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PART I.
Mr Hemlock Bones
We returned to our rooms for lunch, the housekeeper having left it out on the table in our absence. It consisted of cold meats, cheese and pickles, and we tucked in, the silence companionable. Bones tended more towards the cheese, whereas I preferred the meat, making myself a ham sandwich with thick buttered slices of a bloomer. I poured strong, dark tea for us, enjoying the togetherness, the way we blended. I had not had much sexual experience beyond youthful fumblings that could be passed off as inquisitiveness, and wondered whether Bones was more experienced or had not fared any better than I. The air he carried about him, his assured manner and very commanding presence led me to believe he knew what he was about when it came to the bedroom, but actions and looks could be deceiving. Along with his art of reading people, I thought perhaps he had also mastered the art of disguising himself, of knowing what to do and how to behave in order to give someone a completely different perception of who he really was. If that were the case, my initial assumption that he was experienced might be quite the opposite.
I was intrigued to find out.
The tea was sweet and went down well after the sandwich, and while Bones finished the remainder of his cheese and a few slices of pickle, I stared at the small fire we had set up in the grate and thought about whether I ought to bring up our earlier conversation. Bones had said it was not the time to discuss it further, but that had been while we were in the cab and in the middle of discussing the case. Now, unless he wished to mull over the new facts he had discovered at the apartments, we could perhaps continue where we had left off.
He pre-empted me. “I have had only one liason, which lasted a little over a year. It was, of course, secretive and exciting, but ultimately came to a swift conclusion when someone got wind of what we were doing. The man I had fallen for-or thought I had fhad admitted to a friend while drunk that he was having an illicit affair. With a man.”
The Country of the Saints
That night, Bones stood in front of the fireplace, looking at me with that glimmer in his eyes I had begun to love. It could only mean one thing-more exploration-and I sat upright on the settee, excited to see what he had in mind. He turned away to look at the window, then raised one hand, finger pointing to the ceiling. He swept across the room to the door, flinging it open then disappearing out into the hall. His footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I frowned. He had given me that glimmer then vanished. It quickly deflated my excitement, which was replaced with a sense of despondency I did not wish to linger.
“Ah ha!” he said, his voice coming from far away. The clatter of his footfalls heralded his return. He appeared with a slim black cane in hand and closed the door, making short work of locking it. “I have never used this,” he said, strolling back to the fireplace, holding the cane at one end while running his free hand over its length. “I had quite forgotten about it.”
I swallowed a glut of elation pulsing beneath my Adam’s apple and tilted my head in question. The cane, in his hands, did more to me than when I had seen it in any other’s.
“Do you think you would like to take a walk with me some day while I hold this?” he asked, gliding finger and thumb along it.
“God, yes.” Once again he had read me. Had seen my need of wanting togetherness.
Although it appealed a little to show him how it felt, to tell him how much I wanted us to be a couple, I could not help but be a tad reticent. I would do it, of course I would, one day, but I had a sense deep inside that now was not the time.
“I see the idea does not really take a hold of you,” he said, swinging the cane by his side. “I should say I would only wish to try it if it made you happy.”
“It would make me happy, but I rather fear that the reasons I would like to walk along with you are not what you might be expecting.”
“I can tell why you wish to walk with me, and let me express that I feel the same way. Of course, no other would know why we felt such joy in walking together side by side, but I do not feel they need to know.”
I should have felt guilty at my relief that I did not have to explain but I did not. His reading me had saved me a stuttering explanation at a later date, one that would have perhaps made me sound foolish and far too in love. “I would not feel comfortable with anyone knowing. The risk is too great. I worry that perhaps people would suspect and report us.”
“I can see you feel that way, that you are utterly comfortable with us remaining how we are-behind closed doors. A walk would not be seen as odd, so long as we conducted ourselves correctly.”
I nodded, and he propped the cane against the fireplace, beside the guard and a brass, soot-ended poker. He stepped over to me and waved his hand with a flick of his wrist, and I stood before him, heart thundering and an almighty quiver rushing through me. He looked into my eyes as he undressed me, flinging the garments away without a care. I did not see where they landed, so entranced was I by him.
“Now,” he said when I was naked and hard. “Let me feel you.”
At the touch of his fingers upon my chest, I closed my eyes to savour the experience. He trailed them down, skating over my navel, then lower to ghost them over my erection-the briefest of touches yet intense enough that he might have been holding me tight. I gasped, my member bouncing, and he chuckled.
“You are such a delight,” he said, pressing his hot palms to my chest.
