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“Arthur, you will never escape from your name…”
Somehow his mind keeps going back to Michael, to their meeting in the gardens and their rift…no…that was a breakup, clearly…their breakup by the manmade pond full of water lilies.
Edward is droning on about the business, and about introducing him to the workers. His brother has never been in love before. He’s never had his heart broken and trampled into the dust. Sometimes Arthur wonders if Edward is even capable of love. He is perfectly cut out for business, always so level-headed and clear. It’s always do this and do that.
“Arthur, it’s this way!”
He stops now in his footsteps turning back to Edward, “Aren’t we meeting Mr Rafferty in his office?”
“No, I’ll be sure to make the formal introductions in due course, as I said,” Edward continues, “Tonight we must speak of other matters, in private.”
Arthur goes along with it, just as he’s always done in his entire life. He was raised as the eldest son, shipped off to boarding school and then university in London. Upon his graduation he’d decided it was best to stay in London. Far away from the family home and from his father’s watchful eyes. It was easier in London, far easier to live his life of parties and drinking and…being free with Michael…
‘God Almighty, just stop thinking of him already…’ Arthur frowns.
Before Michael he’d taken his pleasures when the need arose. There were young men, otherwise inclined as him and no names were ever exchanged. Everything was purely transactional, a need meant to be sated in the rhythm of undulating bodies, a high to chase. But with Michael is was something just…slightly different…or so he’d thought anyway.
“Rafferty’s right on time as usual,” Edward comments as they near one end of the warehouse, the smoke and heat of the machines making it much warmer here. And for all his broken-heartedness Arthur’s eyes involuntarily flick up to witness the silhouette of their foreman, Sean Rafferty amidst the orange hue cast by the coal burners.
“Leave us,” Rafferty orders the other workers, taking a quick drag of his cigarette before stamping it out.
Their foreman had always been in possession of a commanding presence, standing out in any room. Arthur also very, very vividly remembers witnessing a different side to the man some five years ago when he fucked off to London. It is that memory which springs to mind now, makes him momentarily forget his heartbreak just as much as it makes him grit his teeth as they come to stand before the man.
“Evenin’, sir,” Rafferty greets Edward first, a nod of his head, and then those steel blue eyes regard Arthur, very subtly giving him a once over.
Arthur regards Rafferty with the same coolness as he had when they’d first met in church, the day of his father’s funeral. They were seated across the aisles from each other. Family on one side, staff on the other. The funeral had been the first time Arthur had laid eyes on the foreman again after five years. They hadn’t said a word to each other in between.
“I haven’t seen you for awhile Mr Guinness, sir,” Rafferty greets as they clap hands.
Arthur draws a slow, measured breath, feeling the strong press of their foreman’s hand in his glove clad ones. They linger, just a moment longer than they had to and Arthur draws back first.
“You don’t look any older,” Arthur comments eyeing Rafferty up close now.
Those same steel blue eyes, that same silver hoop earring adorning his left ear. And not to mention, that same, smug lift of his lips when he smirks.
“I lead a clean life and drink lots of the black stuff which keeps me young.”
God Almighty that smirk…it makes Arthur’s stomach dip. He feels very much like the young schoolboy standing before their foreman again, head addled by one glass of whiskey too many. Arthur purses his lips, clears his throat
“My brother tells me that there have been some anonymous accusations against me?” he asks looking up at Rafferty. He had almost forgotten just how tall their foreman was. His eyes track down to the man’s starched collar, stained with a fleck of red.
‘Is that blood?’ he thinks brows furrowed. Rafferty must’ve had a previous appointment before this. What a busy man their foreman is. Arthur supposes he must only have gotten busier since their father’s death.
“Show him the letter,” Edward instructs and Rafferty produces said letter.
Arthur intercepts it, eyes scanning the penned script.
“It suggests that they have proof of your actions and witnesses who are willing to testify that you have been having carnal relations with other men,” Edward announces.
There is a sense of dread that fills him. A deep, sinking feeling coupled by anger as he walks over to one of the coal burners and tosses the letter inside.
“Fuck!” Arthur growls slamming the metal door on the burner.
All the while he can feel the eyes of his brother and their foreman upon him. He paces, like a caged animal, trapped in a web of his own doing.
