[Adult] walk the line

[Cassius Boone]

When Cash had told Arthur that he'd had a plan, it hadn't been hot air, nor had it been placation for the irate valet. There'd been a certain amorphous quality to the plans, to be sure, until he'd arrived at Stourhead and gotten a look at the property, the surrounding land, and had a chance to nip into the kitchens. There was also the matter of Arthur, annoyingly, being a diligent worker and having his own duties to attend to.

It all worked out in the end, though; it had given him time to sweet-talk the grooms into agreeing to borrow a horse on the Sunday after his arrival, given him time to see his suit to Arthur for laundering (with another few stolen kisses, because who could resist those damn lips?), and given him time to secret away a decent bottle of wine from the duke's cellar.

Admittedly, Cash had seen part of it going a bit differently – sure, Arthur had never been on horseback, but if Cash had taken to it as a literal child, surely the valet shouldn't have any issues? A belief that did not bear out, as it turned out – but they'd made it to the pretty copse he'd been told about, with the near-by brook and autumn-red foliage hiding them away from the rest of the world.

Cash had shaved and bathed that morning, of course; he wasn't likely to make that mistake again, not after seeing how worn Arthur had seemed. He also wore his new suit, clean and well-fitting, nary a thread out of place. His hair was still long, but pulled back into a neat plait, so surely Arthur couldn't have been too disappointed by it. All in all, Cash was the most presentable he'd been in a long time – years, really.

None of that mattered in the light of the day's plans, though; he'd slip back into an old skin, for the valet's sake. It was more tolerable when it was for a good cause, anyway.

The ride hadn't been as planned, but having Arthur's weight behind him, his arms about him, had been a treat all the same. Now Cash dismounted first, the motion well-practiced and easy (as was the gentle smack to Kelpie's nose when he turned his head to nip). Reaching up to take the Valet's trim waist, Cash favored the other with a grin. "Bring your other leg over and just lean forward. Easy as slidin' off a bed," he promised, a laugh in his voice.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Arthur was not keen on riding the horse. Boone — Cash, Arthur supposed now, given the particular level of their intimacy — had been outright scandalized at the notion that Arthur had never been on one before, as if that were unusual for a man who'd spent near the entirety of his life in crowded city streets where everything one needed was within a few blocks. To his credit, Arthur had been game to make an attempt at the back of the animal, had even cracked a poor joke about preferring something else between his thighs, and had nearly fallen not once, not twice, but three times, despite Cash insisting the mare was the most docile creature in the stable.

Had the cowboy not been so keen on enacting his grand plan for the two of them, Arthur might have made an attempt to ply him somewhere that they could reach on foot. But as Arthur rather enjoyed Cash's company to a degree that did not beg closer inspection, he'd allowed himself to be plunked on the arse end of a different animal, and in terror of sliding off the back for the entire ride. As a result, he was somewhat harried by the time broad hands reached up to help him down.

His hair was a disaster; he could feel it by the lay of it against his scalp. After some awkward positioning and clasping hold of the pommel for dear life, he managed to find his way to the blessed ground and immediately reached to push the strands back into their proper place.

"If nothing else, I reckon I've learnt a bit about the source of your technique," he allowed, feeling yet wobbly on uncertain legs.

[Cassius Boone]

So the day hadn't started off the way Cash had hoped, but the next part was far easier. Especially in comparison to watching Arthur – slowly, awkwardly, but certainly trying his best – dismounting from the horse. Cash couldn't help his chuckle at the sight of it, nor at the sight of Arthur trying to fix his hair. Still, it wouldn't to do be mean about it when the other man had been so willing to make the attempt.

"Maybe sometime I'll give you the whole demonstration," the cowboy teased with a wink, one hand sliding down from the valet's waist to grasp a handful of ass. Then, using gentle pressure like he might with a horse, he scooted Arthur a bit to the side so he could access his saddlebags. A blanket was produced, and offered to the other man. "Go find a good spot for us, maybe by that tree," Cash ordered, all business until things were set up. Distractions could wait until they had somewhere more comfortable to sit.

