Issue 16 - August 2008

Regency Relations, Part 4 by Damerel

This is a story in eight parts; it will be published in two parts per issue.

Part 4

Previous episodes:

Part 1

Holding his eyes, the Earl sat up and slipped off his own soaking wet waistcoat and shirt, then lay back down on the cold wet lawn, looking up at the Duke's beautiful body and shivering slightly at the sudden knowledge that he was complicit in his own corruption. More than that - willing. Part of his brain had refused to stop screaming its outrage at what was happening; Iphicles had tried desperately to believe it was the wine that had caused his earlier behaviour and that the Duke had continued despite Iphicles' desire for him to stop. The act of undressing himself and lying back, waiting for the Duke, gave the lie to it all. Whatever the consequences might be, he was desperate to feel again the Duke's touch on his body. The Earl of Royston lay on his back in the gathering dusk and waited.

He could see that Aresborough's eyes were drawn to his cock. His pulse was racing, his heart pounding as the Duke again knelt on the grass, this time between his legs, pushing them apart before his hands moved to Iphicles' hips and held him firmly down. Iphicles raised his head and watched, and then he was arching backwards, crying out incoherently as the Duke's tongue flicked hard against his cock. The Earl writhed in the Duke's hold, desperate as the Duke held his hips mercilessly still and his tongue lashed Iphicles' cock, working upwards from base to tip in short firm strokes. Eventually, Aresborough reached the head where his tongue swirled lightly across the tip, taking liquid, leaving his own moisture in its place. Iphicles was sobbing with every breath he took by the time the Duke finally stopped, only to turn his attention to Iphicles' balls, his hot tongue unrelenting as it alternated lashes with caresses.

"God, no." Iphicles was begging, his hands tearing chunks out of the immaculate lawn beneath him as he thrashed on the wet grass beneath the Duke's hands and tongue, but the Duke's unforgiving attentions continued. Iphicles' cock was leaking, weeping for release as he pleaded.

Just when Iphicles knew he would die if it didn't stop, the Duke raised his head to look at Iphicles, his own breath coming faster. The smile on his lips as he looked at the desperate Earl found an immediate response in the jerk of Iphicles' thick cock. The Duke looked down at it and extended a finger to catch the moisture at the tip before moving so that he was astride Iphicles. Leaning forward, he offered it to Iphicles. The Earl snatched eagerly, greedily at the proffered finger, tasting himself on the Duke, sucking the finger in, unwilling to let it go. He stared up into the Duke's dark eyes as his tongue wrapped again and again around the finger and he sucked desperately. Despite his efforts, the finger was removed, and then replaced by the Duke's tongue. Iphicles moaned into Aresborough's mouth as that tongue probed his mouth, only for his eyes to close in unbelieving ecstasy as the Duke's nails grazed his nipples and the Duke's cock moved against his. He was thrusting upwards frantically, wanting more as the Duke's fingers tightened cruelly on his nipples, wanting to rub his cock against the Duke's, wanting to feel his hard flesh sliding against the Duke's beautiful cock until they both came. His sobbing pleas were muffled by the damp air as the Duke's mouth left his to move to his chest and bite hard at his nipples.

His eyes snapped open again as he felt the Duke move off him. His gaze followed Aresborough's movements in the darkening evening and his throat dried as he saw the man bend to his waistcoat and remove what looked like a small bottle from the pocket. The Duke returned to kneel between Iphicles' legs again and opened the bottle. Iphicles' head raised and he watched in sudden apprehension. This was real. This was really going to happen. He shivered suddenly. What in damnation did he think he was doing, lying naked on his back on soaking wet grass, where anybody might see him, with this notorious rake naked and erect between his open legs?

Before his mind could go any further along that path, the Duke bent his head to Iphicles' abruptly softening cock. The delirious pleasure of that moist tongue gently tracing the slit while one hand caressed his balls sent Iphicles arching backwards on the grass, welcoming its slippery cold touch on his overheated skin, his cock suddenly achingly hard again, thrusting his hips up in desperate invitation for the Duke to continue. As Aresborough's mouth continued its work on his cock, the hand which had been gently stroking his balls left them and began to trace a path downwards. Iphicles groaned and spread his thighs further, encouraging that finger as it stroked his tender skin. The Duke's full lips were closed around the very tip of Iphicles' cock, his tongue lightly flicking and teasing the sensitive head, denying all of Iphicles' despairing efforts to thrust further into his mouth. The tongue continued its delicious work, leaving Iphicles gasping and shuddering with need until, with no warning, the Duke suddenly pushed his head right down on Iphicles' cock.