“The truth will always out…” Arthur quotes as he turns back to them, fixes his eyes on Edward and then Rafferty. He wonders if they’re both judging him for his sins.
“What proof could they possibly have?” he asks, “And who would stand to testify against us?”
“That is not the only concerning thing. There is a second approach that comes from Bonnie Chapman, regarding some things that happened before you went away to London,” Sean announces, eyes watching the reality sinking in for the young master. This is probably one of the few times where he hates being the bearer of bad news. But it is his job, his duty.
Arthur closes his eyes, shakes his head at the growing pile of a mess he’s made.
“And…” their foreman continues now, unrelenting, “on two occasions since you returned. As you know Bonnie Chapman runs certain houses and—”
“Yes,” Arthur hisses as he stalks back towards them, “Yes. I know,” he says wanting to put his hands about Rafferty’s throat and throttle him right now just to stop him speaking, “I used to go there a long time ago before I…” he stops himself as the thought of Michael flits into his mind once more. The singular pure thing he’s ever had in this otherwise tainted life of his. They were going to run away. He was going to be free.
“Before what Arthur?” Edward prompts.
“Before I met someone in London!” Arthur snaps, “Someone who brought me…peace…” he says with a sardonic smile as he takes off his hat and hangs it on one of the levers.
Sean very subtly tracks the older brother’s movement across the warehouse now, watches the way anxiety ripples through him. He is just like the young man that Sean had been asked to escort down to London five years ago. A man bristling with anxiety and passion…a hidden passion. He wonders now who this person might be, the man who had brought his master peace.
“Except of course today, that peace was shattered beside a water lily,” Arthur sighs.
At that Sean’s ear pricked up. ‘So they’ve broken up, whomever he’s been seeing.’ He wonders if they made the young master smile, made him laugh, gave him joy. The way it sounds, he probably did. Silently, he watches the young master and Arthur’s eyes seem to glisten red as he turns to face them like he’s been crying or wants to cry. They must’ve been in love, Arthur Guinness and this…man from London…
“No one has any right to tell me what—”
“Arthur we need to be practical and live in the world that exists, not the one we wish existed,” Edward appeals, “If this were to be revealed the family would be ruined.”
“And you would spend time in jail with no thought for your status. You will be forced to do hard labour,” Sean adds watching the way the young master bristled, he probably disliked them for ganging up on him. As loyal as he is to the family, he’d quite forgotten how utterly fragile Arthur had been out of the lot of the Guinness siblings.
The more Edward talks the more the rift between the brothers grow. It is eventually, Edward’s plan to put his brother into Parliament that breaks Arthur.
“I do not appreciate you planning my life out for me just as father did,” Arthur growls, “I refuse to be your puppet! Let them come. Let them try. Let them see what I am,” he continues brushing past his brother as he grabs his hat before stalking off into the night.
Sean strides through the lamp lit streets in search of one Arthur Guinness. If anything, he knows that the eldest son can be very volatile. In fact, perhaps all noble men and women were prone to some kind of volatility, acting out to gain attention whenever they wanted.
He smirks, chuckling to himself as he recalls Edward Guinness’ words, the threat he’d made with regard to his sister. It was one time and it was Mrs. Plunket, that had sought him out not the other way around. Sean had been obliging enough to let her use him. For he’d had his own needs too, his own fantasies.
He comes to a stop now outside the house on Hope Street. The upstairs light is still on, so the young master must still be up. Sean takes the stairs slowly, one at a time before he knows it he’s standing outside the door marked 2A. He doesn’t usually second guess himself on things but this time…he raises his hand, contemplates if he should knock or just leave.
No, he has a loyalty to the family, a duty. He needs to protect them, especially if it’s from themselves.
So Sean knocks.
On the other end he hears a panicked shuffling as though someone were rushing to get the door.
“Michael, I swear I—”
The words die on the young master’s tongue as a sadness returns to those eager amber brown eyes before they regard him with that same guarded coolness. Arthur is barely dressed, his silken dressing robe draped over his slight form. The dressing robe hangs open to reveal him in his drawers that barely came to his knees. In other words, the young master is standing on his doorstep practically naked.
Sean takes it in his stride to protect his master from prying eyes, silently crowding Arthur back into his apartment and closing the door behind them.