The cowboy's own hands were soon full between the bottle of wine, a corkscrew, a couple of mugs (not the finest of china, but something that could have survived the saddlebag), and a canvas-wrapped parcel. It had been part of the Plan, and he certainly hoped that he'd managed to keep it a surprise. Kneeling on the blanket that Arthur had put out, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching the other man's reaction, he undid the knot with a tug and began arranging the contents.

Inside was an admittedly eclectic collection of foods; a pair of meat pies, dried fruits and cheese, some crackers (most of which had survived the trip intact)... And the pièce de résistance, a slice of the dense pound cake that Cash had had to actually bribe the cook for. "Ain't much," he hedged, voice casual only with a bit of effort, "But it's somethin', and you looked like you needed somethin' nice after all that work." As he spoke, he worked at opening the wine; careful to at least partially conceal the label. The cake had been a price he was willing to pay. The wine, though, was far out of his usual price range, though also not nearly the rarest or most expensive vintage Somerset owned. As large as the duke's cellars had been, though, surely it wouldn't be missed.

[Arthur Beckwith]

The blanket was a nice surprise — Arthur had imagined this encounter to culminate with himself bent over a branch, and so the forethought to their comfort was appreciated. He had only just found a discreet location on the far side of the indicated tree, and stretched himself out long and lean across the blanket, when Cash appeared and began laying out a bona fide picnic.

Never in the whole of his life had Arthur Beckwith been on a picnic.

Arthur pushed himself up again and watched the meticulous way Cash unpacked and distributed the items. They weren't terribly familiar with each other's idiosyncrasies, but Cash had never struck him as an overly meticulous person, and the entire process was met with an astonished stare. When Cash at last spoke, Arthur lifted his gaze and then stared directly at the man a moment before he scuffed out a soft, disbelieving laugh. His mouth curved into a wry smile in an attempt to mask that his pulse was thumping hard in his ears.

"Mr. Boone," he began, and canted his head. His chest felt tight, and Arthur couldn't tell if he was terrified or on the cusp of swooning. "Are you courting me?"

[Cassius Boone]

It wasn't quite the response he expected, and though the laugh was softened by the smile, it was the question that followed that caught Cash completely off-guard. Ridiculously, rather than looking at Arthur, he turned his attention back to the light meal he'd been setting up, as though it was the cause for his own surprise; as though it had somehow tricked him into packing itself up, hauling itself out here, and setting itself up.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment in thought, the cowboy finally turned his attention back to the valet.

"Y'know, Mr. Beckwith, I think I am." The admission was just a bit rueful, and was accompanied by an incredulous laugh. Then he finished pouring the wine, and offered the mug to Arthur. "Is that alright?" He hadn't really thought about any of this – he'd thought about the plan of it, thought about wanting to do something nice for Arthur... And really, it had just started with the idea of a ride, and then each next step just seemed the obvious one.

He was too honest with himself to do anything but acknowledge it: Somehow, in the space of one fuck and two conversations, his interest had shifted from carnal to something else entirely. How about that.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Hand poised on the proffered cup of wine, Arthur stilled. The question had been a joke, a cheeky way to help himself feel better about the attention, and he felt now as if all the air had been punched right out of his lungs. For a handful of seconds, he forgot to breathe.

Pulling in a sharp and sudden breath, he looked down at the dark liquid shivering in his cup. One of Archie's innumerable bottles; the butler would notice it was gone and someone would be blamed. A footman, perhaps. Not Cash, Archie liked Cash, Archie had his favorites and you did not interfere with the Duke's favorites. Arthur was a favorite, or had been a favorite, an assumed favorite for all the free time he was given—

Arthur blinked. His pulse was a hammer in his ears.

"I—" he began, and blinked again, a fluttering of his eyelids. "I haven't—" Wrong. You have. "That is, I—" He lifted a hand to rub against the back of his neck. "This is all lovely," he settled on, which also happened to sound absurd despite being true. He chanced a glance at Cash and resisted the urge to crawl directly into his lap.

