Dances Long Forgotten

by Ruby Moone

  Lyndon kissed the track that the tear had made. “Don’t be sad.”

  “I’m not sad.” He pulled back and looked at Lyndon. Let him see the truth of it.

  Lyndon nodded. “Should we lie in front of the fire?”

  Hugo nodded. He wanted to see everything. Experience everything. He didn’t care if there was a draft. Lyndon took his hand and they took the few steps needed to stand before the fire. He put two more logs on to keep it burning bright, and as he turned back to Hugo, the golden firelight flickered over his skin, delineating his muscles, and making Hugo weak at the knees. Lyndon reached out and put a hand to Hugo’s cheek and Hugo leaned into it, waiting to see what would happen next. When Lyndon sank to his knees, Hugo was ready to follow suit, but Lyndon stayed him with a hand. From his kneeling position he looked up at him. Hugo’s heart beat hard enough to make his head swim, and when he took hold of Hugo’s cock and pulled it towards him, he made a soft whimpering sound of hope. Would he?

  He would. Lyndon looked at his cock for a moment or two, gazing at it lovingly, and then took him into his mouth.

  Hugo clutched his head, gasping, legs trembling, then braced one hand on his shoulder as he began sucking and laving in earnest and fought against his rising crisis with everything he had. He did not want this to end. Lyndon’s eyes were closed, but he opened them briefly to look up at him, and Hugo couldn’t tear his gaze away. He watched and imprinted every second on his memory. He would store this memory away to be brought out and savoured when he most needed it.

  With huge reluctance he pushed and moved back. “Stop. I’ll come.”

  Lyndon pulled away with a gentle lick then a kiss on the end of his cock that left Hugo open mouthed with pleasure.

  He sank to his knees in front of him and, grabbing his nightshirt, lay it on the rug in front of the hearth, and tugged at Lyndon’s hand. “Lie down,” he whispered. “Let me do you.”

  Lyndon grinned and stretched out. His legs were long and dusted with golden hair. His chest broad, and his stomach flat. His cock was long and dark and it made Hugo’s mouth water. Bravely, he settled himself between Lyndon’s thighs, pushing them apart, and knelt in front of him. Lyndon’s smile was gone, replaced by a trembling tension. He blinked rapidly, his breathing was harsh, and as Hugo leaned down, lifting his cock in one hand, Lyndon moaned and clenched every muscle in his body. Hugo was surprised by the surge of pride he felt in the knowledge that Lyndon Cross wanted this as much as he did.

  He leaned down and swallowed him as far as he could. Lyndon twitched and clutched at him, all the while panting his name. He lifted his knees so that Hugo could run a finger behind his jewels and seek the softest tender skin behind, stroking and caressing as he licked and sucked. Lyndon was moaning in earnest now, so Hugo trailed his finger further until he came to the tightness of his hole.

  Lyndon pushed at his head. “Stop, stop, I don’t want it to end yet,” he panted.

  Hugo pulled off with reluctance. Lyndon was breathing heavily. He took hold of his shaft and held it tight near the base with a pained grimace. Once he had himself under control, he reached back until he grabbed the edge of his dressing gown. He rummaged in the pocket and came back with a vial of oil. Hugo’s cock pulsed.

  “I…I don’t suppose you want to do me?” he whispered, a vulnerable, hopeful note in his voice, holding the bottle aloft and holding his knees up. “Like this?”

  Hugo looked down at his beautiful body. Legs apart, knees drawn up so he could see his crease, see where his finger had been, and almost lost his seed at the thought of pushing into him. He’d been happy for Lyndon to lead, but kneeling between his thighs, he wanted nothing more than to claim him. Christ, he sounded like a barbarian, but that was how he felt.

  “Face to face?” he whispered.

  Lyndon swallowed and nodded. That vulnerable look intensified.

  He straightened, smiled, and held out his hand for the oil. The look in Lyndon’s eyes when he handed it over let him know it was the right choice.

