[Adult] The Valet in Stourhead

[Archibald Seymour]

Archibald waited with his hand cupped almost possessively around Arthur’s cock, a noise of dismay forcing his nostrils to flare despite himself as he extended his thumb in order to flick open the other’s trousers button by button, pulling Arthur’s cock free of such constraints with the smugness of a man who knew what he wanted, or what he desired — caressing him without hesitation, and perhaps all too eager to earn the evidence of desire that he had been denied earlier that very day.

Though he had not been afforded an answer, Archibald was willing to answer Arthur’s as he put his free hand to the other’s face — pressing his hand around Arthur’s chin to hold him steady.

“You know not to call me that,” he pressed, his brows furrowed , his gaze dropped to look at Arthur’s mouth as if in silent contemplation. He could stay there, slathering Arthur in his touch, but it seemed too easy — too boring, as Archibald dropped both his hands to stray from the other, retreating to the desk that overlooked the grand gardens of Stourhead as he retrieved a small tin of his own salve – not unlike the one that Arthur had pushed into Archibald’s hands when they had first fucked at Somerset House, but his own was probably overpriced and sold to the blind eye of a man who never quite had grown to wrap his head around mathematics and economics.

“But yes, I will… though I am not sure if you deserve it,” Archibald hummed, shadowing his previous steps to meet Arthur once more, surprising him perhaps with a kiss that did not snarl or bite but rather omit to something else, something more willing than what had previously been expressed. “I want to be inside of you, I want to fuck you till you beg me to stop,” he announced in one gruff exhale, unscrewing the tin as he coated his fingers, and then his cock.

[Arthur Beckwith]

The breath pushed from Arthur's throat in an abrupt rush. However ill-used he considered himself, still Archibald Seymour held sway over him as easily as a few well-timed, shameless words — So much about the man checked those internal boxes Arthur gave little thought to but which directed his sexual escapades regardless.

He chased Archie's mouth, a little disappointed that his provocation had pushed them so far forward that he missed the opportunity to take that hefty cock into his own mouth as he would have preferred. "I need you there," he breathed against Archie's lips as he kicked away his trousers and pants, and then ducked away for the handful of seconds it took to pluck up the trousers and lay them across the bench. Worried at the delay, however predictable it had been, he sidled quickly back against Archie's hip and dipped his own fingers into the salve as the blunt edge of his front teeth found the curve of the other man's jaw beneath his beard.

Archibald had little patience for the things he wanted, and it was as much for his own comfort as the exhibition that Arthur slid his slick fingers down the crease of his arse and into his hole with a rich, low moan that vibrated along Archie's skin.

[Archibald Seymour]

“You need me where?” Archibald asked, but whether he needed confirmation or not was left up to judgement as he took the tin and smothered his fingers in the salve, coating his cock to ease the act before returning his attention to the split of Arthur’s arse. If only the man would stay still, but he did not think about the state of his clothes nor of the work that would have to be done in order to save them if they grew crinkled and unwanted. Instead he waited till Arthur went to touch himself, to finger himself as if Archibald would not bother himself to do it for him. Well, it was a downright insult! For he took pleasure in such an act, or he had done when he had been more attentive as a younger man playing foul with those at his boarding school. To do so with Arthur, or his valet, was something else entirely… Or so he mused in the back of his head, before he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

He moved him toward his bed till the backs of Arthur’s legs could bounce off the drawn sheets, guiding him to sit and make himself comfortable against that bed of his before he finally touched him without denial or hesitation, his hand flat against the rise of his cock in a caress, his touch greedy perhaps — as if he stuffed his mouth full before he had time to swallow — as he dropped his touch so his fingers could find Arthur’s own greed, shoving Arthur’s fingers so he could replace them with his own as he bent and leaned in close enough to smell the salt of his sweat or the ointments he had used that day.

“And you haven’t even sucked my cock yet,” Archibald muttered, his amusement followed by a small chuckle as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of Arthur despite his earlier reluctance.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Arthur allowed himself to be directed to the bed, and cast himself back across it almost as soon as the edge of the mattress struck his thighs. If Archie wanted a show, if he wanted to appease his own pride by watching himself take control, Arthur would happily allow it, and as soon as his own fingers were batted away, Arthur had grasped hold of the back of his thighs to pull them toward his chest and spread himself open for the duke's busy fingers.

Head lolling against the coverlet, Arthur let out a rich, shameless moan as those fingers worked him open. A soft laugh then scuffed free, even as he kept his eyes blissfully closed.

"If you wanted your cock sucked, you oughtn't have covered it in salve," he murmured, and then cracked open a coy glance down to where Archie stood at the edge of the bed.