“I apologise for not being the one you were clearly waiting for, sir.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Rafferty?” Arthur asks, accusation in his tone, as he finally finds his tongue once more.
“Did my brother send you to apologise for him?” he presses, hurriedly wrapping his dressing robes about him, tying it together in the name of propriety…even though Sean has seen him utterly undressed before.
“No, it’s nothing of the sort, sir,” Sean answers tongue in cheek as he removes his hat, holding it in his hands, “I simply thought to pay you a visit seeing as something tragic happened to you today.”
“Fret not, tragic things happen to me all the time,” Arthur snarks as he retreats back into the room, pouring more whiskey. He folds himself into the seat by the fireplace, watching the big man stand there, hat in hands all uncomfortable-like. He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing the foreman over the rim of the glass.
Is he disappointed that Michael hadn’t turned up on his doorstep? Yes.
But this…this is so much more interesting.
“What do you want Mr. Rafferty?” Arthur asks.
“Perhaps the question should be, what do you want, sir?” Sean counters as he makes to hang his hat up, shrugging out of his coat now too.
“How bold of you to assume that I want something from you when it is you who decided to turn up on my doorstep unannounced and uninvited,” Arthur snarks, watching as the other man approaches him now, towering over him. Arthur is forced to scoot back in his armchair to look up at Sean.
“Well, would you order me to go then, Arthur?” Sean purrs, planting his hands on either side of his master’s armchair, boxing the man into his seat.
Arthur crosses his legs tighter as Sean corners him. Being this close to the foreman he’s reminded very distinctly of that one night. He’s grieving, or he should be grieving the loss of Michael and yet…as he looks up into steel blue eyes, his mind flits to other things…
Quietly, he takes a sip of his drink, feeling Sean’s breath upon his knuckles, those eyes watching him like a hawk.
He would not ask Sean to go but neither will he ask for the man to stay.
“I am sure that you are well accustomed to coming and going as you please Sean,” he says with a sweet smile, playing the same ‘first-names’ card as the foreman. He sees it then, a flicker of something in the foreman’s eyes, there and then gone.
“The last time I spent the night with you I—”
“Ah!” Arthur says holding up a finger, “We agreed that we are not to speak of that night again. It never happened.”
“It was you who wrote to ask me to forget that night, sir.”
“And it was you who left early that morning without so much as a goodbye or a note,” Arthur counters petulantly.
Sean laughs now, velvet and deep, “So you were keeping score.”
“I wasn’t,” he says after another drink, averting his gaze.
Arthur sucks in a breath softly as callused fingers grip his chin, draw his gaze back to steel blue eyes, “What about Michael then? Your…peace?”
“What about my sister?” Arthur throws back, “Eddie’s not pleased that you’re fucking her.”
“You’re right, he told me off for it just now too,” Sean says his fingers expanding their grasp upon Arthur’s smooth jaw, “He has nothing to worry about though. It was one time and she was simply a replacement. I thought of another face while I was inside her warm cunt,” he says watching the way Arthur’s nostrils flare, how his tongue flicks out to wet his pretty lips.
“Do you know the reason why I’m staying here tonight, Rafferty?”
“No. But please, do enlighten me, sir,” Sean says his hand trailing lazily down the column of his master’s pale neck.
“Because I wanted to be alone,” Arthur confesses, breath hitching when he feels Sean’s fingers clamp about his throat, pushing his head back against the plush headrest.
“Then order me to leave,” Sean challenges, feeling Arthur swallow beneath the palm of his hand wrapped about that pale throat.
If he turns Rafferty away now, then he’ll be alone again…squirrelled away to drown in his sorrows or just…drown…
“I don’t want you here,” Arthur says, his voice cold now.
“You have never wanted me anywhere, sir. You did not want me to escort you to London either. But with all due respect,” the foreman continues, hand slipping from Arthur’s throat, “I think you’ll need me,” he says drawing back to stand at his full height.
Arthur downs the rest of his drink and then stands, “Is that so?” he asks, “You seem very confident in yourself, Rafferty, as you always are. You and that silver fucking tongue of yours.”
Sean leans in ever so slightly, he can smell the whiskey on Arthur’s breath. He notices the reddish-pink outline of those soulful amber brown eyes. He wonders if Arthur had been crying before he’d come to visit.
