Winter's Bees

by E. E. Ottoman

  The servants came bearing the main course, and Marcel reached for his own wine. He thought of the plan he'd come up with in the carriage. Although every fiber of him screamed at the idea of Gilbert being in someone else's arms, it was still the best plan he had. With a new love, Gilbert would not have so much time or inclination to brood over the mistakes Marcel had made.

  "We should hold a party."

  Across the table, Gilbert did not try to hide his grimace.

  "Oh, come now," Marcel said. "A housewarming, now that we are settled in."

  "Must we? Did we not just have a ball to celebrate our marriage vows?"

  Despite himself, Marcel couldn't help but laugh at the look of dread on Gilbert's face. "Just a small party," he cajoled. "I will handpick the guest list myself. Who knows, you might enjoy it."

  Gilbert let out a disbelieving snort.

  Marcel propped his chin on one hand and considered Gilbert. "If I threw a party here, would you attend?"

  Gilbert seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. "I suppose, if you feel you must, I would attend. For you."

  "Thank you." Marcel lifted his wine glass to his lips. Normally he would have tucked such a statement away to replay during private moments and pretend Gilbert had meant something more by it. Right now, he was simply glad Gilbert would speak to him in friendship and that he would have a chance to put his plan into effect.

  "When you first returned, you spoke of having moved a good deal forward on your research," Gilbert said, sounding almost tentative now, and Marcel shook himself from his thought.

  "Yes, indeed."

  "I would love to see the progress you've made." Gilbert ducked his head, his cheeks coloring as if he'd asked something improper, and Marcel nodded.

  "Certainly, tomorrow, perhaps once I have my things settled." He gave Gilbert what he hoped was a teasing smile. "You know how I love to speak of my search, at length."

  "And I always enjoy hearing it." Gilbert looked away, seeming ill at ease again, though Marcel could not imagine why. Their conversation was truly harmless enough, or perhaps Gilbert was still not as comfortable as they both might wish in Marcel's company. Even thinking that made Marcel's chest ache.

  He wished desperately that he could take back the kiss. Yet he knew also knew that if he truly had the chance to go back and do it over, he probably would not be able to stop himself from kissing Gilbert. As selfish as that made him.

  When they were finished with dinner, Marcel poured himself more wine and stood, taking the glass with him. "Would you like to retire to the library?" he asked, giving Gilbert a small smile. "You could even show me were the library is."

  "I thought you might want to retire early," Gilbert said. "You seemed so tired when you arrived, but if you feel up to it, yes, certainly."

  "I found the bath I took before dinner refreshing." On impulse, Marcel offered Gilbert his arm. A jolt went through him when Gilbert first took the wine glass from Marcel's grip and then linked his arm with Marcel's proffered one.

  "This way," Gilbert murmured, eyes averted and cheeks a little pink. Marcel bit his lip hard to keep himself from doing or saying anything he should not.

  God, was this how it would be now that they were married? Gilbert, such a constant lovely temptation, and Marcel unable to do anything about it?

  He prayed not. Maybe once Gilbert was well settled with a lover of his own, Marcel's own passion would fade. Maybe he would look Julian up again and resume their arrangement, or find someone new. He doubted he would ever love anyone else the way he loved Gilbert, but it would be good to have someone with whom he could share affection and intimacy. Once Gilbert was settled, he could think of himself.

  The library was as large as Marcel had imagined it would be. Every wall was lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling and every shelf filled with books. Gilbert had taken the liberty of bringing not just his own collection but also Marcel's to the house. There was also a fireplace, already laid with a fire, and two large armchairs before it with a small table to hold books or a drink next to each chair.

  Gilbert let go of Marcel's arm and set the glass of wine he'd been carrying on one of the tables. Marcel circled the room, inspecting the shelves and touching the spine of a book here and there.

  "Does it meet with your approval?" Gilbert asked, and Marcel turned to find Gilbert watching him and looking once more truly anxious, as if he were afraid Marcel would find fault.

