Murdo followed David up the worn stone stairs of the close that led to his rooms, waiting silently in the dark as David unlocked the front door before following him into the more profoundly dark interior.
Moving with the ease of long practice, David brushed past Murdo to lock up behind them, his fingers finding bolts and keyholes without needing to see them.
“Follow me,” he said, stepping past Murdo to head down the hallway. “It’s dark, but Ellen will have left a fire ready to be lit in the parlour, so we’ll soon have light.”
“Where the hell are you?” came Murdo’s amused voice in reply, then a touch to David’s shoulder as Murdo found him. His hand was warm and heavy, and when David turned his head, he was suddenly able to make out the faintest outline of Murdo’s body standing opposite him, a dark shape amongst all the other shadows.
“Sorry. Here, give me your hand.” David placed his own on Murdo’s, smiling when Murdo loosely entwined their fingers.
It was only a few steps down the hall to the parlour. David drew Murdo behind him, through the door and right into the depths of the room, carefully guiding him till he stood in front of his best armchair before giving him a gentle shove. Murdo yelped in surprise as he overbalanced, laughing as he hit the seat.
“Where are you now?” Murdo asked.
“Lighting the fire,” David replied as he knelt before the grate, fumbling for the tinder box. “Not that I’d expect you to think of that. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to light a fire for yourself.”
Murdo laughed again. “Not indoors,” he admitted. “Though my brothers and I used to be fond of lighting them in the woods at home. Much to our tutor’s dismay.”
“Typical boys.” David snorted, striking the flint to sprinkle sparks over the kindling. “That’s just what William and I used to do.”
“William’s your brother?”
“No, my brother’s called Drew. William was—a friend.”
Murdo must’ve heard the pause. “Just a friend?”
“Yes, just a friend.” David struck the flint again, bringing it closer to the kindling this time. “Though I mistook him for something else for a while.”
Another shower of sparks, and another, then there it was—a tiny tongue of flame, just licking at the kindling. David leaned forward and blew. A puff of encouragement.
“What kind of something else? A lover?”
David laughed shortly. “I was sixteen, so no, not that—not in my mind, anyway. I did believe I loved him, though. A platonic sort of love, you understand. Very noble. Very pure.” He laughed again, mocking himself, and lifted the bellows, nurturing the infant flames with careful little gusts.
“Did he realise how you felt?”
Somehow it was easier to answer that deep, disembodied voice than if he’d been looking at Murdo.
“Oh, yes,” David admitted. “I was a perfect fool and told him.”
A pause, then, “What did he say?”
“Not much. He kissed me.”
The silence that followed that admission was as profound as the darkness.
After a long time, Murdo’s voice emerged, quiet and careful. “Was it your first kiss?”
“Yes. His too.”
David sat back on his heels and regarded the fire. Already the flames were growing big and yellow, licking hungrily over the neat stack of wood and kindling that Ellen had built earlier. Those big flames were deceptive, though. This was exactly the moment when you had to watch a fire. As healthy as it looked now, once the kindling burned off, it could easily die without properly taking hold.
David stood and felt around on the mantelpiece for a candle, grabbing a sturdy, tallow one and bending to light the wick in the flames in the grate. Sheltering the flaring wick with his cupped hand, he carefully placed the candle in its holder and put it back on the mantelpiece before settling himself on the hearth rug again to keep an eye on the fire.
“I’ll get you a drink in a minute,” he promised, glancing over his shoulder at Murdo, who sprawled in David’s best armchair like a pasha. “I’ll just make sure I’ve got this fire going properly first.”
“Don’t worry about fetching me anything. I don’t need a drink,” Murdo replied. “Tell me more about this William instead.”
David sighed, but after a moment, he said, “He was the boy from the big house. I used to see him whenever he was home from boarding school. We were playmates when we were children.”
“When did you decide you were in love with him? Before or after you realised you preferred men?”