By the time the Duke's mouth released him and he could breathe again, Iphicles had realised that the Duke's finger was now inside him. His discomfort at the idea was lost as the probing finger brushed against a place that had him crying out, writhing wildly against the finger, desperate to feel that sensation again. By the time the Duke had two fingers inside him, Iphicles was whimpering to the darkening sky, helpless to do anything save react to the Duke's touch.

He cried out in distress when the fingers withdrew, raising his head to demand of the Duke what the hell he thought he was doing. What he saw had him breathing raggedly; the Duke was smoothing some of the liquid from the bottle over his hard cock, a loving touch on his own flesh as he watched Iphicles. Iphicles reached out a hand and touched the Duke's cock, feeling the slickness of the oily coating on the hard flesh, loving the way the Duke's eyes lidded slightly and he groaned softly at Iphicles' touch. Then Iphicles' legs were being pushed up and the Duke was moving so the blunt head of his cock was against the Earl's tight entrance. The Earl gasped as the Duke's size began to fill him, stretching him. God, it hurt.

The Duke slid all the way inside Iphicles, then pulled Iphicles further towards him, even further onto his cock. Dimly remembering one of the engravings he had seen, Iphicles wrapped his legs around the Duke's waist to allow him to push even deeper inside. His reward was a groan from the Duke at his movement, and then more thrusts, deeper each time, the Duke's rhythmic noises each time he sheathed himself fully inside Iphicles sending more blood straight to Iphicles' throbbing cock despite the pain. The Duke drove in hard, and a sudden sensation had Iphicles arching and writhing against him as his cock touched that place inside him. His nails were leaving bloody trails of pleasure across the Duke's skin, his hips bucking frantically. "Oh God…"

Aresborough was thrusting brutally, furiously, gasping out his pleasure, his bruising hands holding the Earl, voraciously watching his cock driving into the Earl's arse, his eyes greedy on the Earl's face as he filled him, again and again. Iphicles was beyond sense, beyond anything except the Duke's thrusts, the feel of the Duke's cock inside him and then the frenzied pleasure of the Duke's hand closing roughly around his cock, working it hard as his punishing strokes grew faster and faster, until Iphicles was screaming as his seed exploded over his chest, and the Duke's hips lost their rhythm and he pumped into the Earl, emptying himself deep inside Iphicles with a savage cry of triumph.

He slumped forward onto Iphicles afterwards and they lay in the near-darkness, hearts racing, sweat mingling. Dazed, Iphicles held the Duke's body to him. Moments passed, then as their breathing steadied and he could feel the Duke's heart rate slowing, there was a low laugh and the Duke moved off him and lay down beside him.

"You'd think in this damnable climate we might at least have had the sense to move indoors."

Iphicles' eyes were on his face, trying to read his expression in the fast-fading light. Not knowing what to think, Iphicles decided as a consequence to think nothing at all. He was distracted from the confusion in his head by the sudden realisation that the moisture on his skin was no longer sweat, as he had thought, but the ominous beginnings of rain. Large cold drops were splashing slowly but relentlessly.

"I rest my case," Aresborough concluded, getting to his feet and picking up his breeches.

His mind carefully blank, Iphicles got slowly to his feet and, following the Duke's example, pulled his breeches and boots on, fighting with his shirt. As the rain fell faster he gave up - the damned thing was soaked anyway - and they both moved quickly through the rain back to the house, only just able to see their way in the rapidly falling darkness.

The house struck warm as they entered, and Iphicles found himself blinking in the sudden light. To his overwhelming gratitude they encountered none of the other guests on their way upstairs, and the two footmen whom they passed kept their countenances. Admirably so, the Earl conceded, given how they must look; half-naked, with soaking hair, and breeches clinging wetly to them. He held his shirt and waistcoat against his chest to hide from curious eyes the unmistakable signs of his seed, but the injury to his left arm had, unnoticed at the time, begun to bleed again at some point, and the Duke had some telltale marks on his body. Iphicles swallowed hard as he saw them in the light, trying to deny those incontrovertible reminders of his wild abandon

He followed the Duke upstairs. Upon reaching the landing, he turned right to go to his room, only for the Duke to call him back.

"Where are you going, Iphicles? Come and get dry."

The Earl needed to be alone; he needed to understand what had happened, to work out how he could face the Duke again. Yet the manners so carefully inculcated in him since his childhood meant that he did not like to refuse outright.

"My clothes…" he started.

"Are in my room. Your valet moved them this evening."