  "It does." Marcel smiled and moved across the room to stand beside Gilbert at the fireplace. They both sat in the armchairs facing the fire, and Marcel set his cane aside and reached for his glass. "Do you have everything settled in here, your collection and such?"

  "I do." Gilbert fidgeted with the edge of his jacket for a moment, gaze fixed on the fire. "When I first came, I thought I would not enjoy living here, you know. My main residence hasn't been anywhere other than the palace since I was a small child. I thought being out here would feel like some kind of banishment, but I like it here. The house is large, as are the gardens, and there are forests and the lake. I thought it would feel overwhelming; instead I find it gives me just enough space to do anything I please as far as my research is concerned. I like being away from the city and the palace. I like the quiet of it."

  Unbidden, the image of Gilbert in a walking suit and straw hat ambling through the forests and fields, trapping or sketching insects as he encountered them, or working in his botanical gardens came to Marcel's mind. He smiled at that thought, imagining himself spending his days pondering chalkboards of equations before coming down to dinner to find Gilbert windswept, sun-kissed, but most of all happy.

  He wanted that life more than anything, more than the social life he'd built for himself in the capital, more than any chance to teach at the new college of science and technology. He would do anything to make the image of a quiet life of study and companionship a reality.

  "I'm glad you feel you could be happy here." He took a sip of wine to fortify himself. "Although you know you are free to return to the city any time you choose."

  "I know," Gilbert said, seeming genuine. "And I most likely will from time to time, but I too am glad I can return here without any regrets."

  Marcel swallowed thickly. "I would like the same."

  They stared at each other from across the small space that separated their chairs.

  "Marcel," Gilbert said after a long moment. "I do not blame you, you know, nor do I harbor any sort of ill will against you, either for our marriage or for your regard."

  The fingers of Marcel's good hand tightened into a fist. "I should not have forced a kiss on you as I did."

  Gilbert made a soft noise. When Marcel looked at him, he was gazing at the fire, once more seeming troubled, which only made Marcel's own stomach twist worse.

  He took a breath. "That I did, in a moment of weakness, force you into such an act is something that I should forever regret."

  "Come now, you shouldn't … shouldn't think that way." Gilbert raised his chin, looking determined now. "I have quite forgotten it."

  Which was so blatantly a lie that under different circumstances Marcel would have laughed and teased him about it. Now he only forced a smile that felt quite wooden on his face and he was sure looked even worse.

  "Perhaps," he said, reaching for his cane and pushing himself up, "I should retire early after all."

  Gilbert gave him a long worried look. "If you're sure …"

  Marcel forced another smile. "It's been a long, taxing day."

  "Well, I hope you sleep well, then." Gilbert gave him a small, tentative smile of his own, and Marcel fled before he could do or say anything unwise again.

  *~*~*

  He was in the library, lying on the hearthrug and being rather thoroughly kissed. Fingers tangled in his hair as a hot mouth pressed against his, tongue probing deep. The heavy weight of another body settled on top of his, legs entwining with his own.

  Gilbert groaned, already achingly hard. He push
ed himself against the larger man on top of him, rubbing his erection against the man's hip. The man above him let out a small growl of pleasure, lips trailing down to Gilbert's throat, loosening and casting aside his cravat as he want. He bit hard at Gilbert's throat, making him gasp aloud, and Gilbert tried to reach up, to touch the other man in return. His hands were forced away, held tight but not painfully by one of the other man's hands, and pinned against the carpet above his head. He forced Gilbert's legs apart with his knees. For a moment, he felt eyes on him, roving across his body, and then his hands were freed and the man flipped him over, pushing his face down, leaving his backside up. The hands unfastened his breeches and pushed them down, leaving him fully exposed.

  Heat burned through Gilbert like a fever. In his deepest, darkest fantasies, he imagined himself being manhandled and taken roughly. He'd never experienced it, though, mostly didn't even let himself fantasize about it when he pleasured himself alone at night. Maybe if he and Tristian had remained together… But in his heart of hearts he knew he would never have trusted Tristian enough with this.

