Work Text:
Jack had thought that it was a good idea to go on holiday with the Godalming family. After all, he was very fond of Arthur, and felt more regard for Lord Godalming than he ever had for his own father, and was on good terms with the assorted extended family members and servants who would be coming along, too. The lakeside "cottage" (bigger than Jack's family's home) was in an idyllic setting, and his first year at the University of Amsterdam had been so taxing… The idea of relaxing by a lake, surrounded by people who who accepted him with the unconditional ease that he had rarely experienced elsewhere, was quite attractive.
Unfortunately for him, it was not the only attractive thing about this trip.
In the past year, Arthur Holmwood had gotten tall, and manly, and almost unbearably beautiful. Jack hadn't seen him as much, since he had moved abroad while Arthur stayed in England, and although Jack could acknowledge that Arthur was certainly growing more good-looking every time he saw him, he'd thought he had his unwholesome feelings under control. Until Arthur had come out of the cottage on the first day, dressed in that damn boating outfit.
It was a red-and-white-striped suit and a straw hat with a ribbon to match, nothing too alluring there, but he was not wearing it with suitable underclothes. He wore no waistcoat at all, and instead of a tie, he had a red neckerchief, tied jauntily around his throat and doing absolutely nothing to tame the frankly indecent gap of the wide-open top of his shirt, unbuttoned to the collarbone.
Jack, who had been standing next to one of Arthur's aunts and waiting for him to appear, nearly choked, and had to feign a coughing fit. He looked away, but that image was already burned into his mind: that lovely throat with the neckerchief embracing it, that v-shaped gap of pale skin and the stray curls of golden chest hair that he had glimpsed before averting his eyes. He looked up at the sky, pretending to watch the clouds, but the wispy cirrus clouds called to mind the glimpse of the forbidden that he had seen, soft and enticing and… private. He wondered if this was what other men felt like when they saw a woman's cleavage.
Arthur was speaking cheerily, and Jack let him pass by, only lowering his eyes when Arthur had walked past him. Jack breathed in and out, deliberately, and followed him, along with the rest of their entourage, toward the lake shore where they would get into rowboats.
Of course he and Arthur would be in the same boat; it hardly made sense for him to join anyone else in the group. He determined to keep a blush off his cheeks by sheer willpower, although perhaps that wouldn't be a problem, since his blood was rushing around elsewhere. Arthur walked out onto the rickety pier, then hopped into the rowboat and said, "Come along, Jack!"
Jack followed, doggedly and soberly, pausing at the edge of the pier and feeling almost a sense of panic about getting into the rocking boat. It didn't help that his head was reeling as Arthur looked up at him with those summer-sky-blue eyes.
"Here, take my hand," Arthur said, holding it out. Jack's eyes traced the stray golden hairs on his knuckles. His whole body must be covered with it…
"Jack?"
He realized that he had just been staring at Arthur's hand. He jolted to life, jumping into the boat without taking Arthur's hand, and making the whole craft lurch dangerously. Arthur caught his arm, and so he was touched with that hand after all, and he felt dizzier than ever.
"Thank you," he said shortly, and plopped down onto one of the benches in the middle of the boat.
Arthur looked at him with a curious expression, then settled on the bench across from him— their knees were practically bumping— and began to row. Jack stared past Arthur's shoulder and tried to focus on the far shore, desperately attempting to think of anything except the beautiful man sitting in front of him.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked.
"Just a bit nervous on boats," Jack lied, and continued staring at the horizon.
*
Somehow, he survived the boat ride. He managed not to lose his mind when Arthur took his coat off and rolled up his sleeves; he managed not to visibly drool when his eyes could not help but admire the soft hair on his forearms, straighter and lighter than that on his chest; he managed not to break down sobbing in sexual frustration when Arthur's skin grew damp with sweat, and his muscles flexed while rowing the boat, and he began singing a song, and the sunshine glowed in his curls.
When they returned to the pier nearly an hour later, after boating all over the lake, Jack scrambled off the boat on all fours, righted himself, and walked speedily down the dock and onto the grass, feeling such a release of tension that he feared he might vomit. He found some respite in the shade of a tree and leaned on the trunk, panting as if he had been the one rowing, not Arthur.