The Earl's jaw dropped and he stared at the Duke. The Duke smiled slowly as he met his gaze. "Come, Iphicles," he invited, turning and making his way towards his bedroom.

Iphicles stood until he heard voices and footsteps crossing the hall, sounding as though their owners were about to mount the stairs. Not wishing to be discovered in such a condition, he helplessly followed the way the Duke had gone.

Standing in the open doorway of the Duke's room, he found Aresborough towelling his hair before the roaring fire in the hearth. Apparently becoming aware of Iphicles' presence, the Duke glanced up, fixing him with his dark gaze. Lost, Iphicles felt that he was trapped in some sort of disturbing dream; soon he would awaken thankfully to normal life. He would dress and partake of breakfast in the parlour which his mother favoured for this meal before riding out to the Park where it was not permitted to ride beyond a sedate canter; or, if the weather were not conducive to this, he might go to Manton's Gallery and culp a few wafers. He would take a quiet luncheon, followed by some time reading the newspaper. If, as frequently happened, this contained news of Harry's latest exploit, he would rehearse an unalarming version and seek out the Dowager to gently break this to her, before one of her cronies thoughtlessly asked her about it. If he were particularly fortunate, there would be decisions concerning the estate which would require his attention, or perhaps Caroline might be amenable to an afternoon visit. And then he would submit again to his valet and emerge ready to escort his mama to yet another interminable social gathering where nobody said anything yet everyone spoke.

He kicked the door shut behind him. For better or for worse, and he truly didn't know which this was, he was making his choice. Regardless of the hint of surprise in the Duke's eyes, Iphicles took the towel from his hands and began to rub it over Aresborough's chest, the rough fibre stimulating the cold wet skin, the friction against the Duke's nipples bringing them to tight buds.

Iphicles leaned in and flicked one with his tongue, his eyes closing as he tasted the Duke, licking across and around the nipple again and again, drowning in Aresborough's scent and taste. The Duke's hand stroked Iphicles' arse, exploring the curves so clearly outlined by the clinging wet material, before his other hand wrapped in his hair and pulled his head back so that Iphicles was staring into the dark face above him. The familiar mocking smile was on the Duke's lips, but the customary gleam in his eye was anything but lazy as he looked at the Earl before his lips descended on Iphicles'.

The Duke's valet, entering the room only moments later, averted his eyes from the figure bent over the bed and the one thrusting into him. What business of his was it if his master chose to take the Earl of Royston before either of them was fully undressed or dried. He bent to pick up the towel from the floor, and retreated silently.

Waking to the feel of the body next to his, Iphicles moved closer into the comforting warmth. It was not often he and Caroline fell asleep together, and now, as always, it answered a need in him even deeper than the sex. He breathed in deeply, prolonging the moment, knowing that he would soon have to wake her and leave. It was not possible to stay too long lest the gossip start. Expecting to inhale Caroline's light fragrance, his eyes opened in shock at the unmistakably male dusky scent in his nostrils. His gaze took a moment to register the unpalatable truth that his face was pressed against a muscular tanned arm.

Pulling sharply backwards in consternation, Iphicles saw the dark hair spilling onto the linen pillowcase, and with a flooding of colour to his face, remembered. He remembered writhing in wanton abandon on the wet grass, desperate for the Duke to take him. He remembered returning to the house, and the Duke's cool announcement about the change in sleeping arrangements. And the unaccustomed soreness in his body reminded him further.

Iphicles lay motionless, holding himself rigidly away from the Duke's body. He had no idea how the Duke would react to him this morning, nor how he should react to the Duke. As though aware of his thoughts, Aresborough stretched slightly, then turned onto his side to face Iphicles. Iphicles swallowed at the broad expanse of muscular chest which suddenly filled his vision, before he dared to look at the Duke's face.

"Good morning, Iphicles," Aresborough greeted him matter of factly, a mocking gleam in his eyes letting Iphicles know that the Duke was fully aware of his uncertainty, before full warm lips descended on his mouth. A moment of shock, an instant of fear, and then the swamping of his senses as the Duke's hot tongue pushed into his mouth, stroking and exploring his mouth with an intensity that caused Iphicles' hands to tangle in the Duke's hair, holding his head so that the tongue would never leave him. The Duke's hands on his hips pulled him closer, and as he felt the warmth and fullness moving against his own erection, Iphicles moaned into the Duke's mouth. His hands began to move over the Duke's body, stilling suddenly at the unfamiliar feeling of clearly defined muscles rather than slender limbs and soft skin. This was so different… Iphicles had sometimes felt that he overwhelmed Caroline. He was so much bigger and stronger than she, and his need was sometimes so great that he wondered if he would hurt her if he were to give in completely to his passion. Memories of Caroline wavered and dissolved as he succumbed to the pleasure of the moment, his strong hands beginning again to explore the Duke's body, stroking across his hip until he touched hard hot flesh which moved beneath his hand. The Duke's mouth left his and he lay back against the pillows, mutely inviting Iphicles to continue.

