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It was Compeyson’s idea and Arthur’s weakness that brought them here. It was something insolent he said at dinner. It was one wayward glance too many. It was the money he’d spent on frivolous things, on the cufflinks Compeyson told him looked like gold dripping from his wrists. Something he’d apparently told Arthur despite a change in heart from one of the brewery's warier shareholders. Despite the word he’d had with Amelia only yesterday, despite denying her the funds for a few new dresses. She’d fixed Arthur with a cracked smile this afternoon, the dress she was wearing familiar and out of fashion. It was from two summers ago. Amelia had been forced to drag her brother into her office, the office of the CEO, and ask him to cut back on his spending. He sat stewing in shame, anger, and frustration at Compeyson’s unfairness. Quietly, his sister had bustled out of the room and Compeyson spared no time in grabbing his arm and pulling Arthur close to him. A gasp. A flash of anger across Arthur’s face, and then his fear.
“This,” Compeyson’s fingers wrapped completely around Arthur’s wrist. He held up the cufflink for both of them to see. It did indeed look like a droplet of molten gold. “Superfluous and pretty. Just like its wearer.”
Arthur felt like growling. He scowled. He felt like a kicked dog. Compeyson’s leg was close to his groin, and if he could only lift his knee—
“ Arthur! ” He tugged and Arthur gasped. “Do you hear me?”
“Maybe if you were more careful with your words they wouldn’t be misinterpreted,” he spat. Compeyson looked ready to clear the anger off Arthur’s face with a smack.
“And what would that be?” He grinned. “That I care for you? That I find you to be a beautiful creature? That I wish to adorn you with wealth?” These were words he had spoken to Arthur’s sister, all within Arthur’s presence so he would know they were not meant for him. “That I love you, Arthur Havisham, ” he said the family name like it stung his tongue, “that I could ever love you?”
“Oh, shut up.” Compeyson was taller than him and Arthur wished he could only square his shoulders and look him dead in the eye. He could not. He could only stare up from below. “You know what I meant.”
“Prattle,” Compeyson said swiftly, dropping Arthur’s wrist like it disgusted him. “That’s all it was. Just prattle.”
Prattle and a purr and a warm gaze. It was more than that, Arthur knew. Didn’t he? Compeyson was swiftly making him believe otherwise.
“Prattle.” Arthur pronounced each syllable with perfect diction.
“Yes, brother.” Compeyson grinned and Arthur was sick. “Now tear off those ridiculous things and make yourself decent.”
Arthur was halfway towards asking what he meant when Compeyson’s knee finally did rise, swift and precise, to grind against what Arthur now realized was the beginnings of an erection. He wondered when Compeyson had noticed, or if he’d simply known it would be there. The latter was worse, somehow, and Arthur’s shame grew. Compeyson strode across the room without looking back and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Arthur with buckling knees and a hand on his groin. It was quiet, in the empty room that had once been his father’s study. Arthur whimpered.
Arthur didn’t know what it was, but there was a harsh rap at his door and only so many things that could mean.
“Leave me alone, would you?” he barked, but the knock did not relent. If it was Compeyson, he would pay. Or perhaps Meriwether found his insolence charming. Something to toy with.
Arthur also knew that if it was Compeyson, he couldn’t speak up. His movements about the house when he came to Arthur’s room had to be stealthy. Arthur relished the moment, and then opened the door.
It was Compeyson, who pushed Arthur aside and glided into the room.
“Fancy meeting you here, br—”
“Arthur,” Compeyson quipped. “Your conduct today was unmatched in disrespect. I hope you understand that.” Arthur made no answer. “But.” And this was the thing with Compeyson, he made concessions. He lied that he meant them but he made them, always. Arthur loved the way it made his eyes soft. “I am willing to overlook it. If you make it up to me.”
“And how would you like me to do that?” he sneered and preened. It was the lilt in his voice, the overly posh accent, the words that dripped with scorn and taunt, that sparked something in Compeyson.
Compeyson smiled, but he only let his grin grow to half its usual width. He would contain it, and tease Arthur with whatever it was he kept hidden from him.
“Be on your best behavior, Havisham.” And now the name was a purr, it was like oil on his skin. He was gone again in an instant.
Arthur had to sit through dinner with Compeyson’s eyes on him, with Amelia’s eyes on Compeyson, uncomprehending. He’d left the gold cufflinks upstairs. He’d wanted to wear them anyways, just to spite Compeyson, but Amelia. However much he loved his sister, she was often in his way. It was Amelia’s eyes that stopped him, that cracked gray-blue. Cool and almond-shaped and so like her mother’s. So unlike his. Amelia’s eyes were Havisham eyes, even if their shared father was the true Havisham. Arthur’s eyes were like a porcelain saucer that someone had spilled tea onto. They were a cook’s eyes, or those of her son. And so they dined and Compeyson stared and Amelia made pleasant conversation and Arthur’s cufflinks were silver.
He returned to his room and bided his time and eventually, undressed. He shrugged off his dinner coat, folded it neatly, and hung it over a chair. It was servant’s children who threw their clothes on the floor and it was servants who picked them up and put them away. Arthur was neither, that is what his father had taught him. The cravat was next. Two or three expert tugs and the blasted thing was off. In his hands, it looked decadent. A finer material than the shirt whose cuffs met with the bases of his palms. He touched his neck and his own hand was warm because the air felt cool. Compeyson’s breath on his cheek, today in the library, had been hot. Dripping down his neck, stuck in his cravat and entirely too many layers of clothing, it had been stifling. Now, he thought, it might be nice.
He pulled off the cufflinks, one after the other, and collected them in his palm. He didn’t want to see them. Cufflinks were a trifle and an annoyance now, despite what some may say about how nice they make your wrists look. Arthur wondered if Compeyson had only said that because he’d like to tear them off of him, to draw back his sleeves and undress him. Or perhaps Compeyson never thought of him that way. Or perhaps it had been, like he’d said, simple prattle. Simple-minded prattle. And Arthur had been simple-minded to have believed it. He threw them in a drawer.
The vest, he unbuttoned slowly. It hugged at his waist as he pulled on the fabric to fiddle with each button. When he was done, he draped it over the jacket on his chair. He kept the shirt and the trousers, but sat down to pull off his shoes and socks. He put them away, his father be damned, because he didn’t like the sight of shoes and socks lying about.
