kiss Badri. "I enjoyed it. Very much."
"I'm glad." Badri seemed to hesitate, though. "Would you like to spend the night? I have a very nice guest room, or…"
"I can't." Aimé hated to say it, but it was true. He had to be up before dawn to travel to Count de Fézensac's estate. "I have practice and then rehearsal tomorrow."
"It's all right, I more than understand." Badri seemed disappointed nonetheless, and Aimé reached for his hand.
"Next Saturday, if you are free, I would love it if you could accompany me to a boxing match."
Badri nodded. "I would love to."
"All right then, until Saturday." Aimé leaned up for a quick kiss that turned deep and urgent once Badri's arms went around him again.
In the carriage, after they had said their farewells one last time, Aimé could not stop smiling.
*~*~*
Badri gazed out the carriage window without really seeing the darkening streets outside. The memory of Aimé's body pressed against his as they danced and the way Aimé had felt in his arms as he shuddered and came played on slow repeat. Badri swallowed and willed himself not to get hard.
Breeches hid almost nothing, and he would need to be out in public soon. Had they moved too fast, Badri wondered for the thousandth time? He hadn't meant for them to end up having sex when he'd invited Aimé over. It had just happened, and it felt right at the time. More than right, but maybe Aimé would come to regret it.
He shook his head, trying to dispel such thoughts.
The carriage stopped in front of a tavern that, while not the most disreputable one Badri had ever seen, was not of high repute by any stretch of the imagination. Feeling wary and out of place, he climbed out.
"Badri!"
A wave of relief hit him as he turned to see Aimé. He was flanked by a tall, dark-skinned woman that Badri recognized as Commander Adewuyi, head of the capital's police force, on one side, and a huge, intimidating bear of a man with a shaved head and a heavily-scarred face on the other. All three of them were dressed in plain, civilian clothes. Badri felt suddenly a little overdressed in his fine burgundy jacket.
"Commander Collette Adewuyi," Aimé said, "and her second in command, Jérémie Ouakili."
"I am glad to finally meet you." Commander Adewuyi grinned at him. She had one of the firmest handshakes he'd ever encountered.
"We should get moving if we are to get a good view of the fight," Ouakili said, and Aimé nodded.
"Come on." He linked his arm with Badri's and led the way down a flight of stone steps next to the tavern. The steps led to a door that Aimé knocked on.
Another huge man opened the door. He looked their group up and down before nodding and letting them in.
"This is legal, right?" Badri asked Aimé, keeping his voice low, and glanced at Adewuyi and Ouakili.
Aimé laughed. "Oh, yes," he said, "just low-class."
Badri blushed to realize he hadn't thought of that. All his life, he'd taken his place within the aristocracy, both of the empire and his mother's country, for granted.
Glancing around the low-ceilinged, dimly-lit room, he noticed that most of the men and women there seemed to be of the middling class merchants and craftsmen.
The center of the room had been sunken in to make a pit of sorts with a packed-earth floor. It wasn't particularly deep: even a man as short as Aimé could easily climb out. It did give everyone standing above a good view of the proceedings. The room around the ring was already crowded, and Badri pressed close against Aimé to keep from being lost in the press of bodies.
"Do you want a drink?" Aimé asked, his hand resting lightly on Badri's elbow. "They only serve hard liquor here, but I can get you a glass if you want."
"No, it's all right." Badri pressed back into Aimé's grip.
A roar started towards the far edges of the crowd, moving in, and Badri craned his neck to watch as a door at the far end of the room opened. The crowd parted to let a group through.
Two men jumped down to the pit. Both of them were large, broad-shouldered, heavily-muscled men in their shirtsleeves. One, younger and with moon-pale skin, carried himself like a soldier, and when they both stripped off their waistcoats and shirts, Badri saw he had the scars to match. The other was just as big: heavyset with a rounded belly, gray hair cut short to his head and features that made Badri think his parentage was from even further east than his own.
"Who are you betting on?" Aimé asked Adewuyi, who was standing on his other side.
"Kakahara." Adewuyi said with a sly grin and a sideways look at Ouakili. "Jérémie would never forgive me if I didn't support his favorite."
Both of the fighters were wrapping their hands and wrists now with long bandages.
Badri could feel the excitement and anticipation growing tight in his belly, like just before he went on stage. Aimé gripped Badri's arm, his whole body radiating excitement as well. It made a little bit of arousal mix with the anticipation in Badri's gut, and warmth settled between his legs.