Prompted by memories of last night, Iphicles' head lowered to the Duke's cock and his tongue flicked over the head. A small noise of appreciation from the Duke encouraged him and he did it again, before, remembering what the Duke had done to him, Iphicles closed his lips softly around the very tip, swirling his warm tongue across the smoothness. The Duke's hips lifted in reaction, then the Duke's hands were in his hair, stroking, long fingers caressing his scalp. The sudden tightening in his stomach at the Duke's touch caused Iphicles to push his mouth eagerly down on the full cock, only to stop abruptly and pull back as it hit the back of his throat. He desperately tried to conquer his impulse to retch, profoundly thankful that his uncombed hair screened his face from the Duke. He could hear the suppressed laughter in Aresborough's voice as he concentrated on regaining control of his breathing.

"It's a skill which, like any other, requires practice, Iphicles."

Iphicles dared a glance at the Duke's face. Aresborough's gaze was filled with amusement, but as Iphicles stared up at the sensual face he forgot his embarrassment and awkwardness. His mouth dried as he saw the darkness of desire stirring in the eyes which held his.

"And I suppose this is as good a time as any for me to practice." He tried, so very hard, to make it sound wry, to match the Duke's mocking tones, but it came out breathlessly.

"Oh, most definitely," Aresborough agreed, settling more comfortably on his back, his legs parting slightly, letting Iphicles know precisely what he meant. This time Iphicles moved his mouth carefully down the shaft, finding out when he could take no more, and pulling back again to set up a rhythm. As he worked up and down on the Duke, he was gratified to hear the Duke's sounds of pleasure, to feel the hands tightening in his hair. Aresborough was not as in control as his teasing comments implied. His tongue moved against the veined underside of the Duke's cock and he increased the pressure by sucking harder, his lips tight around the hot flesh, moving up and down the shaft as his hand began to massage the heavy sac beneath. He could hear the Duke's soft groans and, remembering what he had always wanted Bella or Caroline to do to him, he released the cock, dark and glistening from his attentions, to move between the Duke's legs where he concentrated on his balls, mouthing with soft lips, flicking with his tongue before gently drawing first one then the other into his warm mouth.

Hands in his hair were suddenly pulling him abruptly away, up the bed and on top of the Duke, Aresborough's tongue thrusting into his mouth as the Duke rolled him over and pushed his legs up, positioning him so that the Duke's cock was pressing against his arse and then pushing in. Iphicles' cry was drowned in the sound of satisfaction from the Duke as his thick cock slid all the way inside Iphicles. Iphicles' head was tilted back and he was gasping at the mixture of pain and pleasure. The Duke's cock was too big, it hurt, he wanted it to stop, but he'd die if it did.

Aresborough began to thrust in a slow steady rhythm, his head lowering to bite at the smooth skin of the Earl's neck, until Iphicles was groaning constantly as he felt the Duke's size pushing in and out of him, the sting of sweat where the Duke's teeth had broken his skin, and then the Duke's hand on his cock, sliding up and down it as his thrusts into Iphicles grew quicker. Iphicles' muscles tightened convulsively as the Duke's cock drove deeper and harder into him, Aresborough staring down now at the Earls' face, his lips lifting back from his teeth as he thrust savagely, his dark hair clinging damply to his neck, his face flushed as he drove mercilessly into the tightness around him, his hand roughly pumping Iphicles' cock until the Earl was crying out and his cum flooded over his skin. With a final series of hard thrusts and a hoarse cry, Aresborough came deep inside Iphicles.

The Earl lay holding the Duke's sweat-slicked body against him, feeling the unfamiliarity of the hot seed inside him, tangible evidence of the pleasure that the Duke took in him, feeling it beginning to trickle out as the Duke withdrew from him. The Duke's head lowered briefly to Iphicles' chest and licked at the seed which garlanded it before his mouth descended on Iphicles', thrusting deep into the Earl's mouth, forcing Iphicles to taste himself on the Duke's tongue. Iphicles' eyes closed and his hands buried themselves in the Duke's dark hair as he lost awareness of everything except the Duke's body against his and the Duke's tongue in his mouth.