“You’re trapped,” Sean says softly, “With Bonnie Chapman threatening to oust you, you can’t visit your usual places to sate your needs. And after what you told us earlier this evening…” he says reaching up cautiously to let his fingers graze Arthur’s cheek, “You must be hurtin’ something bad.”
Arthur swallows past the tightness in his throat feeling the burn in his eyes, the tears threatening to spill.
“Get. Out,” he says voice shaky as he blinks up at the quickly blurring vision of Sean Rafferty.
“I can’t do that, sir. You’re a danger to yourself when you’re in this state.”
“Don’t!” he snaps before dropping his voice, “Don’t act like you know me Mr Rafferty, because you don’t.”
“Yeah? The way I recall it, you needed me the first time too.”
“Fuck…off…” Arthur breathes, closing his eyes as though that might shut out the memory.
Five years ago when he’d left for London, to study a course that his father had picked for him, Arthur had spent days in close proximity to Sean Rafferty as the foreman escorted him to London. Naturally, Arthur had thought to chart his own course. He’d spoken to the Dean to try and procure a place on a course of a more artistic nature, something that interested him. But it was soon revealed that his father was ten steps ahead as usual in their unending game of chess.
The Dean warned him that if he wished to change his course he would have to find a way to pay for it on his own because his father would not fund any course that did not groom him for politics. Distraught, Arthur had spent the day drinking and wallowing in pity for his caged and controlled life. That night, he’d planned a dark end for himself only for his attempt to be intercepted by Rafferty who’d saved him in his bath, bandaged his wrists and put him to bed.
Arthur had sworn the foreman to secrecy and from the way things looked, the foreman had not uttered a word since then.
“You have my word…that particular incident…it won’t happen again,” Arthur says now as he fixes the man with a look he hopes is trustworthy enough.
“Alright, but nonetheless I’m afraid that I must impose upon your generosity. I don’t have a place to stay for the night, sir,” Sean says. He’s not taking any chances.
Arthur shrugs, “That is none of my business.”
“You are my master are you not, Mr Guinness? Will you not put me up for the night here in your home?”
God Almighty, the foreman is persistent.
“Why don’t you ask Edward, hm?” Arthur presses, “He is your direct employer. You’ve worked with him for the past five years have you not? Go and plead with him for some charity instead. I am going to bed now, I trust you to show yourself out.”
Arthur swiftly walks towards his bedroom, closing the door and bolting it. He stands on the other side, one ear pressed to the wood as he listens for the sound of the door closing. Instead he hears footsteps and they seemed to be coming closer. Quietly, Arthur steps back from the door, watching the handle rattling.
“Mr Guinness?” Sean calls from the other side, “Arthur? Open the door!”
Arthur brings a hand to his lips, teeth sinking into his knuckle as he watches the knob rattle, accompanied by Sean’s insistent knocking. If this continues, the racket will wake the neighbours and then he’ll get complaints and thrown out. He won’t even have a safe haven to hole up in. If he lets Rafferty stay then history is definitely going to repeat itself. But by God he doesn’t want to be alone tonight and perhaps the decision was already made when he’d first let Sean into his apartment.
For the second time that night, Sean is greeted by Arthur Guinness opening a door for him.
“You want a roof over your head, you’ve got it,” Arthur says, arms crossed over his chest, “But you’re not getting anywhere near my bed. You can sleep on the chaise longue,” he gestures with his chin back towards the longue.
“Thank you, sir,” he says as he proceeds to unbutton his vest, once more pushing past Arthur who watches as the foreman starts to pour water from the jug into the washbasin.
“I did not say that you could avail yourself of my washstand!” Arthur grouses, watching the man undress, “In case you didn’t know, this house has neither electricity or running water. The housekeeper doesn’t come to fill the water until tomorrow morning and I—”
“I will have your water jug filled, sir,” Sean continues as he tosses his shirt aside, proceeding to wash his face.
Arthur leans against the doorframe, watching the foreman wash himself. His body sporting bruises in various states of freshness. Edward must really be needing to use muscle to get his work done.
“Did you…come from a fight this evening?” Arthur asks recalling the blood on Rafferty’s collar.