  He opened the stopper, poured some into his hand, and rubbed himself. Lyndon made a soft moaning sound and Hugo looked up to find him watching. Gaze riveted on the moment of his hands, a flush staining his cheeks. He rubbed a little longer, making more of a show, then poured more to coat his fingers. He rubbed it softly over the tender flesh and worked his finger against his hole until he gained entrance. Lyndon was panting; cheeks pink, lips apart. He pulled his knees right up, and Hugo leaned down to brush a kiss over his cock as his finger sank in. His own cock throbbed and leaked copious amounts of fluid as he thrust in and out, his finger searching for that place that would send Lyndon wild. It took a moment or two, but he found it, and pressed, making Lyndon cry out and buck.

  “Now, Hugo, please, please, please…”

  Hugo spent more time stretching him, getting him ready to take him. His cock wasn’t enormous, but it was quite thick, and he didn’t want to hurt him. He put more oil on himself, lined up, and as he pushed, Lyndon bore against him, letting him slide in an inch or two. Lyndon bit his lip, so he stopped and waited. He could scarce breathe, but he waited until the look of pain subsided, then he edged further and further, inch by inch, until he was fully seated, and he had Lyndon’s legs wrapped about his waist.

  “Good?” Hugo muttered.

  “Give me a moment,” Lyndon squirmed beneath him and Hugo noted that his cock had wilted. His heart hurt, but he started to withdraw. He couldn’t go on with anything that would cause him pain, but Lyndon grabbed him.

  “Now. Do it. Now.”

  Hugo hesitated, but began rocking gently into him. He pulled out a little, and then slid back in, encouraging him to relax. This time, Lyndon hissed out a breath, and his erection plumped again. Encouraged, Hugo moved more rhythmically and saw the flush that covered Lyndon’s cheeks, his chest, and when Lyndon clutched at his arse and pushed him in, he started thrusting harder.

  Lyndon’s eyes were closed, and his mouth opened wide in a yawning groan of pleasure. Hugo knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long, so he went harder and faster, taking Lyndon with him, drinking in his cries of pleasure and need. He buried his face in Lyndon’s neck, and felt Lyndon slide his hand between them to take hold of his cock. As his crisis sank its teeth into him, and he felt and heard Lyndon’s shout of completion, he let go.

  Chapter 7

  It was a long time before either of them moved. They lay, clung together, letting the warmth from the fire bathe them. The firelight flickered about the room, giving it an intimate feeling that neither wanted to break, despite the chill. Eventually Hugo levered himself up on one arm and peered down. Lyndon peeled open an eye and blinked at him. Neither smiled.

  “Did I hurt you?” Hugo whispered.

  Lyndon shook his head. “Never.”

  Hugo leaned down to brush his lips over his, and then captured a tear that escaped. “You too?”

  Lyndon brushed at his eyes and sniffed. “Mm hmm.”

  Hugo kissed both of his eyes and stroked his head. “Thank you.”

  Lyndon put both arms around him and held him. “We should have done this when we were boys.”

  Hugo huffed out a laugh. “We should. Christ, we should.”

  “I missed you.”

  Hugo swallowed as he remembered those dark days. “I missed you too. It was hellish without you.” He leaned down and kissed him. “Am I crushing you?” He was still between Lyndon’s legs, still lying on him.

  Lyndon shook his head. “I like being here.”

  Hugo kissed him again. “We should clean up and get into bed. Will you stay a while?”

  Lyndon nodded, and they pulled apart, reluctantly. Hugo watched as he smiled and shifted and felt the flutter in his chest that came from looking at him. It was as though the intervening years hadn’t really happened. He could have been fifteen again. He got to his feet and found a washcloth and water, and together they tidied themselves, added more logs to the fire, consigned nightshirts to
the floor, and crawled into the cold sheets together. Wrapped around each other, they soon warmed.

  “I think this might qualify as the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Lyndon said, around a massive yawn.

  Hugo tugged at him, so he lay his head on Hugo’s chest. He rubbed a cheek against his hair and stared at the fire. “Most assuredly. I’ve never had a Christmas like it.”

  Lyndon burrowed closer and ran a hand up and down Hugo’s hip. Hugo sifted his fingers through Lyndon’s hair.

  “Do you live in London?”

  He felt Lyndon nod. “I have rooms.”

  “I have rooms, but Winsford pays for them.”