It was some time before the Earl was recalled to reality, but when he was, it was in an unpleasant manner. The Duke had dressed and gone to preside at the breakfast table by the time Iphicles' valet arrived. It was as Iphicles met the man's shocked eyes in the looking glass that he was suddenly startled out of his enjoyable state of contentment. Morrison said nothing, of course, but his appalled disapproval was evident in his rigidly proper bearing and his reluctance to linger in his attentions. The abhorrence on his face as he saw the broken skin on his master's neck caused Iphicles to dismiss him abruptly and finish his toilet himself. He grew ever more frustrated as his attempts to tie his cravat ended in disaster, and eventually, swearing, he threw yet another ruined neckcloth aside and turned away from the looking glass. Morrison's disapproval was impertinence, devil a doubt about that, but it was the knowledge that it was but a foreshadowing of what was to follow that caused the Earl's stomach to clench and his hands to fumble. Once he was back in London, the intelligence would pass from valet to valet, valet to master, master to mistress, if she were open-minded enough not to be shocked into an early grave by the information that such a thing between men were possible, and in a matter of days all the ton would know of the sleeping arrangements for this house party.

Iphicles found himself standing at the doorway to the bedchamber, looking blindly at the rumpled, semen-stained covers on the bed. It was not an issue for the Duke; he was considered by the ton to be past redemption and had sought his friendships elsewhere, in those who were either themselves past praying for, as in Hazell's case, or those like Appleton, who wished to shock their staid families by being seen to be an intimate of one of the most infamous rakes in living memory. They would drift away soon enough, their point made, and marry suitably, to end their days no doubt as a father of a hopeful brood who would weary his contemporaries by reminiscing interminably about his wild youth. Their place in the Duke's following would be taken soon enough by another bored nobleman seeking excitement. Iphicles found himself wondering briefly how the Duke would feel if he knew that he was viewed as a divertissement for the disaffected, sought out for the infamy that association with him would bring, rather than for himself. His lips twisted as he realised that the Duke must know it; after all, he and he alone was responsible for the reputation he had gained, and he did nothing to ameliorate it. The response could not be a surprise to the man.

Iphicles was uncertain how he fitted into the picture he had just painted of the Duke and his circle of friends. He had no desire to shock; he had no desire to do anything which would draw attention to himself. The pleasure he had experienced in the Duke's company even before last night had been more than he could remember in recent years and he had been willing to endure a little social disapprobation if that was what it took to become a friend of Aresborough's. But now… Did last night put him beyond redemption too? In the eyes of the ton it would, he had no doubt of that. Yet it had been the first real pleasure he had known since Bella's death. It had been unlike anything he had ever known. He shivered at the memory of that first kiss.

Turning back towards the looking glass, Iphicles picked up a neckcloth and tied it swiftly. No matter if it were not perfect; there was nobody here would be offended by casualness. A smile pulled at his full lips as he met his own eyes in the mirror and realised that, if the Duke had been running true to form last night, it was unlikely that the cravat would stay tied for long in any case. He was damned already; he might as well enjoy it. With a heady rush of anticipation, Iphicles went in search of his lover.

The next few days were little short of an idyll for the Earl, as the Duke shamelessly neglected his duty towards his other guests and spent most of his time with Iphicles. Even during the relaxed evenings when the company gathered together, the Duke was rarely far from him for long. They might be at opposite ends of the room, but all it took was one glance from the Duke and Iphicles would feel the sudden heat of desire as he excused himself to the group he was with and made his way towards Aresborough, who might or might not touch him as they left the room together. Those were the times of desperate couplings, of biting and thrusting and needing and coming. Then there were the long nights spent in the Duke's bed, lying in near-silence in the stillness of the night, touching and being touched, and mouths moving slowly over warm skin. There was the contentment of waking next to him each morning, and the freedom of the days, when nothing was planned and time was his own and the Duke's.

They rode out together on more than one occasion, over the Duke's land and the surrounding countryside. The Earl had been surprised on their first ride by the unmistakable signs of prosperity in the estate. The Duke might have a reputation as a wastrel, but he evidently employed a good bailiff and did not begrudge him the means to keep the estate in order. Iphicles had also been surprised to find how well the Duke knew the surrounding area; he had assumed that the man's time was spent in London in relentless pursuit of pleasure.