Both men faced each other, and the volume of the crowd rose with excitement. The fighters fell into a wide-legged stance that was reminiscent to Badri of certain dance positions or fencing forms. They circled each other while Aimé gripped Badri's arm tightly and practically vibrated in place.
"He's going to—" Aimé muttered just loud enough for Badri to hear, and the younger soldier was lunging, swinging a punch, and the older, wider man Adewuyi had called Kakahara had his arms up to block. Then Kakahara threw a punch, and the crowd cheered and roared as it hit home, snapping the other's head back. Badri winced, but could not help admiring the way both fighters danced out of each other's way almost immediately.
Aimé leaned heavily into Badri's side, gaze fixed on the ring, body taut and almost shaking. Badri found it very hard to keep his mind on the fighting, found it very hard to breathe. He stared down at Aimé and admired the look of rapt concentration on his face. Aimé was alternating between biting at his lower lip and muttering under his breath as he watched the fight.
Badri wanted to lean forward, to suck that plump lower lip into his mouth, and bite at it, too. Hell, he wanted to get down on his knees and suck Aimé off right then and there with the whole crowd watching. He wanted to run his fingers back between Aimé's legs while he sucked his cock, press a fingertip against Aimé's sweet hole, hear him groan and curse.
He'd never seen Aimé naked, never touched his cock nor used his hands to make Aimé come. He found himself hot and flushed, panting with the desire for it now.
The crowd pressed in on all sides, forcing Aimé to lean in even closer. Badri let his arm fall around Aimé's waist, keeping him close and holding him tight.
He didn't remember who won the fight, only being tugged out into the cool night air by Aimé, who seemed incredibly pleased with himself.
All around them, people were chatting, loud and happy as they dispersed into the night.
"Did you like it?" Aimé looked up at him, slightly rumpled and grinning. Once again, Badri's breath caught.
"Yes."
"Good." Aimé kissed him quickly on the lips. "So did I."
Badri's couldn't help but press his mouth to Aimé's again, hotter and deeper than he should have for such a public place. Aimé was laughing, though, when he broke away, pushing Badri a little bit away. "Go on, then, back to your bed." Aimé was still grinning. "I have a performance tomorrow."
He really did not want to leave, but Aimé needed his sleep. "All right."
"I will see you soon." Aimé pressed against him for a moment longer, and then turned away to find his carriage.
After a moment of watching him, Badri turned to find his.
Once more settled in his carriage, Badri drummed his fingers against his knee, mind filled with thoughts of Aimé. Perhaps tomorrow he could forgo a little practice and do something else instead. In fact, tomorrow would be a good day to see an opera.
*~*~*
Aimé stood in the center of the stage as it glittered under Sushil's new lights. The stage was set to look like a frozen lake lined with frosted trees. Everything was silver, the lights imitating moonlight beautifully. The silver trim on Aimé's black jacket, waistcoat, and breeches made him also seem as if he'd been outlined in frost.
Aimé sang of solitude, of loneliness and lost love. He was the one left behind as the lovers perished in each other's arms, the one who would go on alone.
His voice took Badri's breath away, higher than any man's, but with a deep resonance that many women found hard to attain.
Aimé held out his hands, his voice soaring to the ceiling.
His last notes died away and the curtains closed, the audience rising and applauding.
Badri picked up the bouquet he'd brought as the lamps within the body of the theatre began to be lit again. He headed backstage.
There was quite a large crowd in front of Aimé's room when he got there, so instead, Badri turned and began scoping out the exits, trying to decide which Aimé would most likely use once he was finished.
The exit he chose led out into a narrow alley, but it was only a few paces to the street where a carriage could be pulled up. Badri leaned against one stone wall and closed his eyes, letting the night air cool him from the heat of the opera house.
Minutes dragged by, twenty and then longer.
Badri began to fear he'd chosen wrong or Aimé had been cornered by someone and could not get away. That was likely, as so many members of court treated people like him and Aimé as if they were pet dogs. Either that or the courtier was pressing him for sexual favors. Badri felt his mouth turn down in disgust. He wondered if Aimé was ever propositioned—probably. Badri could not stop the spike of jealousy that went through him at the thought.
"What are you doing here?"