"What's the matter, old boy?" came Arthur's voice behind him.
Jack kept his back turned. If he faced him, he would see all that lovely revealed skin, and he didn't trust himself to do so without doing something insane. "I'm sorry, Art, I'm just not feeling well."
"Perhaps you'll feel better after dinner."
Jack stared out at the lake, trying to measure his breathing. "Perhaps."
*
Mercifully, he and Arthur sat side by side at dinner, so Jack could put all his focus on Arthur's elderly uncle sitting across the table from him, in an attempt to banish his indecent thoughts from earlier. Still, just being in proximity to Arthur made him feel like he was sitting too close to a fire, his skin tingling and itching. He could practically hear a voice in the back of his head, growing louder and more insistent the more he ignored it: Touch him. Touch him. Touch him. Touch him…
The day would end eventually. Jack at least had the comfort of knowing that, in a house of this size, he would surely have a small room to himself— he hadn't seen where the servants had dropped his suitcase yet, but he imagined that he would be tucked away in some discreet nook, and he could perhaps curl up in bed and silently give himself a bit of relief. It was for the greater good, so that he would stop dishonouring his friend in his mind. Then he would attempt to get a good night's sleep, and in the morning, he could start afresh.
After dinner, there was music, and Jack managed to get through it by sitting apart from Arthur and not looking at him, which helped a bit. Still, he felt as if his whole body was aching or buzzing or both, and he watched the clock in the corner of the drawing-room, yearning for the moment when it would be acceptable to go to bed.
Fortunately, Lord Godalming announced that it was time to wrap up the evening before nine o'clock, declaring that they all needed a good night's sleep before going riding tomorrow. Jack sighed in relief, and looked around to see which servant would guide him toward his room for the night.
Instead, there was Arthur. He had long ago discarded his jacket, and although Jack had steeled himself against seeing him so alluring in his shirtsleeves, he still felt that burning sensation again.
"Come on, Jack, we're bunking together," Arthur said brightly.
Jack was so shocked by these words that he couldn't even respond. A haze fell over him, and he found himself being tugged along, away from the others, down a corridor, up a narrow flight of stairs— and when he came to himself, he was standing in a small room, and Arthur had shut the door behind them.
Panic overcame him, and his eyes darted about the room as if seeking an exit. There was no gaslight in this room, and it was lit only by a kerosene lamp. It had obviously been a child's room at some point, as there was an old rocking-horse and some assorted toys in the corner, and a well-worn quilt on one of the beds… and more than that, the whole room smelled like Arthur. Not just the sandalwood-caraway scent of his cologne, but that deeper, sweatier smell that Jack tried very hard not to inhale when he was close by.
"This has always been my room, when we come here," Arthur said. "I'd thought we could bunk together, just as we used to do back at my old dormitory."
Jack stared at him blankly. Those days, of lying across from each other and talking late into the night, felt very far away right now. Arthur had seemed like a child back then, and the three years between them a comfortably vast chasm. The chasm had closed without him even noticing, and they were both men now. "Oh," was all he said. Mechanically, he walked over to one of the beds and sat down on it. He wondered that if he managed to vomit, if he could sleep somewhere else tonight.
Arthur sat on the other bed, golden in the lamplight, and some distant part of Jack's brain registered that he wore a strange expression. Sadness, perhaps, though it was unclear what could be causing such a thing. He reached up and tugged at his neckerchief and Jack, exhausted with fighting himself all day, could not look away. He watched the fabric, slightly damp with perspiration, slide along that gorgeous white throat, freeing it to the night air, one less barrier to the beauty of the chest peeking out between the folds of the fabric…
"Jack," Arthur said quietly, and Jack immediately looked away.
"Yes?" Jack asked, his voice breaking. He felt a doom creeping over him. Arthur was so observant; could he see the desire that clung to him like tar?