That the Duke not only knew the surrounding area but was a familiar figure in it was brought home to Iphicles on the fifth day, when they rode further afield than previously. They stopped at a village inn for refreshment, relinquishing their mounts into the hands of the boy who served as ostler. He stared wide-eyed at their rich clothes and highly-bred horses until Iphicles, with a grin at the boy's unabashed wonder, flicked a coin to him, eliciting a beaming, if grubby, smile and a sudden recollection of his duty to their horses. The landlord too stared in amazement as they entered the taproom, before he came to greet them. Unlike the boy outside, it was evident he knew precisely who the Duke was, bowing especially deeply to Aresborough as he welcomed the travellers to the humble tavern. He bade them be seated, quickly wiping the wooden benches with his none-too-clean sleeve. Iphicles found himself intrigued by the way that, even while he spoke to them, the landlord's gaze darted frantically around the empty room in what looked suspiciously like panic.

The reason for his worry soon became evident. A voice from the doorway to the inner room of the alehouse reported that Ma had finished the ale and needed another immediately if she was to be kept from destroying the kitchen, while the sound of smashing crockery appeared to bear out the statement. The owner of the voice was a lass of perhaps sixteen summers, her face framed by dusky ringlets, her dark-lashed eyes greenly wide as she gazed at the two gentlemen before she bobbed a curtsey, two quite delectable dimples adding to the charming picture of unspoiled beauty.

The landlord, after one stricken look at the Duke, hustled her back out through the doorway. A hissed "And stay there!" was heard before he came back in.

"My apologies, your grace, your honour." Wiping his hands on his waistcoat, he glanced nervously at the Duke.

Iphicles was biting his lip hard as the Duke required two tankards of homebrew, and only dared meet Aresborough's eyes once the landlord had retreated.

The Duke's eyebrows raised. "I have half a mind to venture into the kitchen," he remarked. "What do you say, Iphicles?"

Iphicles could no longer keep from laughing out loud, fully appreciative of the alarm and consternation that would surely result. As well let a fox loose in a hen roost, except that this prey would no doubt go willingly to her fate.

"I should think that by now she will be safely locked away in the cellar, only allowed out when you are long gone," he advised. He glanced at the rheumy-eyed decrepit who had evidently been swiftly hauled out of retirement and was slowly and carefully approaching with their drinks. "Or you could try your charms on our waiter instead," he urged, his voice low but his eyes alight with laughter. "They may yet sacrifice beauty in defence of age."

A brief laugh escaped the Duke as he glanced in the direction Iphicles indicated, before his eyes returned to Iphicles. He was suddenly intent, all amusement vanished as his eyes hungrily quartered the Earl's laughing face.

"Or I could show them why their daughter is presently safe from my depraved attentions," he murmured softly, leaning forward across the table so that his warm breath caressed Iphicles' cheek. The Earl felt his colour rise as he swayed towards the Duke.

The moment was broken as the servitor placed the tankards down on the table, with a muttered "Your honours."

The Duke glanced irritably at him as he stood there waiting. "Well?"

"Would your honours like anything to eat?" he offered with a nervous bob of his head. "Mrs Day has cooked up a nice chicken for tonight, and there is curd pudding and -"

Seeing the look in the Duke's face, Iphicles swiftly raised his hand to break off the recital. "Thank you, but we are not hungry," he informed the man, his eyes never leaving the Duke's.

A bob of the head, and they were left in peace. "Not hungry, Iphicles?" The Duke questioned. Iphicles was suddenly aware of the Duke's leg curving round his under the table. His mouth was dry as he stared into the Duke's dark eyes. "I shall remind you of that."

Aresborough glanced away finally and the spell was broken. Iphicles raised the tankard to his mouth, desperately trying not to think of pouring dark red wine over the Duke's gloriously naked body and slowly licking it off. Swiftly draining the contents of his tankard, he called for a refill, trying to calm the raging in his cock.

They didn't linger, staying just time enough for the horses to be watered and for Ma to demand, courtesy of the aged servitor this time, another tankard of ale. As the man made his painfully slow way towards the kitchen, the crashing of more crockery signalled Ma's disapproval of the delay. Aresborough and Iphicles met one another's eyes in silent agreement, and rose to leave.

They were scarcely out of sight of the last house of the village, in the shade of a copse, when the Duke abruptly pulled his horse close against Iphicles' mount until their legs were pushed together and the Duke's hand wrapped in Iphicles' hair to pull him across for a fierce kiss. By the time his mouth was finally released, Iphicles was breathing hard. He saw the Duke swing off his horse and was instantly off his own mount, pressing himself against the Duke as the Duke impatiently yanked off his close-fitting coat before turning his attention to stripping Iphicles of his.