Arthur hugged his sides and turned to look in the mirror on his dressing table. He looked at himself and took a breath. The clock struck ten.
Arthur was sitting on his bed with a book in hand when Compeyson walked in. He did not knock, he said nothing, and Arthur raised his brows.
“Excuse you. Can a gentleman get a bit of peace and quiet in his evening time?”
Compeyson’s brow was hard-pressed flat. His eyes open. This was his flash of anger, Arthur knew well how it looked when he contained it. Compeyson’s shoes clicked on the floor, steady, even, and determined. Arthur’s book snapped shut and he set it down without marking his page.
“Best behavior, Arthur, didn’t I tell you?”
Arthurs lips fell open as Compeyson came to stand before him and his hips tilted to place his weight more over one leg than the other. He hated this. But he was still sat on the bed and to scramble to stand would be inelegant and pitiful. He supposed sitting half-dressed in bed eye-level with another man’s crotch was also inelegant, and with Compeyson staring down at him as he was, markedly pitiful.
“I did as you asked, I was polite at dinner.” He had been. He’d made some conversation, despite how it grated at him.
“Your time is my time, too. It would do you well to remember that.”
Ah, so it wasn’t about dinner at all, but a simple throwaway comment. Arthur’s eyes glinted and he let his lips curl into a smile.
“Why are you here, Compeyson?”
He didn’t speak. He often didn’t, when they did this. The few times it’d happened had been rushed and quick. It had made Arthur aware of how unbearably physical a feeling could become. Whatever it was Compeyson made him feel, be it anger or bitterness, sickly longing or, occasionally, sweetness, then fucking him made it spill over.
“Undress me,” Compeyson said, his voice low. It was the same tone he might use to say unhand me. It made Arthur feel shunted, even as it drew him near. “At my command.”
“You think—” Arthur shut himself up. Best behavior, he’d said. Compeyson’s eyes shone as he watched Arthur think. Arthur licked his lips and closed his mouth carefully before speaking. “Yes, fine.”
Compeyson’s expression was unreadable as he placed a hand on Arthur’s cheek—he felt desperately like leaning away—and stroked it with his thumb. Arthur shifted, so that his legs hung off the bed at either side of Compeyson’s, so that his legs were spread and Compeyson stood between them. Arthur’s eyes scraped down him. He was already missing his jacket, his cravat, small items like pins and cufflinks that made undressing fiddly and complicated. He had prepared himself for this, he’d guided Arthur’s hands before so much as stepping into the room. He had known what he would ask Arthur to do and how and it was as though he’d held Arthur’s hands in his own and placed them on his body. He’d known that Arthur would let him do this.
Compeyson’s first move was to put a foot on that edge of the bed between Arthur’s legs. The request was obvious but Arthur boiled. He lifted his hands from where he’d clenched them on his thighs and slowly, with stiff fingers, unpicked the buttons of Compeyson’s stylish faux spats. One after another until Compeyson could lift his foot free. Arthur was just about to set upon the unglamorous task of removing a man’s sock when Compeyson placed a hand on his shoulder for support. Suddenly, this became something else. Arthur’s back was ramrod straight, his stomach pulled taught and maybe then it would stop pitching and rolling. If Compeyson said thank you he might have simply collapsed. Compeyson did no such thing and Arthur was saved that particular embarrassment.
The second shoe was next and this time, Compeyson placed it against Arthur’s thigh. This was deliberate and ridiculous. Arthur was disgusted that instead of laughing as he should, he smiled. He knew the buttons of Compeyson’s shoes now, knew what hosiery to expect. He folded Compeyson’s socks and it was almost domestic, Compeyson’s hand on his shoulder, gazing down at him, Arthur’s hands on his clothes. Compeyson slapped the socks away and Arthur startled.
“Trousers next, Havisham.” The hand on Arthur tightened and Arthur grew red, flushed, his eyes fixed on the inside of Compeyson’s thigh and the fabric that pulled across it. Compeyson lowered his leg.
Arthur could put hands on his hips and pull him closer, knocking his shins against the bed frame. Compeyson grunted and Arthur’s fingers curled over and under the waistband. He slid them to the front, pressed between Compeyson and his own trousers. He grumbled, as though he hadn’t asked Arthur for this. More buttons, and Arthur was determined not to notice Compeyson growing beneath the garments. Because he was, and perhaps those grunts and grumbles hadn’t been displeasure at all.
He wasn’t gentle anymore, he grasped at the fabric and tugged and let Compeyson sway above him. He had focus, and thus didn’t notice what his fingers brushed or how. Compeyson had, Arthur’s hands down his sides, down his legs. Once, fingertips just grazing his ass.
“ Arthur, ” he hissed, but Arthur didn’t hear him. He got this way, petulant, like an errant school boy. But school boys did not undress each other, and Compeyson felt himself slipping.
His trousers were around his ankles now and Arthur was clearly biting the inside of his cheek as he stared in front of him, at Compeyson, at his cock. He’d wanted Arthur to squirm, he’d wanted to see misty eyes and a wild, wide gaze, just as this. Arthur’s want was so deep and so heavy, so dark. He seethed.
Arthur got on his knees and made to stand, though he hadn’t been asked. Hands clamped back onto his shoulders and Arthur was shoved back to bed and back on his ass. He stuttered and then, as Compeyson had thought, seethed.
“Oh, Arthur.” He picked up one hand and ran it through his curls, letting them slip past his fingers, tugging. Arthur’s breathing quickened. “You will sit.” To Arthur, it sounded like Compeyson was spitting venom. “You will unbutton my vest and you will untuck my shirt. Then you will watch, you will sit still.”
Compeyson loomed above him, trouserless but in his undergarments. Arthur’s head tilted up by shades and centimeter by centimeter, he bore his neck and his breaths shook him. Compeyson moved to the side and lowered himself, placing one knee on the bed beside Arthur. Closer now, he leaned in.