  Whomever the man who knelt behind him was, he trusted him.

  Slick fingers probed at his tight hole, stroking and pressing until he could barely stand that fire that burned through him.

  "Please." Gilbert clawed blindly at the rug under his hands. "Please. Oh God, Marcel—"

  He sat bolted upright in bed and swore, violently, for several moments. Between his thighs, his cock ached and throbbed in time with his heart, the head already slick with his own preseed. His tight shirt was tangled around his belly, sweat across his back and chest made his skin feel clammy all over, and his bed covers were in disarray.

  Gilbert flopped back down onto his pillows and tried to will away his arousal.

  It had happened again.

  Again.

  He thumped the pillow next to his head hard and screwed his eyes shut. He'd hoped actually seeing Marcel would knock some sense into him, but if anything it seemed to have only enflamed his nightly passions further. Gilbert took several deep breaths and then let his hands slide down under the blankets. He grasped himself, stroking slowly, not thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying the feel of his hands on his cock. It didn't take long for his passion to crest, and Gilbert pressed his face into his pillows as his body shook through his release.

  After a moment of relaxing in a blissful haze, Gilbert sighed and rolled out of bed.

  Marcel was not at breakfast. Gilbert dined alone and ordered a tray be brought up to him.

  He still had not finalized his plans for the botanical gardens. So he took tea and his papers into the library and spread them out to begin going over layouts for beds and lists of available seeds.

  This first year, the gardens would be simple. He did not have the time to have more exotic seeds procured and shipped to him. Only native plants would be available, but that was fine. It would be a lovely garden and a great deal of use. There were many native flower types, the kind usually overlooked by gardeners, which attracted bees, butterflies, moths, dragonflies, and a variety of other insects.

  Speaking of bees, he should begin planning for the transfer of his hives and perhaps plan for enlarging his swarm. He had enough room here that he could probably maintain a large one. Just thinking about it made him smile in anticipation. He had never understood why butterflies were the insect chosen to represent the finer things—love, beauty, the artistic or romantic spirit—not when bees were so much more lovely and complex.

  It made him think of the summer when they'd been fifteen or sixteen. Nearly a man, he'd thought at the time, although looking back he was nothing of the sort. It would still be almost five years before he came of age and almost a full decade before anyone would kiss him or make love to him.

  They'd been in the garden, of course. Gilbert had been rambling on about plants and which attracted what insects while Marcel relaxed on a bench underneath one of the flowering fruit trees.

  The weather was hot, but not unbearably so, the air full of the scent of flowering plants and fresh earth. Gilbert's knees had dirt on them from where he'd been crawling amongst the flowers in the beds, and Marcel had taken off his jacket so he was only in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

  Halfway through his lecture on the use of wide flowers in attracting winged insects, Gilbert realized Marcel had gone still and rigid where he sat, eyes wide.

  "Marcel? Are you all right?" Gilbert turned and looked at him more closely.

  "There is a bee on me," Marcel said, voice low and controlled but still with a note of real panic underneath.

  "You know it won't hurt you unless it feels it must." Gilbert peered at him and could make out the bee after a moment, small, fat, and yellow, crawling along side of Marcel's neck right above his collar. "I've told you about bees, their anatomy and habits, many times."

  "I know." Marcel's grip on the handle of his cane had gone white-knuckled. "But I've never been stung by a bee before, Berti, and I had an aunt, Papa told me about her, who died from being stung by a bee. I could die if it stung me."

  "It's very rare for people to die that way," Gilbert said, trying to reassure him. "No, don't!"

  Marcel's hand spasmed as if to come up and hit the tiny creature, and Gilbert leapt at it.

  "It will almost certainly sting you if you try to crush it. Let me. I can remove it without anyone getting hurt."