Iphicles pulled away just long enough to help the Duke gain his object, before he was back, his hips pushing against Aresborough while he ripped at the Duke's neckcloth and shirt. His mouth closed over the nipple he had revealed, licking and sucking at it as Aresborough swiftly opened Iphicles' clothes, hands then moving to unfasten his own breeches until Iphicles' cock, already desperate for release, was moving eagerly against the Duke's hard flesh. He moaned the Duke's name as Aresborough's cock rubbed against his, his hands frantically pulling the Duke's shirt open further to expose the other nipple and close his lips around it, flicking it with his tongue until the feel of the Duke's cock against his was too much for him and his mouth stilled as he gasped against the Duke's skin.

He raised his head again to watch mesmerised as the Duke withdrew the bottle from his pocket. The familiar sounds and smell as the Duke wrenched the top off had him shivering with anticipation, and when the Duke briefly smeared the substance in his hand over his rigid flesh, Iphicles' breathing stopped. He was helpless when the Duke spun him around and pushed him face-first up against the nearest tree, yanking his breeches down. The oil bottle fell unheeded to the grass as, with a grunt, the Duke thrust into Iphicles' unprepared arse.

Iphicles cried out at the forceful entry, but the Duke thrust in harder, again and again, driving Iphicles against the rough bark until his face was torn and it was only the strength with which his arms were braced that prevented the same treatment being delivered to his cock. As the Duke rammed into him, Iphicles cried out again, pushing back, meeting Aresborough's savage thrusts with demands to be fucked harder, until the Duke's teeth ripped into his neck and his hips pumped into Iphicles.

Breathing in gasps, the Duke slowly relaxed his hold on the Earl, his cock sliding out of Iphicles' arse. Iphicles, desperate to come himself, turned and reached for the Duke, rubbing his hard cock against him. Aresborough moved back a step from the frantic Earl, his hand on his hip pushing him backwards. The fingers of his other hand glanced briefly over the tip of Iphicles' cock. Iphicles groaned.

"Kneel down, Iphicles." The Duke's voice was ragged, and his chest rose and fell swiftly.

His eyes holding the Duke's, his own breathing fast, Iphicles knelt on the springy turf before him.

The Duke stood looking at Iphicles. "Hands and knees."

His heart pounding, his cock almost hurting, Iphicles did as he was told. The Duke moved around behind him, and he could feel his breeches being pulled further down. He jerked forward suddenly, crying out as a moist hot tongue probed between the cheeks of his arse. He moaned and pushed back again, gasping for air at the feel of the Duke's tongue snaking up the trail of cum which had leaked from his arse, licking him clean. He trembled as he felt the moist warmth at his tight entrance and cried out as it pushed inside, probing and quivering inside him. He would have begged the Duke to touch his cock, but couldn't find the words. Instead his desperate cries filled the summer afternoon around them in a wordless pleading.

Then suddenly it was gone. He was left alone, the only sounds those of the horses tearing at the grass, their bits chinking, and the Duke's boots moving a few steps over the turf. He turned his head just as the Duke came back to him, and his eyes widened as he saw the Duke held his riding whip. His mind protested perversion, but before he could move, the Duke was kneeling in front of him, his mouth covering Iphicles' and his tongue pushing in. The jerk in his cock at the Duke's kiss was a sudden painful reminder of his need and Iphicles whimpered into the Duke's mouth. He was left empty as the Duke pulled back, to offer the Earl his finger instead. Iphicles' eyes closed as he sucked it, readying it to slide inside him and bring him to exquisite release. He felt it being removed and made a sound of need, reaching after it with his mouth. Instead, he felt something thicker and harder pressing against his lips.

His eyes snapped open to find it was the wide tip of the whip's leather handle. He froze, but the Duke's hand was in his hair, long fingers caressing his scalp as he gently worked the broad head between Iphicles' lips in a rhythm so familiar that it was not long before Iphicles' mouth was eagerly moving up and down on the braided leather, his tongue exploring the woven texture of the shaft before he began to suck it, desperate for stimulation, desperate to come. He protested its eventual withdrawal, and the Duke held it for an instant before him. He kissed it, and heard the Duke's indrawn breath and saw Aresborough's cock begin to respond.

Then the Duke was standing up and moving around him, and the anticipation was almost unbearable as he felt the wide head of the whip at the entrance to his arse. He gasped as it began to move inside him, pushing and stretching him until his trembling arms gave way and his cheek was pressed against the grass while his breath came in sobs and he pushed back steadily against the incredible pressure. It stopped at last, and he groaned, only to cry out as Aresborough pulled it slowly back and pushed in again.