Arthur laughed. It was as though he could feel himself losing blood, spilling out for Compeyson. It was as though he had given himself up at Compeyson’s command although he had never done this. It was as though Compeyson had him. Compeyson’s hand was in his hair, pulling him back so he could see Arthur’s neck and collar and some of his chest. Compeyson had him, and this Compeyson had decided. He’d taken off his coat, undone his cravat, and thought of having Arthur. And so Arthur laughed, because he hated Compeyson for deciding this and he hated the weakness in his gut. It made him bend at the waist, lean into Compeyson’s grasp, it made him feel like falling.
“Arthur.” He licked his lips and Compeyson let him go.
Arthur’s hands worked fast. He was used to buttons now, and the act of undressing. Compeyson watched those hands on his clothes, pressing close to his body but not for him. He watched Arthur’s eyes flit across him without seeing. Arthur was breathing heavily by the time he was pulling Compeyson’s shirttails free. His grip was vice-like, his fingers clenched in the fabric. Compeyson stilled him with hands over Arthur’s. He tilted his head to the side and clicked his tongue twice, tut-tut.
“You’re sweet, Havisham.” Arthur’s head lolled, his eyes sliding, floating in place. Yes, he was seething, but he was also falling and sliding and pressure was building. “Hands to yourself, now.”
Arthur had said nothing in minutes. He folded his hands in his lap and kicked one foot up and watched, with dawning horror, as Compeyson’s arms lifted and his shirt with it, as the muscles in his shoulders shifted and as he tossed the garment to the side with a sigh. He gave himself a moment. He gave Arthur a moment, to watch him. Compeyson must love this. Was it Arthur’s humiliation or the veneration that made him hard in his underclothes?
His hands moved to the buttons on his drawers and Arthur nearly pitched forward, nearly drew his hands from his lap to Compeyson’s, he even opened his mouth to ask please. And his willingness to do this shocked him. He wanted to crawl away from Compeyson, to curl his body around his knees and to shut his mouth and cry. That was how Arthur cried, with a frown.
Compeyson stood tall again, so his last remaining garment could fall to the floor in an instant. It was like he’d stepped out of the bath, suddenly nude and dripping and flying into Arthur’s view in a way that stabbed at him. Arthur looked away and that was a mistake because Compeyson met his eye, loomed, stared down at him, and sat. He positioned himself with care and grace. It was baffling to see Compeyson with that much poise, especially while naked in Arthur’s bed. He leaned back against the footboard and rested his arms on it, let his forearms hang down. He shifted his legs, opened them. One knee dangled over the edge of the bed, the other bent, falling open.
Arthur blinked, half-lidded, as though he was battling sleep. He looked down and breathed out, a light gasp. Arthur had felt Compeyson before, between his legs, in his hands—and once, briefly, between his teeth—but never had he been afforded the time to look. Compeyson seemed to know, and had for their entire acquaintance, how much this affected him.
There was the head, pink and flushed at first and then cherry red, then purple and near to bursting. It looked angry and tight and overwhelmingly needy. It looked like men do when they are beyond angry and turn blue in the face from yelling. Arthur knew yelling men, and now Compeyson’s cock was screaming at him to do something. Arthur gazed at it.
It sat heavy and thick between his legs, almost swaying with each ratcheting breath of Compeyson’s. Ragged, uneven, grating—hungry. There was a swell to it, beneath the head, where it grew yet thicker. Arthur wanted to slide his hand across it, to wrap his fingers round it and feel it fill the space, to lap at the pressure and willing flesh with his tongue.
What a horrid, slimy thought, he tried to tell himself. It didn’t work. He was too full of desire, and Compeyson’s hand now, moving to his prick. The way his jaw fell open slightly at the touch, the way he did not gasp but huffed, like he was doing a poorly job at containing himself. Like he wanted to jump Arthur’s bones and bury himself within, pretty heat and soft legs and everything Arthur was that fellow men couldn’t seem to get enough of.
To Compeyson, it was how he sat and how he stared. Like a lost duckling. Like a tousled angel, a heavenly wonder that knew the folly and sin of men. Like Arthur’s parted lips were holy admonishment—he wanted to take them and make them open for him and cry. Arthur’s eyes were wide and dark. So much so that Compeyson couldn’t tell if it was pupils blown in lust and dim light or if his were simply the deepest eyes he’d ever seen. He tried to recall Arthur’s gaze, warm and penetrating. Was it always like this? His eyes, like shadows, like evil little dark things, like sin and the evidence of Arthur’s guilt. Compeyson’s too, he supposed, but the debauchery of a conniving, street-wise man (for this is how he thought of himself) was nothing next to the debauchery of a rich and pampered young son. Arthur’s sin was somehow worse, with farther to fall. That was why, Compeyson thought, their early acquaintance was so rife with bruises, cuts, and scrapes on Arthur’s part. It was merely his fall from grace.
There was the matter of the way he sat. His trousers loose on his hips, buttons undone—his hands had moved slowly and Compeyson had let him—and the tent at the front of them. Loose to hide. What was hidden behind that fall front, was it the way he looked at Compeyson? Was it how it affected him, how often in the past he had crossed his legs and looked away and how now he faced it and stared? Nudity was brash and Compeyson considered himself shameless. And handsome.
Arthur kept one leg, that which was farther from Compeyson, bent and perched on the bed before him. He wrapped his arms around it, draped them. His shirt was sheer and it fell away from his body, like it too wanted to slide off and fall to the floor. Just as Compeyson wished it to. See, it was as though the very universe wanted him to fuck Arthur Havisham to oblivion, as though Arthur’s very clothes betrayed his willingness. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned and had fallen open and it was for Compeyson to see what was revealed.
There was his cheek, pillowed on his knee. It made him look boyish and curious, as though he was watching a ladybug crawl across a daisy in the summer sun. Not at all as though he was staring at a swollen cock, ready and fucking waiting, not at all as though he was crawling out of his skin with the urge to close the distance between them. Even this, the elegant way he sat, was fire for Compeyson’s desire of Arthur. He was lily-white and soft and clean. And he was angry. He seethed, red, at Compeyson, and it made him flush shades of pink. Like a flower garden. Compeyson couldn’t help but see Arthur’s anger as anything more threatening than the thorns of a rose. Poetically significant, yes, but nothing more than a drop of blood might be spilled from it and easily plucked away. Pluck. This is what he wanted with Arthur. To peel away pieces of him like petals, like layers of his clothing and the ripping of a fine cotton shirt in his haste. To tear at Arthur and take every beautiful thing out of him to keep for himself. He wanted to pull orgasm after orgasm from Arthur’s body, to extract his pretty moans, to drag him into ecstasy because if Meriwether placed it there, if Meriwether did this, then it was his. Then Arthur, with soft thighs around his hips and dainty hands pressed to the bed linens above his head, was his.