“After, I think. Though I didn’t really think of it as being ‘in love’ with him.”
“How did you think of it?”
“As an idealised sort of love, I suppose. I thought of us like David and Jonathan in the Bible.” David stared into the flames in the grate. “I think I had the idea that if I ignored my physical desires, it would be all right to feel that way. William and I would be friends all our lives, and I would love him better than anyone else, more than any wife could ever love him.” He laughed, and it was an ugly sound.
“But it didn’t work out that way?”
Another short laugh. “No.”
David blew a few more strategic puffs from the bellows and watched as the yellow flames intensified, growing longer and bolder, eating up the kindling quickly.
“Yet it was he who kissed you? Not the other way round?”
“The first time we kissed, it was him.”
“It wasn’t just once, then?”
David looked over his shoulder. There was no real heat coming from the fire yet, but it was throwing off some light now. Together with the light from the candle, it sent a glow about the room that made Murdo, in his armchair, discernible, though only barely. David could make out the outline of that big, lounging body and the sprawl of those long, careless limbs. His face, though, remained shrouded in shadow.
“Three times,” he admitted, adding, “On the third occasion, we were discovered by my father.”
“Ah.”
That single syllable fairly thrummed with understanding.
David turned back to the fire, applying the bellows again. This time when he was done, it was burning merrily. He put the bellows aside and stood up.
“How about some whisky?” he said brightly, moving to the sideboard where he kept a decanter of the stuff. The need for some hard spirit was agitating him suddenly.
“What happened with your father after he found you with William?” Murdo asked, ignoring David’s question.
David sloshed an inch of the hard stuff into a glass. “It wasn’t so bad, considering what he saw. He didn’t disown me. Nothing like that.” He threw back the spirit he’d poured in one gulp and filled the glass again. “Are you sure you won’t join me?”
Again Murdo ignored him. “If he didn’t disown you, what happened?”
David shrugged. “Demanded an explanation. William—well, he put the blame on me. When I wouldn’t deny it, my father knocked me down.” He fingered his jaw, remembering that. The only time his father had ever struck him, and it had been the sort of punch a man throws at another man, fuelled by rage and insult, no holds barred. One minute David had been standing, pleading with the old man; the next he’d been on the ground, staring up at his gentle father in shock.
“Then he marched up to the big house, demanding to see William’s father,” David continued. “I don’t know what was said, but the next day William was sent away to Oxford. And that was all. It was never mentioned again.” He gulped down the second measure of whisky, and, as usual, the second nip felt twice as mellow as the first. Easier in every way. “The worst part was knowing how badly I’d let my father down.”
That wasn’t true. The worst part had been being betrayed by William.
Murdo was silent for a long time. “Come here,” he said at last.
The shadow that was Murdo opened his legs and beckoned David with a tilt of his chin. When David stepped into the space bet
ween his thighs, Murdo reached for him, his hands going to David’s hips and pulling him in closer.
The glow of the fire played across the planes of Murdo’s face. He wore an odd expression, a softness about his dark eyes as he watched David.
David stood there, waiting for the next question, or maybe another assessment of David’s character. No doubt this would be more grist to the mill of Murdo’s theory about David’s inability to enjoy the pleasures that Murdo so easily revelled in.
But when he spoke, all Murdo said was, “What do you want?”
“What? What do you mean?”
By way of answer, Murdo shifted, sitting up, leaning forward to place his hand on the crotch of David’s breeches, his fingers tracing the shape of David’s cock, shocking it into hardness. “Tell me what you want.”
“Me?”
Murdo gave a soft gust of laughter. “Yes, you. So far, I’ve always led and you’ve followed. Tonight, you decide.”
David balked. He’d never done such a thing. Never been the one to take the lead.
Except, no. There had been one time. That last day with William, behind the stables. He’d reached for William and had drawn him forward, bringing their mouths together. His heart had been so full, and it was like happiness and pain together. Almost unbearable. The sun had been warm on David’s bare head, and he’d had William’s lips on his, his strong, young body in David’s arms.