  At least he hoped he could; he had only just started to work with the royal beekeeper, learning to care for and handle the hives. Already he'd been stung more times than he could count, although he knew it was from his own carelessness and inexperience, not the fault of the bees. What if Marcel really did die, though?

  He walked over to where Marcel sat and leaned over. Marcel was shaking ever so slightly, his eyes still wide with fear, which Gilbert had really never seen before. Gilbert was the one who fretted and worried about everything, while Marcel was never afraid.

  This close, he could see how long and delicate Marcel's lashes were, and the way his pulse fluttered under the fragile skin of his throat. His hair fell in waves across one shoulder. It smelled good, and looked warmed by the sun.

  The bee continued its slow, steady climb up Marcel's throat towards his jaw, and Gilbert reached out, ever so carefully, encouraging the bee to climb onto his own hand instead.

  After a gentle nudge, it did so, and Gilbert turned, holding it out towards the sunlit garden, and waited until it spread its wings and took to the air.

  He turned back, smiling with triumph, and sank onto the seat next to Marcel. "There." He reached out, putting his hand on Marcel's shoulder. The angle was a little strange since Marcel was taller than he was, even sitting down, but he gave Marcel's shoulder what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze anyway.

  Marcel turned towards him, his breath caught, and he leaned into Gilbert a little. "Thank you."

  "It was nothing." Gilbert squirmed, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden under Marcel's intense gaze. "You shouldn't be so nervous of bees, you know, they won't hurt you intentionally. Just stay calm and they should leave on their own. But if you're afraid, I would understand you avoiding them, and if you need to I can … you know," he waved one hand, "help you with your bee problem again."

  Marcel's lips quirked up into an amused smile at that, which went a long way to make Gilbert feel much more relaxed. Marcel smiling and amused was something he was used to, something he might have been taking for granted.

  "I'll keep that in mind," Marcel said.

  "They remind me of you, actually," Gilbert blurted, blushing when Marcel looked at him strangely.

  "Really? Why?"

  Because they make me happy. When I'm around them, working with them, learning how to care for them, they make me feel safe, and like I'm worth something beyond just being the youngest prince. They don't judge me or want me to be anything I'm not, and they are beautiful and complex and brilliant in their own way.

  He could feel himself blush
even more deeply and looked away. "I don't know," he mumbled. "They just do."

  Marcel laughed then and put his wooden arm around Gilbert's shoulders. His movements were a little stiff and clumsy, but he still managed to pull Gilbert into a hug.

  "Oh, Berti," he said, voice slightly muffled against the top of Gilbert's head. "What will I do with you?"

  Don't leave me, Gilbert thought desperately, although he couldn't think of a reason to say the words out loud. You are the best friend I have, never leave me.

  Someone knocked on the door, startling Gilbert out of his thought, and then the door opened and Marcel stepped in.

  "I'm sorry I am interrupting." Marcel's gaze went to the papers spread out across the floor. Gilbert became aware that he was seated with crossed legs, surrounded by his work, a very cold cup of tea by his knee, on the hearthrug. Feeling his cheeks flame scarlet, Gilbert scrambled to his feet, and Marcel gave him a quizzical look.

  "Not at all." Gilbert dusted himself off. "Are you more rested? I was afraid you'd taken ill when you did not join me for breakfast."

  "I am more rested, thank you." Marcel inclined his head a fraction. One dark curl had escaped the ribbon Marcel had tied his hair back with, and it brushed across his face, making Gilbert want to reach out and touch. "I'm sorry for not joining you, but I wanted to put my study in order and forgot entirely to pause to eat once I had begun."

  Gilbert nodded in understanding. That was one of the things they had always had in common, he and Marcel, their dedication to scholarship. Even if what they studied was very different.

  "Would you like to come up and see?" Marcel asked. "You said you wanted to see the progress I'd made."

  "Oh, yes, please." Gilbert did not try to hide his eagerness. He followed after Marcel back into the hall and up the steps to the second floor. The maids had been in and set the sitting room up nicely with a fire in the hearth.