“Why are you here, Compeyson?” He asked again, voice creaking but surprisingly even. It was always precious, the small amounts of composure he could maintain when Compeyson was like this, drunk with power.
“Undress yourself,” he said with a nod and a flick of his gaze up and down Arthur’s body.
Arthur looked away with a scowl and reached his arms over his head to grab the back of his shirt. It allowed Compeyson a long look at his back, at his shoulders, then chest. It meant that when Arthur flicked his head back up, his curls bounced and fell over his face. It meant that when he looked sideways at him, Compeyson’s lips pressed flat.
“Why, Compeyson?”
He grinned sweetly. “I’m here for you, Arthur. Only for you.” But his hand was on his dick and his cheeks were flushed pink and the look in his eye was not kind. Yes, he was here for Arthur, to have Arthur, and what Compeyson wanted, he had.
Arthur fiddled with the remaining buttons at the front of his trousers, and those beneath, and Compeyson watched him entirely avoid his own prick even as the fabric caught and he bit his lip. Arthur lifted himself up enough to drag his trousers over his hips, and his undergarments with them.
He was hard. And pink. It curved slightly, back towards Arthur’s body. It was pretty. Soft skin, even flush. Arthur was staring at it too, at how it glistened slightly at the tip. His eyelashes batted when he blinked and his lips parted again—infuriating, confounding, to Compeyson. Had he ever truly looked at himself before?
“Touch yourself.”
“Excuse me?” Arthur snapped and his gaze whipped over to Compeyson.
“Put your hand on your cock, Arthur.”
“If you think I’m going to debase myself—”
Compeyson simply laughed and Arthur grew quiet, his eyes going wide. Not with anger, no. Compeyson adjusted himself, preening, and tilted his head to the side again, half-smile on his face all the while.
Arthur said nothing, but he placed his hands firmly on the bed to either side of him and looked down once again at his own lap. Then he lifted one hand—his right—wrapped it around himself, and to Compeyson’s great pleasure and amusement, whined. His legs shifted, opening and coming apart. His eyes fluttered and his head lolled onto his shoulder. Compeyson wanted to get up, to put him on his knees and press him against the mattress.
Arthur let his gaze drag over to Compeyson, he allowed himself to look up, pleading. He allowed himself to ask for more, and Compeyson’s glare felt hot on his skin. Of course he wouldn’t like this, being asked, knowing truly how much need Arthur had for it. But he’d brought himself here. He had decided this for himself, and for Arthur too. If Compeyson was going to fuck him and not give a damn whether Arthur had wanted it or not, then he shouldn’t act so disgusted when it turned out that Arthur did.
Arthur’s hand stilled at the height of its movement, wrapped tight around his head. He left it there and gasped. He gripped tighter and gasped again and Compeyson was amazed. Arthur teased himself for one more moment before letting go. He turned his hand up and opened his palm. It was wet. Arthur touched it with a finger and the trail of it hung in the air, clear and wobbling. His hand was shaking. His next breath was a gasp, punched out and quick. He wasn’t expecting that from himself. Was he fearful of it? By the end of the night, Compeyson thought, he would not be so fearful of arousal.
“Arthur, do you have oil?”
“I—” His voice was light and breathy. “In the nightstand.” So they were past shame, now.
Compeyson smiled as though he was merely making light conversation. “Fetch it for me?”
Arthur lifted one leg and leaned over, hiding himself from Compeyson’s view as he moved. Was he still shy, even as he had lost some shame? Arthur had the vial in hand now. Compeyson sat up on his knees before stepping off the bed. Arthur’s eyes went wide and dark again. Compeyson walked around, let Arthur crane his head to follow him, and sat himself back down at the head of Arthur’s bed, curling smile playing at thin lips.
Arthur flushed pink, his frown slight but his eyes betraying the cocktail of emotions he didn’t want Compeyson to see. The offense Arthur felt was petulance to Compeyson. His anger was simply heat, the flame of lust. Compeyson patted his own thigh twice, and with each tap Arthur blinked as though rising from a stupor.
“Come here,” he murmured.
“You want me—”
Compeyson’s voice was hard and commanding again. “Arthur, this will go much better if you shut up and listen to me.”
“You want me in your lap?” he asked, and this time it was softly. He leaned in, dropping down slightly as though he was whispering Compeyson a secret. The secret of Compeyson’s want of him, the secret of this, and especially the secret of Arthur’s brazen excitement.
“Are you so surprised?” He gave his voice a lilt, almost theatrically. Arthur swallowed a sound, something between a groan and a whine. Compeyson tapped his leg again and reached out a hand, which Arthur took. Compeyson watched as he levered himself up on unsteady legs, watched the sway of his cock as he swung one leg over Compeyson’s lap. He began lowering himself but stopped. His hand, still in Compeyson’s, held tighter.
“Do you really want my bare—” Compeyson put his free hand on Arthur’s lower back, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and pushed him down. “ Oh! ”
Arthur’s thighs spread over Compeyson’s lap and Compeyson let his hand slip away from Arthur’s, placing it atop a thigh and squeezing.
“Mm..” Arthur hummed. “Compeyson.”
“Right.” He took the vial from Arthur’s hand. “Lean against me.”
“How?” His voice was not meek, but nevertheless the cluelessness of it grated at Compeyson. Arthur placed his hands on his shoulders and sat closer.
Compeyson sighed and once again manhandled him into place. He put a hand on Arthur’s back and pressed until they were flush, Arthur’s head by his shoulder. He pressed again—heard Arthur sigh—until there was a curve to his back. Arthur kept one hand on Compeyson’s shoulder and the other he heard grab onto the headboard.
Compeyson uncorked the vial with one hand and reached over to pour some out onto his other. He gave no warning before pressing a finger to Arthur’s ass, pushing but not going in. He took a few moments to touch, and then a fingertip dipped in and out and Arthur groaned.