“Not a fight, no. An interrogation,” Sean corrects as he wipes his face upon the softest towels he’s ever used coming to stand back before his master.
Arthur circles the shirtless foreman now, suspenders hanging from his trousers, surveying him. Rafferty underneath all that cloth is still the same. His body lean and muscled, the bruises the only thing to mar his otherwise unblemished skin.
“An interrogation?” he purrs, “Edward asked it of you?”
“Not quite,” Sean answers as he turns on the spot, step for step, keeping his eyes on his master, “I took it upon myself to find out the names of the men who opened the gates and let the wolves in to burn down the cooperage.”
“Ah…and the…bruises…?” Arthur asks stopping to run his fingers down Sean’s back, fingers pressing a black-purplish bruise, making the man hiss.
“Fights,” Sean answers as he stands still now, feeling those delicate fingers exploring his skin, traipsing up his back until he feels his master’s hand upon his neck, guiding him to turn around.
“The day of the funeral,” Arthur says, amber brown eyes looking up at the foreman, “You couldn’t keep your eyes off me in church.”
Sean chuckles, shuffling closer, “Well neither could you, sir.”
“I hadn’t seen you in five years since that night. Naturally, I was in shock,” Arthur replies matter-of-factly and then softer still, “And I was curious too.”
“Curious? What about?”
“Sometimes I still think that night was a wild fever dream,” Arthur confesses, “You were gone and I thought I’d just write you a letter anyway and tell you to forget everything.”
There’s something in the way his master speaks that tugs at Sean’s icy heart. He hadn’t thought to stay because he was sure it was just another drunk encounter. A distraction at best. He was doing his duty, saving the young man’s life. He was sure that they had been using each other that night, no strings attached. **
‘So why then does it bother you that he found peace with another man? Why is it that you’re choosing to stay with him now?’
“It was for the best, I suppose. You forgot me too, so we’re even.”
“Yes, I suppose we are,” Arthur breathes. He could do it, lean up on tiptoes and kiss that mouth, drown in Rafferty’s arms, forget the pain of losing Michael…forget the responsibilities looming overhead, the secrets that threatened to come crashing down around him.
“Tell me what it is you want, sir,” Sean husks, as he grips the young master’s wrists, hands exploring the smooth flesh beneath silk robes. The young master would stubbornly keep his silence on his needs so Sean needs to be a bit more direct. It is part of his job to know what his masters want, part of his role to take initiative.
Arthur trembles at the soft touch, the gentle, callused hands that draw him close. He closes his eyes, feeling the press of Sean’s forehead against his, lips ghosting across his own.
“I…want…”
“Go on,” Sean encourages huskily, capturing the young master’s lower lip nipping him softly and drawing a soft groan.
“Just fucking touch me already,” Arthur begs, taking Sean’s hand and guiding it to his cock.
Sean does as he’s told, palming the young master’s cock through his flimsy robes and drawers. He hears the soft pleasing sounds his hand manages to draw from Arthur’s lips. He feels the way the young man’s cock starts to swell in excitement, growing under his ministrations. Arthur sways unsteadily on his feet, gripping his shoulders now, dark amber eyes looking up at him resolutely.
Sean keeps a hold of his master’s gaze, watching the way those lips part on a breathy, almost silent cry. He delights in the hooded look of drunken desire as Arthur reaches to unravel the ties of his dressing gown, blindly trying to shuck his drawers off.
“I’ve got you, sir,” Sean assures him, taking over from his master.
That Irish brogue makes Arthur quiver. God Almighty he’s missed the way the man sounded. He feels a rough hand course up his thigh now teasing the indent of his hip before knuckles caress his belly.
“Mr Rafferty,” Arthur chides, wanting to feel that hand upon him again, this time without his drawers.
“I know,” he coos, “So impatient, sir.”
“I…ahhh-always get what I want,” he sighs feeling the foreman’s hand fondle his bollocks, palming the under side of his cock.
“You do indeed,” Sean purrs. It’s fascinating how this morning he’d been gripping Cochrane by the balls, threatening the man’s sister in the most menacing of manners. Now, here he is, with Arthur Guinness in more or less the same situation, only he’s not causing pain. If anything, Arthur is in heaven, melting against him, leaning upon his shoulder, arms drawing him in close.