And then his father had come.
He wanted that again, that innocent happiness, untainted by the world’s disapproval. He wanted it, even knowing it was unobtainable.
“Kiss me,” he begged. The hoarseness of his own voice surprised him, the edge of emotion audible. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, sounding calmer when he added, “I want you to kiss me.”
Murdo stood, his body brushing against David’s as he rose. He was taller than William, broader, a man, not a youth. There wasn’t a bit of innocence or purity in him. He was sinful and cynical. Unapologetic. He cared nothing for the world. He just ate its fruits and roamed its wilds and didn’t need anyone. This kiss would be nothing like that long-ago one.
Murdo lowered his head, tilting David’s chin up with one finger. The odd expression from earlier was back, the one that made David feel raw. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t do anything about the heart that was pounding in his chest.
Murdo’s lips touched his own, feather-light, just a ghost of a kiss, while one hand drifted into David’s hair, cupping the back of his head. He gave a hum of pleasure and did it again, and again, slowly deepening the kiss. His lips, warm and pliable, made seductive little passes at David’s mouth until, at last, he took possession of it completely, pressing his tongue inside, one powerful arm tightening around David’s torso, drawing him in close.
David felt something inside him crack, the banked-up lust inside him flooding out. He wrapped his arms round the other man’s neck, opening his mouth and meeting Murdo’s tongue with his own, his breathing coming suddenly hard.
He was right. This kiss was nothing like that long-ago one. There was no fooling himself as to what this was. He and Murdo were not loving friends. They were not, and would never be, a David and Jonathan. Murdo wanted him. And every time they came together, it felt easier, more natural.
David tore his mouth away from Murdo’s, panting. “I want you to fuck me.”
The word—fuck—from his lips sounded harsh, brutal, but it was honest too. Finally, David giving voice to the deep-seated desire that had tormented him for so long.
Murdo went very still. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
The words were like cold water. David dropped his hands from Murdo’s shoulders, stepping back. Mortification scalded his cheeks.
“David...” Murdo reached for him again. “David—please. It’s not that I don’t want to. Christ, I want to so badly, it hurts. You must know that!”
“Must I?” He bit the words out, humiliated.
Murdo let out a huff of frustration, passing a hand over his face. “For once in my life—for once—I try to do the right thing—”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that fucking you, for the first time in your life, just after you’ve told me all about the love of your life, the man who let you down and betrayed you in front of your father, is not a good idea. I can’t—it doesn’t feel right.”
“Why?” David snapped. “I want it, Murdo. I do.”
“Because I don’t want to do it when you’re thinking about bloody William, all right? And I want the first time we do this...if there ever is a first time...to be...to be...” He broke off, seeming lost for words suddenly.
“What? Tell me.”
Murdo sighed. “Gentle.”
“Gentle?”
“Yes.” This was delivered through gritted teeth.
“Christ, Murdo, I’m not some virgin girl on her wedding night! I’m six-and-twenty, and I’ve sucked more cocks in back alleys than I care to remember. I don’t need gentle. Christ, I don’t deserve gentle.”
For a moment, Murdo just stared at him, and his dark gaze was furious. David had the sinking sense he’d said something terribly wrong. He braced himself for Murdo to explode with anger, but instead Murdo turned aside and drove his fist into the wall.
“Jesus Christ!” David yelled. “What the hell are you doing?” He rushed to Murdo’s side and grabbed his arm to examine his hand. Murdo’s hand shook, and all the knuckles were split and bleeding. He tore it out of David’s grip.
David looked at the wall. “You’ve cracked the plaster!”
“Sorry,” Murdo muttered. “I’ll have it fixed.”
“That’s not what I meant, I just meant—Christ, your hand, Murdo! What were you thinking? What did I say?” He loosened the knot of his own cravat and drew it off, gently wrapping it round Murdo’s knuckles.