  “He’s good to you?” Lyndon’s fingers made patterns on his skin as Hugo nodded. He was good to him, but it was entirely possible after the latest debacle that Winsford would refuse to fund his lifestyle anymore. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Lying with Lyndon in his arms made London society appear pale and insipid.

  “Do you have an independent source of income?” Hugo tugged him closer, thoroughly enjoying the drift of Lyndon’s fingers over his skin.

  “I have a small stipend from a legacy, but I also work,” he said, surprising Hugo. “I know, deeply, deeply unfashionable, but it’s at the Foreign Office so it’s reasonably respectable.”

  Hugo laughed. “It’s most respectable. Do you enjoy it?”

  He felt Lyndon nod. “I do. Gives me a sense of purpose and something useful to do.”

  “As opposed to parading around London, visiting the clubs, watching the horses and fencing.” Hugo felt glum as he said it.

  “Well, there’s something to be said for that.” Lyndon pulled back to look at him more closely. “Do I detect a modicum of boredom from you?”

  “More than a modicum.”

  Lyndon squeezed him tight. “Then you should look for a purpose. Something you love. What do you love?”

  Hugo almost said, ‘you’, but didn’t. “Books,” he murmured. “I wanted to work in a library or own a bookshop when I was small, but it wouldn’t do for the family.”

  “I imagine they weren’t keen on that idea.”

  “Sadly, not.”

  They were silent for a little while as Hugo drifted his fingertips over Lyndon’s skin, making him hum in a happy manner.

  “You like that?”

  “I do,” Lyndon whispered and looked up. They smiled into each other’s eyes.

  “Will you go to your family for Christmas Day?”

  Lyndon shook his head. “Probably not, what’s left of them will be in Lancashire and it’s a shocking journey at this time of year.”

  “Will you be alone?”

  Lyndon shrugged. “I’ll go to the club. There will be plenty of company. Will you stay here?”

  Hugo had no idea. No idea if he’d be welcome. “They may not want me to.”

  Lyndon stroked his face. “This thing. This thing you think you’ve done that might jeopardise your family. It might not be as bad as you imagine.”

  Hugo leaned into his touch. “Oh, it is.”

  “Have faith. I’m sure it will work out. Winsford’s a good sort.”

  Hugo wished he had Lyndon’s confidence. He ran his hand up and down Lyndon’s back, loving the feel of his skin, the strength of him.

  “Perhaps when I’ve fathomed it all out, we can see each other again?”

  “See each other?” Lyndon shifted so he was looking up at him.

  “Yes. I know we shouldn’t, and I know it’s a terrible risk, but I’d like to see you.”

  Lyndon’s face softened. He squeezed Hugo tight. “And I you.”

  Hugo touched Lyndon’s cheek and stroked it, his gaze following the line of his fingers. “I don’t want you to disappear again. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Lyndon nodded and kissed his fingers as they drifted over his lips.

  “If you were a girl, I’d offer for you,” Hugo said, almost absently. “We could marry and set up our own little townhouse in London and live in fine style. We could host parties, go to the theatre, and have a very pleasant life.”

  “You’d offer for me?” Lyndon’s smile was lopsided, eyes filled with something warm.

  “Immediately.”

  Lyndon’s smile grew. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  Hugo searched his face, and his smile widened in response. Something warm and huge filled his chest, making it feel altogether too small. He reached out, took Lyndon’s hand in his, and in the warm cocoon of the bed, lit by firelight, kissed it and cleared his throat.

  He looked into Lyndon’s gorgeous eyes as he spoke. “Lyndon Cross, would you do me the inestimable honour of becoming my…” he frowned. “What would you be?”

  Lyndon thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Husband?”

  Hugo cleared his throat again. “Lyndon Cross, would you do me the inestimable honour of consenting to becoming my most cherished, most beloved husband?”

  He was surprised at the lump in his throat the words created. At the sting behind his eyes, and at the ache in his chest. Lyndon clearly felt it too because his eyes shone.

  “I would be most, most honoured to be your husband.” He shuffled forward and angled his head so their lips could meet in the softest, sweetest kiss.

  They each pulled away with a huff of a laugh that was part sob and wiped each other’s eyes with gentle thumbs.