His master is heavy and hard in his hand now, as pretty as a sculpture. The way Sean remembers it, Arthur Guinness had the body of a godling, sculped from the finest of white marble and sometimes…occasionally in the five years they’ve been apart, Sean had found himself thinking about it, the way his kisses had left flowering marks upon the young master’s skin. How his complexion was flushed over when he drank.
He lets his thumb circle Arthur’s cock head now, thumbing the man’s slit where he’s already wet, leaking with precum just from being touched like this. He presses down gently watching the way Arthur’s hips jerk in response, a needy cry torn from his lips.
“You like that, do you?” Sean husks.
Arthur whimpers, nodding into Raffety’s shoulder. For a fighter, this man is unbelievably good with his hands. He lets the foreman tease him, drawing his cock downwards and letting it smack right back up against his belly. A thrill runs up his spine as the smack of flesh echoes in the silence of his bedroom.
“You’re big,” Sean says giving an approving tug of Arthur’s cock, “I’d bet your partners must’ve liked it.”
“They certainly did, yes,” Arthur pants, eyeing Rafferty now.
“You ever let them fuck you?” Sean asks, his hand shifting now, smoothing over the mound of his master’s buttock, fingers slipping between supple cheeks.
“Why? Does my sex life intrigue you Rafferty?” he teases, biting his lower lip now as the foreman’s fingers, trace against his entrance, massaging him.
“Only curious,” he answers brusquely.
Arthur laughs, “Sounds more than just plain curiosity,” he says, pushing away from the foreman now as he renders himself free of his drawers, tossing it carelessly aside. He can hear Rafferty’s ragged breathing as the man follows behind him. Arthur sits upon his bed now toeing off his bedroom slippers.
He reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table and produces his companion, a vial of lavender scented oil, best used for such carnal needs. Then he scoots back in bed now, his dressing robes the only form of covering he has. Lying back, Arthur spreads his legs for the foreman, who needs no prompting.
Sean is about to climb into bed when he feels a resistance pressing against his bared chest. Arthur’s pale foot rests against his chest, pushing him backwards, dainty toes curling into his flesh.
“Tell me why you want to know, or you’re not getting in my bed.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Rafferty husks as he puts his hands on the young master’s foot, lifting it from his chest. He kisses the smooth underside. Then he kisses the eye of Arthur’s ankle before continuing to trail a line of kisses along the young man’s slim calf, a distraction while he climbs into his master’s bed.
“Let us say that I need to know if there’s any sort of competition for my services,” Sean answers as he hooks his hands behind the young master’s knees, settling between those pale thighs.
“Your services?” Arthur asks as he lets out a breathy laugh watching the foreman lean in, pressing kisses up the inside of his thigh now, “Do you wish to weed out the competition once I tell you their names?” he asks watching the way the foreman’s face clouds over.
“That depends,” Sean says as he snatches the vial from his master, uncorking it.
“On what?”
“On how well they pleased you,” he says one slicked finger teasing against Arthur’s entrance, sinking in, pulsing about him, sucking his digit deeper.
Arthur closes his eyes, “Fuuuck yesss” he sighs, head falling back against the covers as he spreads his legs wantonly wider, offering himself to Rafferty’s assault.
“If pleasing me is your modus operandi, then there’s only you,” he continues, feeling Rafferty’s finger thrusting into him. One and then two, stretching him open. The nameless faceless others had never fulfilled him quite like Rafferty had that night. Even Michael hadn’t been enough. The man was a lawyer, he came from a good family and he was sweet but he was inexperienced, Arthur had to show him just what he liked. Arthur had to do all the work to get the pleasure he wanted.
Now though…he moans hands fisting in the sheets as Rafferty’s thick fingers fucked into him, stroking him at just the right angle. Two fingers became three and Arthur’s hips started to work, thrusting down on the foreman’s fingers.
Arthur Guinness makes a pretty picture in bed, legs spread for him like this. Somehow that confession makes Sean’s cock twitch in his trousers. It is high praise to know that no one else has pleased his young master since. And Sean wants to give him another good performance, another memorable one.
Just like that night five years ago, Sean finds himself naked, buried balls deep in his master’s tight arse. The only difference this time is that Arthur isn’t completely out of it, buzzing high with alcohol. His kisses still taste of whiskey, but he’s present, soulful amber brown eyes, watching him eagerly.