Badri jumped and turned to see Aimé staring at him, having just come out of the opera house.
"I was waiting for you." Badri held out the flowers. "It was a beautiful performance."
"Thank you." Aimé reached for the bouquet. He was not quite smiling, but he seemed pleased, and Badri relaxed a fraction.
"I meant it when I said I was a fan." He smiled down at Aimé, who stood a head shorter than Badri did. "And I wanted to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner?"
"I have already eaten." Aimé seemed to hesitate, and Badri's heart sank. Everything had been going so well between them, but maybe something had happened or Aimé had changed his mind.
"But I would like it if you could accompany me back to my apartment for drinks." Aimé looked up at him with a small smile.
Badri drew in a breath and then grinned. "I would love to."
Aimé's carriage was indeed waiting on the street at the end of the alley. Badri climbed in after Aimé, glad that he'd taken a cab to get to the opera. Aimé gave him a once-over as he settled across from Badri, who self-consciously tugged a little at the lace cuff of his dark yellow jacket. Aimé gave him a smile with just enough heat and desire behind it to make Badri's pulse quicken.
"You look particularly lovely tonight."
"Thank you." Badri smoothed one hand down his front, grateful now that he'd taken such care dressing earlier that evening. "I don't get that many chances these days to get dressed up and mingle with society, as it were, not with practice."
Aimé did a thing with his lips that looked like a pout, but there was some rueful amusement there, too. "Don't I know it. During the season, my life seems to contain performances, practice, and very little else. I will become more free once the season ends, but then there will be no performances to attend."
"Exactly." Badri nodded.
"But sometimes I make the time." Aimé's gaze became bashful. "Like the ballet the other night. It was my birthday, so I had been given the night off."
"Oh." Badri blinked, and felt guilty for a moment that he hadn't known, even though there was no way he could have. "Best wishes on the year ahead and many more."
"Thank you." Aimé still sounded a little shy.
The carriage pulled up in front of a smart-looking, brown stone townhouse, and Aimé descended, still carrying the flowers, with Badri right behind him.
"Your house is beautiful." Badri looked up at it as Aimé unlocked the door and led the way into the hall.
"Thank you," Aimé said again, pushing open a door that led into a small sitting room. A fire was already laid in the hearth. It was done in striking shades of green and blue instead of the cool, open whites or the darker wood paneling that Badri was used to seeing in such townhouses. "I share it with Collette, but she is not here at the moment." He glanced towards another door on the far side of the room. The door was closed, with no light coming from the bottom. "She is involved in a difficult case and working late. Court in the morning, too."
"Is it common for the commander of the capital city's police force to appear in court?" Badri asked, folding himself onto one of the settees Aimé waved at.
"No." Aimé’s expression became fond. "But Lady Miriam, the Duchess de la Poltrot, is prosecuting, and she likes to win, and believes in utilizing every card in her hand. Wine?" He held out a glass that he'd already poured. "Or I have something stronger, if you'd like?"
"I would enjoy a glass of wine."
Aimé poured another glass and carried it over to Badri, sitting beside him on the settee. Badri took a sip of the deep red liquid, watching Aimé while trying not to appear to be doing so. His body was small and soft, and his features were rounded in a way that tended to make him look younger than he was. His black hair was cropped down close enough to his skull to make wearing wigs more comfortable, and there was a touch of grey at his temples, belying his real age.
"So tell me how you came to sing."
"I started singing in a choir when I was five, and was doing it professionally by the time I was six," Aimé said. "My mother and father encouraged it and I loved it; I couldn't imagine doing anything else. It became obvious very quickly that I had talent, so my choir director suggested that I have the operation to become a castrato. I agreed, my parents agreed, so it happened. Shortly after, I decided to begin studying opera. I loved singing choir music, but I fell in love with opera, with the challenge of it, but mostly the drama and the story, and the chance to both sing and act." Aimé took a sip of his wine. "It was difficult for a while. Castrati were going out of fashion in opera, and everyone was sure if I left choir music, I wouldn't stand a chance. I was determined, though, to make a name for myself as an opera singer.”
"And you were the first castrato to perform at the Royal Opera House in almost thirty years, and the first to take on lead roles within the Royal Opera Company in nearly twice that."
"Yes." Aimé looked extremely pleased with himself, and Badri felt something akin to laughter catch in his chest when Aimé did not even try to deny it.