“You said that you didn’t deserve me to be gentle with you.”
David looked up from securing the linen round Murdo’s injured hand. “But why—”
Murdo swallowed. “It brought back memories,” he said, and his gaze was bleak.
“Let’s sit down,” David murmured. He guided Murdo back to the armchair and pressed him into it, but when he went to take the chair on the other side of the fireplace, Murdo captured his hand and tugged at it.
“Sit here with me,” he said.
David paused. “How?”
“Here, on my lap.”
David gave an awkward laugh. “I’m not a woman—” he began.
“For Christ’s sake, David!” Murdo cried. “I know you’re not a woman! If I wasn’t aware of it already, I’d certainly know from how often you remind me! Can’t you just sit with me because I want you near me?” His voice carried despair and frustration, and David felt suddenly ashamed.
“Oh, all right,” he said reluctantly.
He lowered himself, somewhat awkwardly, till he was sitting on Murdo’s lap, his back against the other man’s chest. Behind him, Murdo let out a soft gust of laughter, his deep voice reverberating in his chest. Then he murmured, “Thank you,” in David’s ear, and his arms came around David’s chest, tugging him a little closer.
For a while, they stayed like that, David’s stiffness gradually leaving him till at last he lounged, relaxed, against the other man. The fire crackled merrily now, the flames mesmerising. Behind David, Murdo’s big body was warm and powerful, responsive. Hard, but with give in it too. Strangely comforting, which was surely wrong when David should be the one giving comfort. Shouldn’t he?
It was almost a shock when Murdo finally spoke.
“My first time was not gentle,” he began in a quiet voice. “I was—badly used. There were two of them, and they were rough with me. I was only nineteen.”
“Christ,” David whispered. “Murdo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.”
“I was stupid,” Murdo said, shaking his head. “And very naïve. I trusted someone I ought to have known better than to trust.�
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“You are not to blame for others’ brutality.”
“I know that. But I know too what it is to be taken, for the first time, in a way that is not gentle. To be used, like a thing. I do not want that for you.”
“It wouldn’t be like that between us.”
“I know. But it’s not just that. I want it to be perfect.”
“Perfect? What would be perfect?”
“You and me, both wanting it fully, both certain.”
“I am certain.”
“I’m not sure you are. It’s no accident you’re asking for this after telling me about William and your father. You were upset—”
“I’m fine,” David interrupted.
“Yes, I could see that by the way you poured yourself half a gallon of whisky and drank it down like you were dying of thirst.”
David closed his eyes, suddenly aware of the taste of the spirit in his mouth. He was glad Murdo sat behind him, unable to see his face. “I do want you, though,” he whispered.
“Do you?”
“God, yes. I ache.” Inside him, a chasm of wanting yawned, both physical and not.
Murdo’s uninjured hand had been resting on David’s chest, but now he began to move it slowly downwards, stopping only when he reached the placket of David’s breeches. He stroked David’s shaft through the fabric in an unhurried way, tracing the shape of it with his fingers and bringing it quickly back to full hardness. David gave a soft moan and bucked his hips up into the air, needing more.
“Take it out for me,” Murdo breathed in his ear. “I want to see it.”
David obeyed, fiddling with the buttons until his breeches were open, drawing his cock out of his smallclothes. He was almost painfully hard now, his shaft ruddy in the firelight.
“Hmmm,” Murdo murmured, approval in the low sound. “Now let me see how you pleasure yourself when you’re alone.”
David leaned back a bit more, letting his head drop into the space between Murdo’s neck and shoulder. He took his cock in hand and began to stroke up and down in the familiar rhythm he used on himself.
“God in heaven, you’re gorgeous,” Murdo said after a while, his voice rough. “I want to see more of you.”
He deftly unbuttoned David’s waistcoat and peeled the garment from his shoulders, then grabbed handfuls of his shirt and hauled it up and over David’s head, tossing it aside to join the waistcoat on the floor.
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