"You’re a slut Iphicles, your legs spread wider than a Haymarket whore, begging for it."

His mouth opened to furiously deny the Duke's stinging comment, but the only sound to come out was a long groan as Aresborough started to work the whip inside him.

"You'll do anything I want, won't you? And love it. Slut."

He bit hard at his hand to contain the sounds but Aresborough's vicious commentary was exciting him almost as much as the fullness inside him and he was helpless to prevent the guttural animal noises as Aresborough worked the whip harder.

"You just love it up the arse, don't you, Iphicles? What would they all say if they saw you now, begging for it, loving it like this?" He pushed it deeper and Iphicles whimpered. "What would your brother think, Iphicles, if he saw you now, your cock so hard and heavy and desperate, wet with your excitement…"

Iphicles heard no more through his cries as the Duke slid the whip in and out of him. All he knew was his desperate need to come as the Duke stood over him, fucking with the handle of his whip, thrusting it harder into him. Seeing suddenly how it must look, how the Duke must look, Iphicles' scream ripped his throat raw and his cum spilled over the grass beneath him.

Afterwards he collapsed bonelessly onto the turf, vaguely aware that Aresborough was removing the whip and sliding inside Iphicles himself. A few strokes inside were all that was necessary, and then the Duke was gasping out his pleasure as his seed filled Iphicles once more.

The Duke’s weight slumping on him afterwards threatened to crush him but he didn’t want the Duke to move. He could feel Aresborough’s chest rising and falling almost as hard as was his own, his harsh breathing in Iphicles’ ear pausing only when he kissed the Earl’s damp neck and murmured his name.

Iphicles' eyes closed in true contentment. Aresborough had never before done such a thing. He could want for no greater happiness than this.

It was only moments later, before their breathing had even steadied, that the Duke rolled off him. Iphicles turned over to find the man already getting to his feet and adjusting his clothing. Iphicles followed suit slowly, far from recovered still, trying to subdue his urge to grin at the Duke like a particularly moon-kissed village idiot. He noted ruefully where his waistcoat and shirt were stained and torn from where he had been pushed against the tree and decided to have them quietly disposed of rather than pass them to his valet and shock the man even further. He was still making himself decent when the Duke strode over to where his horse was contentedly grazing, pulled its head up, and mounted.

“For God’s sake, Royston, get a move on,” he demanded impatiently.

Iphicles looked up in surprise to find the Duke already moving off. Making his way over to grab his horse's reins to prevent it following its fellow, Iphicles paused to shrug his coat on, then mounted and followed the Duke.

The rest of their ride was in near-silence. Iphicles tried a couple of conversational openings, but when they were ignored, retreated uncertainly into silence. He had no idea what had caused this sudden change in the Duke’s mood.

The Duke gave him no opportunity to ask once they had returned to the house; he disappeared with no explanation, leaving Iphicles to his own devices. The somewhat bewildered Earl took refuge in a bath, feeling the sting of warm water where the tree's rough bark had scraped his chest and face. He thought back as he sat in the slowly cooling water to try to understand what had changed the Duke's mood, to see if he might in some way have offended Aresborough, but an explanation eluded him.

He remained none the wiser as the Duke ignored his presence at dinner that night and the gaming table thereafter. As a result, Iphicles spent much of the evening with Appleton, gleaning from him the news about the war with which his brother had neglected to provide him. At some point in the early hours he glanced up from their conversation, to find that the Duke, and many others, had already retired for the night.

Iphicles excused himself from Appleton, and made his way to the Duke’s bedchamber. He paused suddenly at the closed door, for the first time wondering if he would be welcome. Annoyance spurred him into action. To be reduced to hovering uncertainly, like some schoolroom miss before her debut, was intolerable. He firmly pushed the door open and walked in.

The Duke wasn’t there. Iphicles stood stunned, before his brain began to take in the corollary of this. Or the possible corollary, he firmly told himself. He had no real reason to believe that the Duke was satisfying his desire elsewhere. Probably he was merely engaged in an interesting conversation somewhere, loath for it to end.

Iphicles stripped off somewhat jerkily and got into bed, blowing out the candle. He lay in the dark, every sense strained for a sound that would tell him of the Duke’s approach. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Damerel is happily ensconced in a small market town in the English countryside where she spends her time reading and writing slash fiction, gardening, and dreaming up names for the next guinea pigs with whom she will share her life.  Sadly, that pesky working for a living thing intrudes occasionally into this idyll.  She also has an inordinate love of Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels and what might politely be called cult television shows.

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