Their eyes met, and Aimé must have seen the laughter there, because he smiled: slow, hot, and inviting.
Badri put aside his wine glass, leaned forward, and kissed Aimé on the mouth. Aimé melted against him at once, hands wrapping around the back of Badri's neck. Badri stroked the soft hair at the nape with his thumbs while his lips slid against Aimé's warm mouth, still tasting of wine. Aimé pressed close, let his tongue slide into Badri's mouth. Aimé tasted like wine there, too: wet, sweet, and so very hot. Badri imagined that mouth on his body and made a small noise of greedy want.
Badri used his larger size to press Aimé back against the arm of the settee. His hands pushed up underneath Aimé's dress jacket, trying to worm under his waistcoat.
"You wear too many layers," Badri said when they parted, voice already husky. His mouth lingered, caressing the curve of Aimé's jaw.
"You are wearing just as many layers as I am," Aimé pointed out, huffing a small laugh. "But I will make you a deal: I am willing to remove my layers, if you will remove yours."
"That seems fair." Badri claiming Aimé's mouth again, tongue pressing forward, wanting to explore Aimé's mouth.
"Well, I am a gentleman." Aimé's breath was uneven as well by the time they parted.
Badri rolled them, their movements limited and awkward on the tiny settee, but finally Aimé was lying on his back, Badri propped above him, and their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh.
"Do you have a bedroom?" Badri asked between kisses, "or shall we indulge ourselves here in the parlor?"
At that, Aimé shivered all over, putting his arms up around Badri's neck, and clung to him.
"Would you rather we stayed here?" Badri asked, mouthing at the line of Aimé's throat.
"No." Aimé's voice was also rough with want now. "I do have a bedroom, and we should probably use it."
Badri rolled off so that Aimé could stand and lead the way across the room to another door. The room beyond the door was small, but neat, with a bed and a small cabinet beside it, as well as a wardrobe, washstand, and writing desk.
There was only one piece of furniture in the room that Badri had never seen before.
It seemed to be a stool or chair of some kind: low and made of polished wood. There was an opening in the center of the seat, though. A long, thin piece of wood, almost like a paddle, half jutted out in front of the stool, the other half inside the opening in the seat.
Frowning, Badri touched the top of the seat lightly and discovered it rocked gently back and forth.
"Badri..." Aimé's voice held a note of something, but Badri wasn't sure what—embarrassment, unease?
"What is this?" Badri asked.
"I..." Aimé took a breath and then squared his shoulders. "Here." He turned away towards the bed, rummaging in the cabinet, and then turned back holding a smooth, polished, wooden phallus. Badri felt his own cheeks warm even as his cock twitched in his breeches. It was a beautiful thing: long and wide, with just a hint of a curve to it. It looked giant held in Aimé's small hands. Badri imagined Aimé pushing it into him and felt his entire body heat.
Aimé walked over to the stool and knelt beside it. On closer inspection, Badri saw that the paddle-like part that was fitted into the hole in the seat had a piece of leather with a metal ring set into it, secured firmly to one side and attached to the wood on the other by a set of buckles. Aimé unbuckled the leather piece, flipped it up, passed the phallus through the ring until it hugged the wooden base of the toy, and then buckled it firmly down, securing the toy to the wooden paddle.
With the phallus now jutting out of the hole in the seat of the little rocking stool, Badri had a pretty good idea what it was for.
"You sit on it," Aimé told him anyway. "The toy goes up inside you and as you rock it back and forth, the toy ..." he waved his hand, "moves."
Badri's mind was full of images of Aimé naked, head thrown back, eyes closed, sitting on the stool, while the long, hard toy fucked him. Such a toy would be unyielding, fucking in and out of Aimé's little hole, driving him closer and closer towards completion.
"I want to see." He was unsure he'd spoken aloud until Aimé looked up at him, eyes wide with shock.
"What?"
He was already half hard at the idea, flushed hot from head to toe. Badri's hands clenched at his sides, trying to get himself back under control enough to explain to Aimé what he wanted. "I want to see you ride on this. I want to watch it fuck you."
For a long moment, Badri thought he would refuse. Instead, Aimé straightened, hands clutching at Badri's shoulders, his tongue pressing into Badri's mouth, hot and wanting for a moment, before he stepped back. "Yes," he said. Then his jacket was hitting the floor, followed by his waistcoat and shirt, shoes, and stockings.