"I've a rotten track record," he explained, finally, which was not the whole of it, but was enough. How pointless to say at all when he was never going to answer no.

[Cassius Boone]

The silence was not particularly reassuring; the somewhat stricken look on Arthur's face, even less so. Cash swallowed back the preemptive disappointment, made himself wait patiently for the valet's actual response, rather than any assumption. It wasn't the kind of thing men told each other, at least in his experience. Even if this was courting, what exactly was his end goal? There wouldn't be a marriage, wouldn't even be a place to live together, not while Arthur held his position.

All of it over a fuck and two conversations.

There wasn't any embarrassment over it, but rather more resignation that he'd acted too quickly, allowed himself to ignore reality in favor of a daydream. Arthur's stuttering didn't help that perception either, but Cash wouldn't hurry him. He'd spit it out in his own time, and the valet was owed that much after Cash had dragged him all the way out here.

"Mine ain't exactly spotless either." A statement of fact; not just for the long line of bodies that had warmed his bed since arriving in London, but the shadow of a buried wife and son, and the entire sordid length of his past. Cash's own mug of wine was held more like it was a cup of something warm, both palms wrapped about it. "I just want to get to know you better, Mr. Beckwith. If you're not feelin' the same way, that's fine too."

[Arthur Beckwith]

It was on the tip of Arthur's tongue to ask why? Why, of everyone that a man like Boone could have, would he pin his affections on a skinny valet only good for mending and fucking? Even that last was a dubious proposition past a certain point; Rollo certainly hadn't felt it worth keeping him around, and with time, Archie likely wouldn't either.

Still, this was not Rollo Hill's onslaught of manipulative affection, nor Archibald Seymour's brusque teasing. All of this felt heart-wrenchingly genuine in its simple modesty, including the way in which Cash had replied. He, too, might have played coy and made of it a flirtation, but this was not a man who seemed particularly withholding about much of anything.

Arthur swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his pale throat, and looked again to the cup in his hand. With care, he set it well aside, and then reached to lift Cash's away as well. Mindful of the meal spread out between them, he picked his way across the blanket, climbed at last into that welcoming lap, and pressed a furious kiss to the older man's mouth.

[Cassius Boone]

The prophesied denial never came forward; nothing did, until Arthur himself did at least. That much Cash knew what to do with. The wine was willingly given up, especially as that warm body put itself into his lap. A laugh was swallowed up by the kiss, Cash's hand coming up to cup Arthur's cheek even as his other arm wrapped itself about the valet's waist.

Finally their lips parted, and thus freed, the laugh came again, slightly breathless now. "I s'pose that ain't a 'no'," he ventured with a smile, thumb brushing against Arthur's lips. "Don't go gettin' any ideas, though," he continued in a mock-serious voice, pausing to kiss the other man again, humming slightly as their lips parted once more. "I did bring you out here to ravish you senseless."

And he had. Maybe it had become something more (alright, it had definitely become something more), but the end goal of it was the same. Arthur deserved something like this, time away to be himself and relax, but it was hardly as though Cash wasn't going to enjoy it either. Even if the thrill of emotion residing now in his chest was unexpected, the weight of the valet in his lap was becoming familiar, and if Arthur wiggled about much more, or even just kept kissing him, he'd soon enough be able to feel Cash's intentions firming up beneath him.

[Arthur Beckwith]

"Now that is a problem," said Arthur, smiling now with an irrepressible giddiness, all dimples and white teeth. "I'd the idea you would be fucking me senseless out here in the arse-end of never. That falls a bit further along the scale than ravishing, I think."

This feeling was dangerous; that much Arthur knew with a keen and cutting expertise. Yet the warmth of Cash beneath his spread thighs and the way he fit so neatly between them, the shift of his calloused hands, both gentle and possessive — It all created a soft, intoxicating emotion that welled in Arthur's chest and felt impossible to not sink into.

"Will your lovely spread keep?" he asked, and bit briefly against his bottom lip. "I rode on that horse all the way here!" He jabbed a finger over Cash's shoulder to where the steed in question was nipping at the grass. "I had a degree of expectation!"