“Already?” Compeyson nearly chuckled.
“Shut up.”
“Havisham, you whore.”
Arthur grew quiet and Compeyson could imagine his scowl. Compeyson’s unoccupied hand rested on Arthur’s upper back, arm slung around his waist. He gripped Arthur tighter. Arthur hummed. Was he content or asking for more? He nearly asked Arthur to use his words but instead slid his finger the rest of the way in and Arthur’s mouth opened all on its own.
“ God, Meri— ”
“Don’t call me that.” He pulled his finger out and rammed it back in, purposefully neglecting the oil he should have added.
“ Fuck.”
“Language, Arthur.” Compeyson dug that one finger into him again and again as he fiddled with the oil. He found, after, that it became easier to move faster. Less drag meant he wasn’t fighting Arthur’s body as much as he pressed in, and that it didn’t feel as though he was being grabbed onto as he left. He simply slid the finger out and then pushed it back in. He was warm and softer than Compeyson expected the inside of a body to be. Above him, as he explored all of this, Arthur was breathing very heavily.
Atop the first finger, Compeyson placed another and pressed the second in with it. Slowly, because of Arthur’s sharp hitch of a breath.
“You know, it’s odd to call you Compeyson when you’ve got your fingers in my arse— ” He spoke fast, voice high, because Compeyson had shoved the second finger in the rest of the way. If Arthur decided to make conversation during this, then he would have to do so as Compeyson thoroughly finger fucked him.
“You could call me sir.”
“I think not— aah! ” Compeyson had dispensed with patience. He shoved his fingers in with more force than he used dragging them out. The result for Arthur was a burst of sensation followed by a slow loss and then fullness again. The result was also ragged breathing. Compeyson seemed to be having as much fun toying with Arthur’s respiratory system as he was with his ass.
Arthur resolved himself to hums and huffs that sounded like the beginnings of moans as Compeyson rocked his fingers in and out—a sort of even, round motion with his wrist. Arthur sat on the top of Compeyson’s thighs, his head by Compeyson’s shoulder. This left an empty triangle of space between them, which is where Compeyson’s dick lay, and where it was becoming more and more of a problem with each passing second. Arthur could not seem to understand volume control in or out of bed. He was practically moaning in Compeyson’s ear and Compeyson wanted to stuff his mouth to shut him up.
Instead, he added more oil and a third finger and Arthur’s noises ground to a halt.
“Too much?” Arthur let out a shuddering mewl. “No matter.”
Arthur had propped himself up on his knees slightly but now he shifted, only succeeding in spreading them further. What had happened is Arthur had relaxed, trying to accomodate Compeyson’s (welcome) intrusion and realized that he had lost control of his legs.
“Do you think you could take me yet?” Compeyson murmured low. Arthur’s hand on his shoulder lost some of its grip and slipped down.
“No.”
The side of Compeyson’s lip twisted into a frown. Three things happened. Arthur’s hand slid down Compeyson’s chest, Compeyson’s three fingers finally started moving, and Arthur’s hand found Compeyson’s dick. They moaned at precisely the same moment, and this changed things.
Arthur had heard the impatience in that murmur. He wasn’t quite so far gone that he couldn’t hear Compeyson’s breathing hitch every now and again, or feel the hand pressing hard on his back. He hadn’t been expecting the drag or pull of Compeyson’s fingers within, how the feeling would spark. There was something about the way his fingers had to curl to fit all three. It placed a dull ache in his hips and made his cock twitch.
The touch from Arthur had been a complete surprise. The slipping of his hand, the lax grip, the press of Arthur’s thighs against his as his legs opened and he fell forward was delicious. Arthur hadn’t even reached for his own prick yet, he was too busy holding onto Compeyson for dear life. But the touch was purposeful, and perhaps Arthur had more of his wits about him than it seemed. Compeyson’s cock ached with Arthur’s hand on it—warm, tight ring of pressure. He looked down and actually shuddered at the sight. Arthur’s beautiful, dainty hand, his fingers splayed, gripping Compeyson and shaking. Why was he— oh. Compeyson uncurled his fingers and Arthur let out a hot sigh.
“Do you think I could keep you here, Arthur?” He whispered, and playing with him like this was beyond delirium. It bordered on holy, but Compeyson wished he didn’t think so. “My fingers inside you, how long do you think you could last?”
“Beginning to think I’m rather close.”
The posh accent, the pretty little words, made Compeyson’s guts curdle with heat. He wanted to slap Arthur square in the face and fuck him silly. He settled instead for lifting the hand on his back and giving his ass a hard smack.
Arthur half-shrieked and almost entirely collapsed. Compeyson did it again, lighter this time, because he wanted to see the skin turn pink. He wanted the smallest touch to sparkle, he wanted Arthur to feel him like fire inside and out, he wanted this boy to burn.
“Oh, Arthur.” He gave in to the lol and tilt that was seeping its way into every word he murmured against Arthur’s ear. “I wouldn’t let you finish.”
He curled his fingers again, tighter, tighter, and Arthur gasped for breath.
“How long do we have, you think? How long until I’m missed? How long until you’re missed, do you think you would be?” It was a cruel tease and Compeyson relished the shame it brought Arthur. His hand, too, was still on Compeyson’s cock so when Arthur gripped tighter, it made him wild with want. He made his voice as quiet as it could be, just a hiss of sound. “Could I keep you forever?” Was that a sob?
Arthur’s cheek pressed against his shoulder and it was cold.
Compeyson removed his hands from Arthur and shoved him away just far enough to see. Yes. His eyes were wet and wide, eyelashes bunched together, mouth open and red, and his cheeks shone with tears. Glistening pink. Lovely and wrecked.
“What is this?” Compeyson quite nearly growled.
Arthur swallowed an angry sob and his eyes flared, brows hunched.
“Nothing,” Arthur whispered, and he didn’t sound angry, he sounded tired.
“Nothing?” He raised his brows, incredulous. Did Arthur think he could get away with crying on Compeyson’s shoulder? Did Arthur think Compeyson wouldn’t want to see?
Arthur had braced himself with a hand against the headboard, the other on his own thigh.