"You…" Arthur trailed off, cleared his throat, started again. His voice was light, but Jack thought he heard it waver. "Feel free to tell me to bugger off if this makes you uncomfortable, but…"
Jack met his eyes. Those kind, big, earnest eyes. He could curl up and take a nap in those eyes, and he felt a calmness wash over him, even though his heart was beginning to pitter-patter in a curious manner.
Arthur's face had grown a little flushed, and though he half-smiled, his voice trembled even more. "Do you… have any interest in me?"
Jack felt all the air leave his lungs in a whoosh. He opened his mouth, soundless, and wondered if it were possible to die from an acute case of panic.
"Because I don't mind if you do," Arthur added quickly, his words running together as he fidgeted. "I've just noticed you looking at me a lot today and, well, I put two and two together, but if I'm misreading, please tell me, but if I'm not, well, I think that could be quite nice, you know…"
He continued to babble, while Jack just stared at him. Surely he must be hallucinating. He would never in a thousand years have guessed that Arthur had inclinations as Jack did, and he wondered what kind of delusion of the brain had caused him to believe so. He blinked, and shook his head, and tried to force his brain to think, but to his horror, he found that instead, he was standing up, and walking toward Arthur, who rose to meet him, and now he was standing in front of him and because of the height difference Jack was face to face with Arthur's beautiful throat, and Arthur was looking down at him with a blush on his cheeks, and…
He didn't think about what he was doing; he was outside his body, watching himself with the detached fascination of an involved doctor. His body was leaning forward, his lips soft, and Arthur was letting him, and—
He kissed the patch of revealed skin, right over the breastbone. Arthur moaned.
All at once he was back in his body, fireworks blasting through his head. All sense and decency had deserted him, and he pressed his open mouth against the skin, tasting his sweat and feeling the coarse hair against his lips. Arthur's arms were around him, warm and strong, and the last of his resistance fell away as he practically tore at the buttons on Arthur's shirt, letting his hands do what they had been yearning to do all day.
The reality was even more wonderful than his fantasies: in his fantasies, Arthur did not hold him, and kiss his hair, and say sweet things to him, as he did now. His skin was impossibly soft, covered curly hair all over his chest and belly, growing thicker the further down Jack kissed. His flesh had a delightful give to it, his belly soft and made for grabbing, his hands caressing Jack's head as he worked his way southward.
Madness truly must have overtaken him, because he couldn't even muster a feeling of shame as he unbuckled Arthur's belt and listened to his breath catch, and when he revealed that sublime specimen of manhood, he could not help but taste it— indeed, engulf it to the root, rewarded for his efforts with the tickle of the thicket of curls between his legs, where his scent was most potent. Jack was swimming in bliss, fingers clutching Arthur's hips and listening to his pretty gasps and moans, and tasting and feeling all of him…
Jack was sorry when Arthur spent, fearing it was over now, but fortunately his friend was nothing if not attentive, and Jack found himself sitting on Arthur's lap on the bed, nuzzled into the crook of his neck and feeling the pleasant rasp of his stubble against his forehead, as Arthur's hand brought him toward completion. Jack had never been so grateful that they were in an isolated wing of the house, because he couldn't even hope to contain the undignified sounds that came from his mouth. He pressed his hand against Arthur's chest, feeling the texture of his hair and skin and the pounding heartbeat beneath, and with an overwhelming sigh, he came in Arthur's hand.
He felt utterly dazed as Arthur kissed him and laid him in the bed, cleaning him up and then pulling the quilt over him. Jack tugged on Arthur's arm and felt a surge of happiness, so strong that it embarrassed him, when Arthur yielded to the pull and climbed under the cover with him. Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to break the spell, and curled up around Arthur's body, feeling all the places he had only imagined until today.
"I say, Jack, that was nice," Arthur said in his ear.
Jack almost laughed; Arthur sounded so cheerful and put-together, while Jack was still trying to remember what words were. Fortunately Jack didn't need to talk, and settled for pressing his face directly into the middle of Arthur's chest instead, nuzzling into the hair and thinking to himself that he would like to live here for the rest of his life. Arthur held him close, stroking his head, and for a moment, all felt right with everything in the world.