Badri's gaze swept over Aimé's body as it was revealed to him. Aimé was soft and well-padded, his hips, ass, chest and stomach rounded and full. Badri wanted to touch and squeeze that lush backside, toy with those dark, little nipples.
Aimé's hand paused at the fastening of his breeches, but then they, too, fell. Aimé's cock was tiny, nestled between his thighs, much smaller than any other man's cock Badri had ever seen. Underneath his cock was smooth skin where Aimé's balls used to be.
Arms crossed over his chest, chin tilted up, Aimé stood and let Badri look his fill.
"Well?" Aimé finally said, and Badri looked up to meet his eyes.
"Well, what?" He could see the nervous energy in the way Aimé stood: so stiff and still, as if preparing to flee or fight. Bardri himself was so achingly hard, so ready to know what these intimate parts of Aimé's body felt like under his hands and mouth.
"Does it disgust or arouse you that I am not the size of a normal man?" Aimé said, chin up, shoulders squared as if for a blow.
Badri kissed him then, with all the passion and longing he could muster. "You arouse me," he said when they pulled apart. "All of you, not merely the size of your cock." Aimé seemed to melt a little against him, pressing close enough that Badri was sure he could feel Badri's own hard length against his hip.
"I've had lovers who refused to sleep with me after seeing me naked," Aimé said, "and others who took a little too much pleasure in the fact that my cock is like that of a boy and not a man's."
"You are a man." Badri cupped his face gently. "And I desire you as one."
Their lips met, wet, lazy, and slow, with lips, tongue, and teeth. "Take off your clothes," Aimé said finally, drawing away to pluck at the front of Badri's jacket.
Badri shucked off his clothes as quickly as possible—hard to do with so many layers and tiny fastenings, but he managed. The open hunger in Aimé's gaze as it raked across Badri's naked body was well worth it, though, not to mention a boost to his ego.
"God, you're just so ..." Aimé's fingers skimmed across the muscles of his arms, down his chest and well-defined abdomen. Aimé's fingers wrapped around Badri's cock, and Badri groaned, hips moving forward and eyes sliding shut. Aimé stroked him several times before letting go. "You are beautiful."
Badri opened his eyes and looked down at Aimé.
"Truly." Aimé's expression was serious. "Your body is a work of art."
"I..." Badri didn't really know how to respond to that. He was aware that most considered him attractive, but he'd never really thought of himself as such, focusing more on the function of his body rather than its aesthetic, but if it pleased Aimé, he supposed that was a good thing. "Thank you; I train hard."
Aimé leaned up so that he could kiss Badri on the lips. Badri's own arms wrapped around Aimé's waist, pulling Aimé up a little, causing his back to arch and drawing them both tight together. Their cocks rubbed against each other. The head of Badri's cock was already wet with his arousal. He could feel pre-seed beading there as he rubbed against Aimé's small member. He reached between the two of them to wrap his fingers around both their cocks, using his thumb to rub his own slickness down over them. Aimé groaned, pressing in close and thrusting into Badri's hand.
"I want..." Badri let go of them before he got too badly distracted. "I want to watch you on that." He nodded his head towards the stool. "What do you call it, anyway?"
"Erotic furniture."
Badri was pretty sure Aimé was blushing, and on him, it was almost unbearably attractive. It was almost enough to distract him from what they were talking about. With difficulty, Badri focused at the matter at hand: namely, the very fine piece of erotic furniture.
"That seems like a lot to say." Badri raised one eyebrow skeptically.
"Chair?" Aimé offered.
"I want to see you fuck yourself on the chair." Badri leaned in close, letting his mouth brush the curve of Aimé's ear, and Aimé nodded a little jerkily.
He turned away, back to the cabinet by the bed. When he turned back, he was holding a glass bottle that Badri assumed contained the slick. Aimé stopped next to Badri, leaning into him for a moment and nuzzling his neck before stepping back. He opened the bottle, pouring some of the oil into his hand before reaching behind his body. Aimé sucked in his breath, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he knelt and rubbed the rest of the slick along the wooden toy.