“Get up,” Compeyson snapped. He pushed at Arthur’s waist until he pulled himself up enough for Compeyson to get out from under him.
“What are you—” They kneeled beside each other now, Compeyson beside Arthur and moving behind him, taller as Arthur sat back on bent legs, thighs splayed. Compeyson placed a hand on his shoulder and twisted him around. “Compey—” He shoved and Arthur fell flat on his back, legs and knees whorling into the air.
Compeyson did not waste a second. He pulled Arthur’s legs apart and fit himself between them, hands sliding down to grip at his thighs. Arthur’s breath was small, his eyes large. Compeyson looked down and the head of his cock lay heavy against his lower stomach. Arthur was tense, had arched his back on instinct, and now he stared up at Compeyson in utter silence, all curves and curls and sweet pink against the white linen.
“Hands above your head.”
Arthur did as he was asked, slowly as he seemed to be in some sort of lethargy. One wrist crossed over the other. Perfect. Compeyson grabbed it with one hand and leaned in with all his weight. Arthur’s stomach flipped and one of his legs gave a harmless kick. Compeyson’s hand slid further down, cupping an ass cheek. All sensation felt as though it had been rerouted to Arthur’s dick. He was highly sensitive, every light caress grated at his skin and a harder press of fingers into flesh made him writhe. It was unbearable and he had to bite his lip to keep from begging for something, anything. He wanted to be touched, felt and adored. He was showered in attention but neglected and he was quickly losing himself in it.
The oil on Compeyson’s fingers had been wiped away in a stripe down the side of Arthur’s thigh but Compeyson found, when he pressed two fingers in once again, that he was still slick, still wet. There was a physical way Compeyson’s body felt that, like the feeling of Arthur wet and hot and open, now, slid through him and settled in the tense set of his thighs, his knees on the bed, where the backs of Arthur’s thighs rested against the top of his, in the hand that held Arthur’s wrists in place above him, and in each finger that wasn’t inside him that strained against Arthur’s body as he pressed as deep as he could. Compeyson felt himself burst aflame, fire settling in the inner V of his thighs.
Compeyson drew his fingers out, leaned in further, and pressed his lips to Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s moan was on shuddered breath, he jumped at every touch, and Compeyson reveled in it. He kissed Arthur’s shoulder, his collar, his throat, he made the skin there damp and he watched Arthur shiver. Arthur moved against him and his thighs wrapping around Compeyson’s hips was the last straw. He let go of Arthur’s wrists, sat himself up, and tapped and tugged on Arthur’s hip.
“Flip over?”
“Now, Havisham.” Perhaps that was too loud, too harsh, or too something else that Compeyson couldn’t be arsed to understand, because Arthur visibly flinched. “And on your knees.”
He let Arthur swallow his noises and gasp as he moved him into place. Pressing at his legs so he crouched and sat back. Pushing at his waist so his back curved. Sliding hands over his hips, feeling the bone, a dip, the top of his thigh and the soft sides of his ass, so Arthur relaxed. Much of his skin was pink, pressed as it had been to the bed, smacked too.
He gripped where he felt and, this was perfect, Arthur whipped around to look at him. Compeyson positioned himself with care, he slid in the first few inches, and Arthur’s jaw fell open all on its own. He was somewhere else, it seemed, with fluttering lashes and pretty pink cheeks, in his own bed but there as Compeyson had directed him, in Compeyson’s world. This is when, instead of merely pressing in, Compeyson pulled with rough force and dragged Arthur the rest of the way onto him. Arthur’s eyes flew open and as a punched-out moan left him, his upper body fell onto the bed.
Compeyson did not move. He kept Arthur seated against his hips, even as he squirmed and strained against him. He ground against Arthur, slipping out only incidentally and only by the smallest measure. It would feel so much better for the both of them if he moved—Arthur had ducked his head and was gasping—but the pressure was so perfect, so hot and tight and everywhere that Compeyson found it unbearable. His hips ached with the effort of keeping him there, the muscles of his lower back loosened, weakening until he had to reach out one hand and rest it on Arthur’s back. Arthur twitched. Every time he moved it felt as though he was being gripped. Arthur had never sucked his cock, but Compeyson could imagine that those lips pressed around him might feel something like this.
He pulled out completely—Arthur gulped for air and groaned, really more of a whine. Compeyson slicked himself up with more oil and then slid back in with one motion, one loud smack. Arthur practically convulsed. His hands twitched open and closed, his thighs grew tense and then slipped against the sheets so that Compeyson had to grab him by his hips and pull him up, sliding him back onto his cock. Arthur was shaking. He was falling apart and Compeyson reveled in every moment of it.
He snapped his hips against Arthur, out and in.
“ God, Havisham. ”
There was voice on every breath of Arthur’s, a quiet hah, hah, ah, hah. They were soft sounds and Compeyson wanted to collect them, hear them as often as he wished. Arthur was delicious, something to be devoured.
He snapped his hips again, and then once more. Then he paused, and twice more. It was infuriating to tease himself this way with the melting heat of Arthur. He did it once more before Arthur’s legs trembled.
“ Comp— hah! Please— ”
Arthur asked and he gave in, resolve crumbling under the building pressure. He wondered what the stretch of him was like for Arthur, if it hurt, if it gave him pleasure. He knew movement must feel good because as he thrust in and pulled back out, Arthur groaned as though he had been struck. He slumped against the pillow, turning his head to the side. Compeyson could see him now, could see the arch of Arthur’s brow, how red his lips were—had be been biting them? Struggling not to make a sound? Could Compeyson fuck the shyness out of him?—how his mouth opened when he moaned. His eyes were closed, his hand was splayed out and tense on the pillow next to him.
He kept his pace, moderate and even. Just too fast to be slow but not nearly fast enough. He found that moving fast made Arthur squeal and scream but that he grew almost too tight to continue, that he would beg for more but not when he was gasping and his throat had clamped shut. Moving too slow was a delicious quiet rocking of their bodies against each other and it was far too intimate for what this was. Just a bit faster and Arthur’s entire body hummed. Compeyson could only slide out halfway before he grew impatient and had to press in again. Compeyson pushed in and pulled Arthur onto him, he directed every motion of theirs with precision driven by need. His arms were beginning to shake. Arthur’s eyes opened, dark and wet and shining, pleading. Compeyson’s insides melted at the sight, beginning in his chest, dripping over his stomach, pooling in his gut.
