Jim stirred in his sleep, and Lionel went back to happier imagining. Robert had described the bullwhip and the paddle, both things Lionel knew Robert liked to wield, but they had never appealed to him. He wondered if Jim was aroused by either. Perhaps he could learn to like them if Jim wanted them. Robert would certainly teach him. Not that it would ever get to that. Really, he should not be thinking such things ever, certainly not with the man seated directly across from him. But his mind drifted to the other things Robert had described. Lionel had no trouble imagining Jim stretched out on the bed, his hands tied to the headboard, his feet to the posts, every inch of slim, strong, beautiful flesh spread out before him, waiting to be touched. Lionel wondered what it would feel like to run his hands along Jim’s limbs, the soft skin of his inner thighs, the hard planes of his chest. What it would taste like to run his tongue along those same places, to suck on his nipples, to take Jim’s cock into his mouth and lick and suck until the man came, all the while watching him helpless and bound beneath him.
Lionel shifted in his seat and pulled the blanket so it draped more loosely over him. He had to be more careful. What if Jim had been awake and seen him looking at him like that? He might mistake it for plain lust, for a man wanting him to ply his former trade here in the coach. He might think Lionel saw him as nothing more than a prostitute, someone to be paid to fill a need. It would mean the end of the easy friendship between them. Lionel was certain of that. He shifted again and tried to fall asleep, which was very difficult with the object of his fantasies so close.
Jim woke to find his bed rocking. For a moment, he tried to figure out what new game Dixon had come up with, then he remembered that was over, and he wasn’t at Lord Dixon’s. He was in a travel coach hired and paid for by the very handsome Sir Lionel Westin. Jim opened his eyes and looked at his companion. Sir Lionel was sprawled on the seat across from him, asleep under the other travel rug, with a bit of hair falling over his face, his lips parted, snoring softly. There was something endearing about watching him sleep like that, vulnerable and clearly not at his best. For all the men he’d gone to bed with, Jim had never been beside someone when they slept, not like this. He didn’t think the times he’d shared a bed with four or five others in the small garrets he’d sometimes inhabited counted.
It had been a shock when Lionel had come looking for him at the inn even after Lionel knew he’d been a whore. He would never have thought a man of such obvious good breeding would have understood why someone like him might do something like that. Of course, Lionel was no doubt only imagining the sort of high-class places he’d visit, places like Madame Rosamond’s, where everyone and everything was clean and business was transacted in private rooms with money handled discreetly and professionally, not the sort of back-room back-alley places he’d spent most of his nights, and certainly not Lord Dixon’s, where he’d spent two years as little more than a warm place for Dixon and his household to stick their cocks. No, Lionel wouldn’t understand that at all.
But Jim couldn’t regret it either. That time with Dixon was why he was able to be on his way to Lincoln-on-Marsh and why he’d be able to buy a cottage when he got there. And even without that in his past, there was no way someone like Sir Lionel Westin, a successful businessman from a fine, old family, would ever be interested in Jim Smith, poor until very recently, whose real family name had been lost somewhere along the way. No, this was the best he could hope for—a few days’ journey in Sir Lionel’s company and a hopefully friendly parting at their destination. Unless Lionel was hoping he’d offer to repay him for the journey with a turn in bed. Not that he’d mind that, not with someone as handsome as Lionel. He’d even thought of offering earlier, when they’d been getting into the carriage, but Lionel had been treating him as a friend, and even though he knew friendship between them was impossible, he’d wanted to allow himself to enjoy the illusion a while longer.
The carriage bumped over a particularly rough bit of road, and Lionel made a small sound as his sprained shoulder hit the back of the seat. Jim leaned forward in case there was something he could do to help, but Lionel seemed to fall back asleep. Jim kept watching, but Lionel’s breathing became slow and deep again, so he must not have suffered any new injury. Jim felt very protective of his new friend. He was such a sweet man and a good listener. Somewhat put upon, trying to prove himself, but he didn’t know to whom. Jim had seen that sort at Madame Rosamond’s often. Usually second sons, trying to find their place behind an older brother who was given every advantage. They would either want someone to dominate, who they could lord over as they had been lorded over, or someone to listen to them and stroke their pride a bit, tell them they were worth at least as much as the dolt who was inheriting. Jim was quite good at both.
Lionel was more the listening sort, although he had managed to build a profitable business for himself out of his family’s leavings; surely he was proud of that. And he still felt responsible for his brother’s foolishness—and everyone else’s, it seemed, as he was rushing home to a place Jim had the impression he’d bought recently, to fill in as magistrate, a position with great responsibility but no money, in a place where he probably didn’t have many connections yet, but still, he felt responsible. Jim leaned back in his seat and watched Lionel’s chest rise and fall with his steady breaths. He couldn’t do anything to help shoulder the responsibilities Lionel seemed to feel were his alone, but perhaps he could do something to ease them while they were together. Whether or not it meant joining him in his bed.
Chapter 5
***
LIONEL WOKE UP AS HE FELT THE CARRIAGE SLOW. He glanced out the window and saw they had stopped by another posting inn. The driver came around to open the door for them. “Just changing the horses here, sir, but you can get out and stretch your legs. And I do need you to decide what we’re to do for the night. I can find someone at the next stop to ride with me if you wish to continue through the night, or we can head for whichever inn you prefer.”