Badri knelt by the chair as Aimé lined up the tip of the toy with his hole and began to lower himself down slowly. Badri's breath caught. He'd seen his own cock disappear into partners' bodies, but never from this angle, never watched anyone be penetrated by a toy like this. He watched, fascinated, as the girth of the toy parted Aimé's cheeks, stretching and filling his hole. Aimé shifted his hips a little, his breathing becoming heavy as he sank down onto the toy until he was sitting fully on the padded seat of the chair.
For a moment he just sat there, eyes closed, chest heaving as Badri looked up at him. He watched the flutter of Aimé's dark lashes against his cheeks, the shape of his collarbone, his dark nipples, the way one hand gripped the edge of the chair. Aimé's other hand caressed the soft swells of his chest, the round fullness of his belly. Aimé's cock was small, but hard, between his thighs, and Badri wanted very much to lean forward and take it into his mouth. But Aimé started moving then, just a little bit at first, then moving his hips, causing him to sway back and forth as the chair itself rocked. Badri could imagine the toy fucking up into Aimé's tight body, imagine the heat and grip of him around its wide girth.
Badri reached forward, putting one hand on the chair to rock it just a little bit, pushing the toy deeper, and Aimé cried out, eyes flying open.
"I'm sorry." Badri let go of the chair.
"No." Aimé's hand came forward, gripping at Badri's shoulder. "Do it again. Push it again."
Badri braced his hand firmly against the chair, pushing it back and forth with just enough force to cause the toy to penetrate deep into Aimé's body with each rocking motion. Aimé's other hand went to his cock, fisting himself. Badri reached down with his own free hand, wrapping his fingers around one of Aimé's ankles and pulling his leg up to rest against Badri's shoulder.
The change of angle made Aimé gasp and lean back, biting at his lower lip as his hand sped up. Badri turned his head to mouth along Aimé's calf, down to his ankle and the curve of his foot. He used his teeth to nibble ever so slightly at Aimé's arch. Aimé made another pleasure-filled noise, and Badri took his hand off the chair to reach for Aimé's other ankle, resting it against his shoulder as well.
The chair was just low enough that when Aimé arched his back he could reach behind him, bracing his hands against the floor as Badri spread both of his legs up and wide. Badri reached back down again, rocking the chair, grinning as Aimé's cries became desperate.
"Can you come from this?" Badri pressed the chair back hard, causing Aimé to gasp.
Aimé shook his head. "I don't think so... please touch me, I need—" He broke off with a groan, and Badri grinned wider and took his hand off the chair, bending forward to take Aimé's cock into his mouth. He sucked hard and Aimé shook, cried out, and came.
There was a little trickle of clear precome, just enough to wet Badri's tongue, which he thought, drawing back, was vastly preferable to other partners he'd had who'd tended to come enough to choke him.
Aimé was staring at the ceiling, eyes glazed over, and Badri fisted his own, now almost-painful, erection.
"I want to come on you."
Aimé blinked up at him. "What?"
"I want to come on your skin." Badri pumped himself faster, fist tighter.
Lips parting with obvious want, Aimé leaned back, rocked himself slowly on the toy still inside him. "Okay." His eyes fluttered shut. Badri could not imagine continuing to be fucked after he'd already come, but Aimé seemed to enjoy the extra stimulation. The sight of Aimé rocking himself slowly onto the toy, continuing to be spread and invaded by it, was almost enough to push Badri over the edge. He pushed his thumb up over the head of his cock, drawing his foreskin back more as he pulled down, and felt his balls draw up as his climax pulsed through him.
Badri gritted his teeth as his cock throbbed in his hand, his seed falling onto Aimé's skin, the round softness of his belly and chest. Aimé opened his eyes as Badri came, staring up at him as Badri rode out the waves of pleasure.
Aimé blinked up at him, and Badri felt as if his consciousness was floating somewhere up at the top of his head. In his hand, his cock had begun to go limp again, and his thighs shook ever so slightly.
He looked down at his own seed, which stood out white against Aimé's skin. Badri found he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I want..." He swallowed, his tongue feeling slick and words coming slow in his post-pleasure haze. He dropped to his knees again in front of Aimé, who was still watching him, looking slightly puzzled now.
Slowly, Badri leaned forward and licked a few drops off of Aimé's hip. Aimé drew in a sharp breath, hand coming up, and Badri thought he was about to be pushed away.