  “If only it were so easy,” Hugo whispered.

  “If only.”

  They were quiet for a while, each lost in thought.

  “We ought to sleep,” Lyndon said eventually. “What time will your valet arrive?”

  “The maids will be here quite by five-thirty. I don’t think I want to sleep. I don’t want to miss a moment of this.”

  “Me either.”

  So, they talked, and talked, but eventually, sleep overcame them, and Hugo was awakened by the rattling of the chamber door. He roused, puzzled, felt Lyndon’s sleep warm body beside him, and jolted upright, heart pounding.

  He leaped from the bed, grabbed his brocade gown, and covered himself. He unlocked the door and opened it a fraction to find a small, tired girl wearing a cap that looked too big.

  “I kept the fire burning all night so it’s too hot for you to clean out.”

  “If you’re sure, my lord?”

  “Very sure.” He gave her a smile, so she curtseyed and left.

  Hugo shut the door and leaned against it, blowing out a breath. It hadn’t taken long for their precious bubble to burst.

  At around eleven, Hugo made his way to Winsford’s private apartments with a heavy heart. Lyndon had crept back to his own room after the maid left, and although Hugo was reasonably sure that it was accomplished without being seen, one could never be absolutely certain. Winsford always had an uncanny knack for knowing when Hugo was up to no good. Given the mess he was in, adding to it with such reckless abandon struck him anew. But when he thought back to those moments before the fire, and then later cocooned in the bed, he couldn’t regret it. This wasn’t some random, oblivion-seeking act, this was Lyndon. His friend. His love. It wasn’t the same at all, and it was worth risking all for. He sincerely doubted that Winsford would see it that way.

  He just needed to deal with the Edgar Hessledon situation, and then put it behind him so that he could consider the rest of his life. Knowing that it might now include Lyndon in some way made him feel better. Stronger.

  As he approached the door, still rehearsing what he might say, he bumped into Winsford’s man of business, Anthony Carter.

  “Is my brother in his rooms?” he asked.

  Carter grimaced slightly. “I’m afraid his lordship has been called away on urgent business. He is unlikely to return until Christmas Eve.”

  Hugo was quite certain his jaw dropped. “Gone?”

  “I’m afraid so, my lord. Can I be of assistance in any way?”

  Hugo shook his head. “No, but thank you.”

  He made his way down the stairs
to the breakfast parlour, deep in thought. What on earth was going on? Where in God’s name was Winsford? He’d said they’d talk more today. Why would he leave?

  He arrived at breakfast and went to the dishes on the side to help himself to some eggs and ham, still deep in thought, when Vincent came and stood beside him.

  “Where’s Winsford?” he asked.

  Hugo frowned. “I’ve no idea. I’ve only just discovered he left. Why would he leave in the middle of things?”

  “I wish I knew. Jossy is not best pleased.”

  “I’ll wager she isn’t.”

  The brothers frowned at each other and went to sit and eat. In doing so, they had to engage with the various guests and further conversation was impossible until they left the room. As they made their way towards the parlour, Vincent clapped his hand on Hugo’s shoulder.

  “I’ll do a little digging and see what I can come up with.”

  “I can’t help but feel that it will be something to do with me.”

  Vincent pulled a face. “I’m concerned that you could be right. I can’t think of anything else that would have taken him away from Jossy’s celebrations.”

  “Perhaps see if anyone else left?”

  Vincent nodded and disappeared, leaving Hugo to make his way to the parlour and make polite conversation with the people he found there. He kept an eye on the door, waiting for Lyndon to join him, but it remained stubbornly shut.

  When Hugo saw nothing of Lyndon by late afternoon, he was more than worried, he was afraid. Where was he? Had he imagined all that had transpired between them? Was he overplaying it in his memory? He knew he tended to refine far too much upon things, but surely, surely, Lyndon would have at least wanted to see him. He tried desperately to convince himself that Lyndon would present himself at dinner.

  He held up his arms as Coombes put on his evening coat. It was a tight, perfect fit, and once settled, it became him well. In black with a pristine white neckcloth, he looked halfway presentable. Foster dusted his shoulders, flicked something from his lapel, twitched his shirt points, and he was done.