Compeyson pressed forward, sliding Arthur’s body further up the bed. He pressed close. He let them tip to the side and fall over together. Arthur was on his side now and Compeyson held a graceful thigh aloft with one hand, straddled the other, and found that he could fuck him deeper this way.
He could see Arthur’s prick now, could see that he’d been leaking and that it had pooled beneath him. It had spread over the tip and head and the underside of his cock. Arthur glistened. He wondered how much longer Arthur could last like this, and if Compeyson would care that he couldn’t, if he would simply continue sliding into him, in and out, and if Arthur would let him. Arthur had grown lax. His arms were splayed above him as though he’d been frozen mid-yawn. He was draped and spilling over the rumpled bedsheets. Truly, this was the laziest way to be fucked. Compeyson held Arthur’s leg, his knees pressed to the bed far apart, and he rocked in and out of him.
It felt amazing to have control over both of Arthur’s legs, to have Arthur in such a way that made him loose and soft and pliable. So as Compeyson’s limbs grew tired, he knew he could push Arthur around as he wished. He pulled out and Arthur whined. Compeyson moved off of him and pulled Arthur’s leg over to the side so that he lay on his back now. He pushed both of Arthur’s legs up and opened them, paused just a moment to take in the sight of everything Arthur was bared for him, and then moved closer once again. He lay practically on top of Arthur, between his legs, and moved slowly and steadily in and out of him.
Arthur’s whines pitched higher. Having Compeyson behind him had been on some level distant and impersonal, but it had allowed him to focus on his own body. Now Compeyson was impossible to escape. He was heavy on top of Arthur, as he pressed and pinned him. Instead of hanging between his legs, Arthur’s cock was trapped between them and as Compeyson moved, it slid on their bellies. Compeyson was thick inside him, and hot. So hot. Maybe some of that was the burn of being stretched. Arthur relaxed into it. He felt Compeyson deeply, not just within him but within him, in his chest and in the fluttering of his heart.
Oh, sometimes he hated Compeyson. Tonight had been one of those times, but then Compeyson had decided for them that tonight would be a secret heaven, too. Something small and holy, something monstrously sinful. It was all of those things. In the heat between them there was fire, the smell of sex like brimstone, but it was the heat of God too. The heat of the sun. Heat to bask in.
“Perhaps I’ll let you do this to me once, only so you can know how good it is to have you like this.” Compeyson groaned, lips close to his ear and voice loud like the rush of the sea. Arthur wondered what it was exactly that Compeyson was taking from him.
Likely, it was his sanity. How would he ever sit across from him at dinner again without remembering this? Without knowing how Compeyson felt within him, pressing against the shattered pieces of him that made his body spark like gunpowder thrown on a fire, that made him feel like stars. He didn’t imagine he could ever be angry at Compeyson again without also feeling as though he might cry. This is what Compeyson had done to him, this is what Compeyson had taken. He had made Arthur want him and Arthur would never forgive him for it.
A whisper spilled out of him, “ Please say you’ll do this again. ”
Compeyson stilled and stopped. He leaned in. He murmured “ Yes ” against Arthur’s shoulder, and continued fucking him.
Good. Arthur was glad, but not in the way that makes one want to smile. He was relieved for his own sake. He didn’t know what he would have done, or what would have become of him, had Compeyson said no.
He could feel this nearing its end and at that, he held on tighter. Compeyson had at first pinned Arthur’s thighs between them but now they were chest to chest, flesh to flesh, with Arthur and his legs spread so wide. He wrapped his legs around Compeyson and was pleased at every little thing, like this, that he was allowed. He moved his arms down and held onto Compeyson’s shoulders, grabbed at him, dug his fingers into the flesh and muscle there.
Arthur’s head craned back. He opened his mouth to moan and his voice fluttered. Almost.
“How close are you?” Compeyson asked, and he was fucking Arthur so slowly now.
“ So close. So close, please— please don’t stop. ”
Compeyson sighed and Arthur could hear it, that malicious smile. Then he could see it, as Compeyson peeled Arthur’s hands off of him and sat up, letting Arthurs legs fall open once more. He had stilled his movements. He pulled up Arthur’s legs again, one at a time, wrapped an arm around each, held them to his chest. He used this as leverage to pound into him. Compeyson actually laughed, he moaned, the bed shook beneath them, Compeyson smiled.
A scream caught in Arthur’s throat, something wild that had lost control and fought against itself until it grew knotted in its own directionless outpour. It was only a moment of Compeyson’s crazed fucking before Arthur was spilling over himself, splattering over his stomach and pooling, spilling down his side as he shook. He was fucked through it and fucked after because Compeyson did not stop. It felt so unbearably good, even after. He meant to speak, to say something, but he didn’t have words for this. He babbled. His legs moved all on their own, trying to draw back towards him, he twisted. He whimpered and Compeyson did not stop. Arthur didn’t want him to.
Compeyson was still grinning, until even that began to fade away. His brow grew taught. He seemed confused, confouded by the depth of his pleasure. Indeed, he didn’t understand it and he didn’t know exactly what it was Arthur saw. Arthur saw a god. He was out of his mind and Compeyson couldn’t be human. Compeyson with his monstrous anger, his manipulation, his hatred of Arthur, he couldn’t have done this glorious, wondrous thing. That he had was hellish. It resigned Arthur to a certain terrible fate, to cling to the poison that was Meriwether Compeyson.
Compeyson’s hands were vices on Arthur’s thighs. He leaned in, fell closer, pressed lips to Arthur’s leg and kissed him there and Arthur wondered if he could come twice in as many minutes. Compeyson’s mouth opened. His breath was hot. He moaned, a sound so sharp it sounded almost like he was in pain. He breathed heavily, panting, as though he was coaxing himself towards the edge, and then he spilled inside Arthur and it was warm. It slid throughout him as Compeyson continued rocking slowly, letting Arthur’s legs drop to the bed.
Arthur was spent but his cock had not yet fully softened and it still felt like sex when Compeyson slid out of him and pitched forward, boxing Arthur in and looming above him. Compeyson cupped his cheek, Arthur leaned into the touch.