"Yes." Aimé's tone was fierce, and his hand curled around the back of Badri's head as Badri licked across Aimé’s stomach, cleaning the seed from Aimé's skin. Badri licked up Aimé's body, across his chest. Aimé was warm and soft under his mouth, and he smelled like sex and a hint of cologne. Aimé's fingers carded through the hair on the back of Badri's head as he licked and sucked lightly at his chest. He took one of Aimé's nipples into his mouth, grazing with his teeth until Aimé gasped.
"You are making me want to get hard again."
"Good." Badri pressed his lips against Aimé's skin, nuzzled against him, although in truth, he felt too calm and lazy for another round. He lapped at Aimé's other nipple until the hand in his hair tightened.
"Help me up." Aimé's voice was deeper than Badri had ever heard it, and sounded just as relaxed as Badri felt. Badri’s lips brushed Aimé's collarbone and then stood, holding out his hands to Aimé, who gripped Badri tightly as he eased himself up and off the toy that had been stretching him open.
Badri looped his arms around Aimé's waist when Aimé was all the way standing.
"Was that after-dinner drink satisfactory?" Badri asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice, and both of Aimé's eyebrows arched even as his lips curled up in a smile.
"I wasn't aware we were finished, Monsieur Mukherjee."
"Oh, no?" Badri bent to nuzzle Aimé's neck and the soft spot behind his ear.
"Hmm, no." Aimé's hands spread across his shoulders and down his back, sliding around to stroke over his chest, gripping and massaging at the curve and swell of muscles as he went. "We need to bathe, finish that drink in front of the fire, I think, and then see what the rest of the night holds."
Badri straightened as Aimé's fingers found one of his nipples. "I have practice first thing tomorrow." It was a weak objection, and judging by Aimé's grin, he knew it.
"So do I." Aimé said. "Just as long as we don't make a habit of these long nights, one won't kill us."
"I suppose." Badri's hands slid from Aimé's waist to grip at the double swells of his lush ass.
"Sunday nights," Aimé said, as if deciding something. "I want to take you to dinner then, and we can indulge. The rest of the time can be for our work."
Badri looked at Aimé's dark eyes and small, round face. "You want that?" He let his hands run back up Aimé's spine. "Something… something that will last?"
"If you will have me."
Aimé tilted his face up, and Badri met him halfway in a kiss.
*~*~*
"Hurry up!" Badri called over his shoulder as he exited Aimé's flat. "Stop primping; we are going to be late."
"And that would be a tragedy." Aimé appeared, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it. "I don't want to go to this party, anyway. I would much rather stay home with you."
Badri smiled back at him before pulling the carriage door open. "You need to make an appearance, remember? Count de Fézensac's orders. But we don't have to stay the whole time."
"Thank God." Aimé rolled his eyes as he settled in the carriage, then caught sight of Badri's fond grin. It made his stomach flutter even now, after almost a year, and he reached out for Badri's hand.
The second party of the season was hosted by the House de la Marche.
Despite Badri's best efforts, they arrived fashionably late.
Unsurprisingly, as soon as they climbed from the carriage, all eyes were on Aimé, who was dressed in many shades of green silk, embroidered all over with flowers and creeping vines with silver thread, silver lace at his cuffs and long, silver drops hanging from each ear.
He would be playing the role of the fairy princess, rewritten and reimagined just for him this season. Thus, his entire wardrobe for public appearances was now fairy-themed.
On his arm, Badri was burning reds and oranges, embroidered with the sun and stars in gold.
They cut through the crowd together, up the steps and into the huge la Marche estate house. All around them Aimé could hear the murmur and whisper of courtiers, feel the eyes on him, but he kept his head high, each movement practiced and confident as if he were stepping out onto the stage.
Badri was a warm, solid presence at his side: a comforting arm linked with his own.
Plucking a glass from one of the trays carried by a serving man, Badri handed it to Aimé, who took it and sipped, Badri's eyes fixed on Aimé's face the entire time. They stood close, closer than what was proper. Aimé heard the whispers and smiled slow and secret, just for Badri.
Badri returned the look, all private heat, meant both as a promise for when they got home and as a tease for those who watched, before leading Aimé onto the dance floor.
"You are shameless," Aimé said, "the way you like to tease them." His eyes slid to the nobles who surrounded the dance floor.
"They would stare at us anyway," Badri said. "I am only giving them something to look at."
"Where is the Marquis de la Marche?" Aimé asked as Badri locked their fingers together and turned them in a slow circle. "Isn't this his party?"