Arthur gasps when he feels Rafferty’s arm snake about his waist, lifting his hips off the bed, guiding his legs about his waist.
“Lock ‘em behind my back,” Rafferty husks and Arthur obediently does so, feeling the foreman’s cock reaching so deep inside him.
Then Sean’s moving, hips fucking into his master, thrust after deep thrust, the bed springs squeaking in protest.
Arthur loses himself in the rhythm of their sex, the way Rafferty is all grunts and groans, telling him how good it feels to be inside him. It makes him blush with pride.
“It’s like you were made for me, sir,” Rafferty husks, “Made to take my fucking cock,” he continues hammering his words home, thrust after thrust, chasing his high. “You’re perfect, y’know? Fuckin’ perfect.”
Arthur keens at the praise, eagerly rubbing his cock against the foreman’s torso.
“Fuck…I’m close…” Arthur whispers, lips by the other’s ear.
“Yeah?” Sean husks, “C’mere,” he breathes shifting now to capture the young master’s lips, swallowing that needy little moan, tongue slipping between those lips to taste Arthur’s sweetness again. He lets his fingers grip those slender hips as he carves himself into Arthur’s body. It is seconds before his master’s body spasms about him, Arthur’s seed painting their torsos, his insides squeezing Sean’s cock just right.
Arthur feels Rafferty’s seed fill him, the hot spurts making him tremble, burst after burst. He cannot take his eyes off Rafferty. The man’s face is etched in bliss, his usually menacing features softened by desire, by his completion. Arthur reaches a hand to cup the foreman’s cheek and steel blue eyes flutter open, gazing down at him.
A twist of those lips as Rafferty smirks, leans into his hand.
Arthur’s heart skips a beat. ‘It’s just sex,’ he tells himself as Rafferty pulls out from him making him whine as his hole flutters, gapes for a moment, missing the foreman’s cock.
“What a pretty picture you make, sir,” Sean purrs eyeing his master’s wanton entrance.
Arthur feels hot all over, he knows that he is leaking with Rafferty’s seed. Usually with his partners it’s just fuck and enjoy the bliss. But this time, he feels Rafferty’s fingers pushing the thick globs of seed back inside him, fingering his still tender hole, making him whimper. He hadn’t known Rafferty to be so generous with his praise.
“We shouldn’t make this a habit,” Arthur says biting on his lower lip as he lets Rafferty finger him.
“This?” Rafferty asks, swirling a finger about Arthur’s cum slicked insides, “Or this evening as a whole?”
“Everything…” Arthur sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“Duly noted, sir,” Sean says as he reluctantly withdraws his finger, watching the young master pressing his legs together as he stifles whimper.
Arthur doesn’t want to open his eyes. He can hear the sound of Rafferty shuffling about the room. He knows the man will probably be gone soon and he counts the moments until he hears the sound of the door closing.
Only…instead of that, he hears the sound of water sloshing about, being poured out.
He arches up, looking at the upside down image of his butt naked foreman wringing out a cloth and coming back to him.
“What the…fuck…?” he asks sitting up now, his dressing robes falling about his elbows.
“Gotta clean you up before I put you to bed, sir.”
“There’s no need,” Arthur snaps, snatching the cloth from Rafferty, “You can go now. Just…take your things and go.”
“Right, I’ll be outside then,” Sean says as he takes his leave of his master’s bedroom.
Arthur sits there, wet washcloth in hand, staring at the still open door of his bedroom. He can hear Rafferty shuffling about outside, the sound of the chaise being dragged closer to the fireplace and then silence.
‘He’s not leaving?’
Arthur puts whatever other thoughts out of his mind, quickly taking care of cleaning himself before he settles down in bed. He will go to bed and tomorrow, everything will go back to normal. The chaise in his living room will be empty and there will be a hole in his chest once more.
Only, he’s proven wrong the next morning when he wakes for there is a note sitting under the candlestick holder on his bedside table.
It’s quickly scribbled.
Gone out to fetch your water as promised. — S. R.
Arthur cannot stop the stupid smile that wends its way to his lips and he burrows down into the covers.
This time Rafferty had stayed.