“Good…” Compeyson breathed. “Good boy.”
There was distance between them now but the air remained hot and they breathed together. In and out. In and out. Compeyson stayed above him, watched him come back to himself. His hand stayed on Arthur’s cheek and Arthur held onto his wrist. He looked Compeyson in the eye and Compeyson’s expression was impassive, unreadable. Arthur did not trust him. He did not want Compeyson to move from his bed ever again. But then he did. Compeyson moved away and staggered as he stood. He had to steady himself by holding onto the footboard as he leaned down to gather his things.
Arthur drew his legs closed but remained otherwise still.
“Aren’t you going to clean yourself?” Compeyson grimaced and Arthur could tell that whatever softness had been there was gone.
“What with?”
He was disgusting, yes. Covered with cum and filled with it, sweaty and tear-stained and coated with the dampness of hot breath and spit. There was the oil, too, which he could feel between his legs.
Compeyson had gathered his own clothes, but now he picked up Arthur’s shirt and looked him in the eye. Arthur watched as Compeyson used it to wipe off his cock. It was horrid, but Arthur wanted desperately to touch him. He knew Compeyson would be angry, but he sat up and grabbed the shirt from him.
“ Arthur!— ” And then he stopped, becuse Arthur was finishing the task for him.
It was nauseating—that is what Arthur told himself the rolling in his gut was. It was the most humiliating thing he’d ever done. When he was finished, he kissed Compeyson’s cock once and then sat back on his haunches.
“Havisham,” Compeyson growled. He seemed to be scolding him. Arthur looked up, met his eye, and watched as Compeyson’s teeth played at his lip. Oh, this was affecting him.
“What?” Arthur asked, playing his part.
Compeyson sprang to action. He grabbed Arthur’s hair and pulled back so Arthur’s mouth would fall open. Using one hand to help guide, he shoved his soft cock into Arthur’s mouth and then held his head with both of his hands. Compeyson gulped out a gasp and kept Arthur there, forced him to learn how to breathe through it.
Arthur’s hands flew to Compeyson’s thighs but he didn’t push away. He held on. He almost choked and swallowed twice on the spit that was pooling in his mouth. Some of it dribbled past his lip and spilled down his chin. Compeyson’s hands tangled even tighter in his hair and he understood that Compeyson must have felt that, the tightness of his throat and the wet press of his tongue. Now he understood.
Compeyson was soft, his skin and his cock. He tasted like salt, but that made Arthur’s mouth water and so he licked as much as he could. He learned that if he closed his lips fully around Compeyson that he could suck. This is what whores meant when they talked about sucking cock. Compeyson gasped, his shock geniune. Arthur wondered if perhaps he’d been a whore in a past life, if perhaps he was in this one. Compeyson was firm now. Arthur could feel him thickening, growing heavier. It pressed against his lips, against the walls of his cheeks.
Compeyson did not allow Arthur to move. Instead, he tilted his hips back. He slid out slightly, then back in. He grew hard as he fucked Arthur’s mouth.
“Touch yourself,” Compeyson growled.
Arthur’s cock stood all on its own, it ached, and he only now felt it. He gripped it with one hand, but didn’t want to move it. He needed to focus on breathing, on using his tongue to flick at the ridge of Compeyson’s cockhead as it slid in and out of him. Compeyson drew out almost completely. He let Arthur kiss him, lap at him, and then he shoved himself back inside and let Arthur choke.
Arthur gave himself two rough strokes, shoving his hand down because it felt like something sliding onto him. Compeyson was thrusting into his mouth with some speed now, hands on the back of Arthur’s head, shoving him down as he rocked up. Compeyson groaned, doubled over, and came down Arthur’s throat.
It wasn’t graceful. Arthur choked and it burned. When Compeyson pulled away, Arthur’s cheeks were wet with tears. What he had been unable to swallow, most of it, had smeared over his lips and chin. He was pink and shining. He was debauched and fucked. Compeyson was beyond pleased.
Arthur released himself and his cock swayed between spread thighs. He wasn’t expecting Compeyson to crowd into his space and stroke him off. His hand was so tight it hurt. He moved fast, so Arthur’s cock bobbed back and forth as it sprang free on each downward stroke. Then his hand stilled and gripped Arthur at the base. Compeyson watched, delighted, as Arthur gasped, chest heaving, and then came all over himself. It spilled in rivulets down Arthur’s cock and Compeyson pulled his hand away before it touched him. Arthur was still panting, still staring down at himself with shock and wonder.
There was no tenderness this time. Compeyson threw on his clothes despite the fact that his thighs and even his lower stomach were wet with spit and spend. He barely looked at Arthur and when he did, he paused. He sighed and Arthur smiled, and then Compeyson smiled back.
“You’re terrible, Havisham.” Compeyson was happy about it. It wasn’t a lie. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Arthur blinked, eyelashes fluttering, and then his expression shuttered closed. Compeyson opened the door just enough to slip through it and then left.
As soon as Compeyson was gone, Arthur spat into his hand and wiped it on his sheets. He coughed until it felt as though his lungs might give out. The maids would know. The maids would know for sure and this would be an unspoken secret, silent but known. Compeyson would threaten them, he might fire them, all because of a midnight visit, because Compeyson had taken Arthur in his own bed and all because Arthur had lost his mind in the heat of it.
He pulled off the top sheet, which had absorbed most of their mess, and curled up in what remained. He would take care of this in the morning. He would call for a bath and soak in the boiling water until his skin peeled off and Compeyson’s touch had been washed from him. He would be late to breakfast and Compeyson would smile as he saw him, he would know. And Arthur would feel as though he was being had all over again.
His jaw hurt. The muscles of his legs, his thighs especially, ached. He hurt in other places too, places it was too embarrassing to name. In his chest, between his legs. He would never speak of this to anyone but Compeyson, and Compeyson would never listen. Yes, he’d been taken. Compeyson had him now, as Compeyson had decided.
When the sun rose, Arthur was still asleep. The light washed over him, turning him first lilac and then pink and then gold. He would wake when it was warm. He looked peaceful as he slept. He would be at peace when he woke. This was a lie his heart told him.