"Technically, these are always his mother's doing," Badri said. "Gregory's probably hiding out in his observatory. That is, if he bothered to stop studying at all. He's not overly fond of parties." Badri scanned the room as they circled each other, again pulling Aimé a little closer to him than what was proper. "That and Lord Ashcroft de Bourbon was a last-minute addition to the guest list, and Gregory would rather die than admit it, but Lord Ashcroft intimidates him. They've never met in person, and I think Gregory is trying very hard to keep it that way. He'll probably not come out at all this entire evening, which reminds me, I don't believe you've met Gregory."
"No, I have not yet had the honor." Aimé locked their fingers again so that the palms of their hands pressed together, and stepped in close enough that their chests almost touched.
"We will see if we can sneak away later on, and I'll introduce the two of you." Badri looped his arm with Aimé’s as the song ended, and he led the way off the dance floor.
"Ah, Sushil, there you are," Badri called out, tugging Aimé towards where Sushil stood, holding his own drink and looking wary.
Aimé braced himself as nobles in brightly-colored dresses and frockcoats swarmed them. He comforted himself with Badri's presence at his side.
"Or maybe we can simply go home early." He kept his tone low enough for only Badri to hear him.
Home could be his apartment or Badri's, but either way, it meant curling up on the settee together. There would probably be wine and the opportunity for Aimé to peel those lovely clothes off of Badri's even-more-lovely body, or simply fall sleep together with Badri's head on his lap.
A young man in a fancy purple coat went to grab at Badri's arm, and Aimé pulled Badri closer, sidestepping his grip without appearing to do so. He took the glass Sushil offered him with a smile.
"Come, Sushil, walk with us in the garden." Badri nodded to him, and the three of them headed for the glass doors that led out onto the lawn.
"The Countess of Chalon was asking me when you two are to be wed," Sushil told them as they stepped out into the cool evening air, heading for the hedge maze, away from the sounds of the party.
"Oh, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Badri said with a lazy smile, but his arm that had slipped down around Aimé's waist tightened.
"Am I?" Sushil raised his eyebrows and sipped his wine, and Aimé pressed a little closer against Badri's side.
Badri laughed. "At least give us a little time to live together in sin. Besides, getting married would mean moving back home to Mother, because she'll want to organize the wedding for sure."
"Oh yes, she will at that." Sushil threw Aimé a knowing smile. "Here." He took the empty glass from Aimé's hand. "I'll get us some more."
"Wait, Sushil—" Badri called after him as Sushil turned back towards the house, but Aimé caught up both of Badri's hands in his own, keeping Badri from following. He tugged Badri further into the maze, until they were out of sight.
"Thank you," he said when they were tucked away behind a tall, green hedge, pressing close to Badri's tall, solid form.
"For what?" Badri brushed his lips against Aimé’s hair before straightening back enough to look down at him.
"For being here with me." Aimé tilted his head up to meet Badri's gaze. "Only I got pressed into coming by my patron. You could have stayed at home and had an early evening for once."
"I would never leave you to face most of court alone." Badri braided their fingers together.
"Well, I am grateful."
Then Aimé was pressed against Badri again, their lips meeting longer and slower this time, more thoroughly. They parted when Aimé stopped being able to breathe, but only with reluctance.
"We should go home early," Aimé said again, and Badri licked his lips and nodded, gaze focused on Aimé's face.
"How soon do you think we can reasonably get away?"
"I don't know." Aimé slid his hands into Badri's jacket along his sides to rest against Badri's hips. "But I'll make it worth your while for it to be soon."
"Is that so?" Badri raised his eyebrows, smiling now.
"Oh, but you wanted to introduce me to the Marquis de la Marche," Aimé said. "Remember?"
"Later." Badri tugged him back towards the entrance to the hedge maze. "There will be plenty of other opportunities, I'm sure. For now, let us go see whom we must speak to, be seen with or near, so we can say we did your societal duty. So I can take you home and spent the rest of the evening wearing something more comfortable."
"We may need to dance again," Aimé said, and Badri made a face of disgust.
Aimé couldn't help but smile. "But it is so very proper, and anyone can do it."
"To hell with being proper," Badri said under his breath. "I’d rather it mean something."
Aimé kissed him right there on the lawn of the Marquis de la Marche's estate and found he did not care about the spectacle they made.
Some things were worth it.