His mouth on mine took me by surprise, although I should have known it was coming-I’d had a second’s warning from his body heat, his breath breezing over my lips. I opened for him, letting his tongue in, and again he kissed me in that soul-twisting way that ensured I was his forever. Should we be parted I would always remember this moment, me naked, him fully clothed, his commanding presence and sure touch burying so deep inside me it would remain there always, a constant reminder of him. I wondered if he thought the same way I did, felt the same way, and I instantly chastised myself. How could I expect such a distinguished gentleman to feel the giddy gauze of love the same way as I, a younger man with no previous experience of such a heart-swelling time?
“I have felt the same thing,” he said, moving his mouth close to my ear. “I thought I had… That is why I told you I thought I had fallen in love with that fellow. I knew I had not once I met you.”
My heart stopped for a few beats, and I opened my eyes to check his face for sincerity. It seemed he had meant every word, and he smiled at me with a look of such longing I was sure it mirrored my own. How was it we had been brought together as companions, to find ourselves here, like this? How had I become so lucky?
“I am unsure what you mean,” I lied, knowing, but wanting him to explain, to say it outright.
“Why, I do believe I have fallen in love with you,” he said, giving me a shy smile, one that did not grace his face very often. “You have taken me quite by surprise, Doctor.”
And then he kissed me again, plundering with his tongue fully. He wrenched his mouth away and tugged me towards the table, to the spot I had occupied before, guiding my hands so they rested on the chair back.
“Grip,” he said.
My length throbbed, and I listened to him moving, locating himself in what I imagined was the perfect position to caress my behind. I waited for the touch but it did not come. Perhaps he had been appraising me, or had a moment of indecision as to whether to reach out and put his hands on me. I looked over my shoulder to see him examining the swell of my buttocks, head bent, his brow furrowed.
“Touch me,” I said, thinking to help him, as he definitely appeared to be having second thoughts.
I turned away and faced the wall ahead, biting my bottom lip in anticipation. He touched me quicker than I had expected, and a bite of serious-minded excitement streaked through me and almost sent me to my knees.
“Again,” I encouraged, determined, although my skin tingled, to feel such a caress again. “More!”
He obeyed, stroking me swiftly, and I could not hold back the howl of pleasure nor stop tears blinding my vision from how perfect this was. He smoothed his palm over each of my rear cheeks-once, twice, three times-then dragged his fingertips from the top of my cleft to rest behind my sacs. The thought that he might fondle my balls thrilled yet startled me, and I could not understand how I could feel two opposing emotions at once. He retraced his path, then his fingers left my skin, their absence immediately followed by his hot, flattened hands skimming across my arse. I hollered out my excitement, my erection pulsing, my seed threatening to shoot out.
I took my hands from the chair and raised them. “No more!” I gasped. “I might come.”
“That is the idea,” he said.
I heard the rustle of material, and then the exquisite feel of his silky-skinned length nestled in my crack. I sucked in a breath, glancing back, catching a half-glimpse of him staring down between us.
“The butter,” he said hoarsely.
I turned back to the table and took the lid off the dish, hands shaking. Digging my finger into the butter’s softness, I wondered if Bones’ channel would feel the same way. I reached back a fumbling hand and slathered the butter over his member and down myes, I was a little afraid, in case it might hurt, but I yearned for it all the same.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Very much.”
He circled my hole, soft movements that relaxed me enough that when he pushed a little, the tip of his finger popped inside. I felt full just from that and wondered briefly how the devil his hard member would ever fit. He eased in more until I thought I felt the thicker ridge of his knuckle, then he pulled it almost out, moving it upwards again until the knuckle that denoted he’d gone in as far as he could, touched the inside of my cheeks. My hole was as stretched as my lips had been when his length had filled my mouth, only my rim burned as though a match had been struck and the flame was held underneath it.
Bones used his fingertip to rub back and forth, and I jolted as a queer sensation sprouted. I waited to see what would happen next. He pressed a bit harder, quickening his strokes. My erection strained so I palmed it, dragging my hand up and down its length. Bones settled himself in my crack again, and that, combined with his roving finger and my jerking hand, proved too much. I spurted, uncaring where my seed landed, and a second or two later, Bones’ wet heat splattered onto the bottom of my back. I bucked, needing to feel him closer. He seemed to sense it and pressed his chest to my back, his hardness still wedged, his finger still wedged. I shot another rope of semen, my body losing all rigidity, and I sagged against him.
“I have you,” he panted. “I have you.”
I was glad he did and wished that he would have me forever.
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