Lionel thought quickly. His excuse for taking the private conveyance had been to make up time and get him home to take up his duties as magistrate, but if they drove through the night, they would spend so much of their time together sleeping, and they’d already wasted a whole afternoon in just that way, and he had hoped to talk to Jim, perhaps find a way to continue their budding friendship once the journey was over. Lionel turned to Jim to get his opinion.
Jim shrugged. “It’s your coin; you ought to decide.”
Lionel nodded, as there didn’t seem to be an answer to that and made to climb out of the carriage. As he moved his left arm to grab the door, he twisted his shoulder in what should have been a perfectly natural movement and winced at the pain. It made for a perfect excuse. “I don’t think my shoulder will appreciate a night sleeping in the carriage. Are you familiar with the Green Stag?”
“I am, sir.”
“Excellent. Bring us there for the night. Naturally, I will cover your expenses.”
“I’ll get the new horses set, and we’ll be on our way,” the driver said cheerfully.
And he should be cheerful, Lionel thought. The Green Stag was off the main road, but it made up for the inconvenience with better food and better beds than anything around it, if you were willing to pay their prices. Lionel had the money to enjoy it. But Jim was most likely another matter. When the driver was distracted by the horses, Lionel murmured, “Of course, I’ll cover your expenses as well.”
“It isn’t necessary.” But Lionel could tell from Jim’s tone he was thinking hard, probably about how to stretch his money to pay.
“Nonsense. If it weren’t for this blasted shoulder, we could travel through the night and save the expense. There’s no reason you should pay for my injury.”
“If you’re certain...”
“It’s settled then.” Lionel climbed down out of the carriage more carefully. “Now, I know this inn. It’s a good place to stretch your legs, and if you’d like some tea, it should be fine, but
I wouldn’t trust the food.”
“But the Green Stag is better?” Some of Jim’s humor was back in his voice as he climbed out of the carriage and stretched his arms above his head.
Lionel nodded.
“Then I’ll wait until I have a fine gentleman treating me there.”
Lionel wasn’t quite certain how to take that. Was it meant as a joke, or did Jim see him as a client? He thought it was a joke. Jim had been joking quite a bit on the trip. But what if... He started walking around the yard.
He felt more than heard Jim following him. When they were far enough away from the inn where they wouldn’t be overheard, Jim spoke softly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I think I said I’m not used to having a friend.”
So Jim did consider him a friend. That made Lionel grin rather foolishly, he was certain, and he certainly didn’t want Jim to see that. He kept his attention firmly on the path in front of him.
Jim kept talking as he walked. “I mean, I know my past is not what you’re used to in travel companions. Thank you for being so understanding.”
Lionel tried to drag his mind back to the present, but it was already too late to understand that comment, and all he could manage was a rather abrupt, “What?”
“Most men, titled or not, wouldn’t be nearly so gracious about my inclinations or my profession.”
Lionel fumbled for some polite, self-deprecating reply, but he saw the sincerity in Jim’s face, and politeness didn’t seem to be enough. “I can hardly fault you for something I share, and as to your profession, I assume you had your reasons.”
“I suppose they were reasons.”
Lionel had the impression that Jim was harder on himself for his choices than anyone. “If you were so unhappy in your...profession, why did you do it? I’m not criticizing,” Lionel added quickly when he saw Jim’s expression. “I just want to understand.” Understand you, but he didn’t add that.
Jim sighed. “I’m not like you. My family had no money and lots of children. We scattered to the winds when my parents died. I had ten shillings to my name when I left. I tried to find farm work. I’m actually very good with plants. And I was able to when there was a harvest or planting season and more jobs than men. But I’m a small man. If there are ten men vying for one place on a farm, they’ll always choose the bigger, stronger ones, even though I was willing to work as hard, harder if I had to. The same at the docks—they’d only hire me if there was no one else. By the time I tried the taverns, the only ones that would hire someone as ragged as me were filled with men who were looking for more than drinks. It was ridiculous to stay there and give them my body for a few coins when I could make triple that at a real brothel. So that’s what I did.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t terrible work. And it turns out I’m good at it, at giving men what they want.”
Lionel struggled to come up with an answer to that, at least one that didn’t sound condescending or as if he’d like to be one of the clients, although he certainly would have—not a client, though. “I’m sorry about your family.” Of all the ridiculous things to start with. “But I can understand having bad choices and having to make the best of it. I admire you for finding a way out.”
Jim made a strange sort of snort. “Maybe you wouldn’t if you knew how.”
Lionel doubted Jim would tell him that story, although he would have liked to have heard it if only to set Jim’s mind at ease. He did his best without. “Then I will continue to admire you, and be glad that you were in the mail coach. This would have been a most boring trip without your company.”
That got a bit of a smile from Jim. “I could say the same.”
That seemed the best Lionel would get for the moment. “Come on, then. Let’s see if the driver is ready to continue.”
“Eager to get on to the Green Stag, hmm?”
Lionel wanted to say he was eager to get back to their easy conversation in the carriage, but he wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding maudlin, so he joked, “You’ll see when you’ve had dinner there.”
Jim grinned back. “You do seem fond of inns named after deer. Will we be stopping at the Grey Fawn or the Red Doe?”
Lionel was relieved that Jim seemed to be easy with him again. “I haven’t tried either of those yet, but if we pass them...”
--*--
The room at the Green Stag was better than anything Jim could have anticipated. Lionel had insisted on getting him his own room by simply ordering it when they arrived at the same time as he secured a room over the stables for their driver. There was no pause for Jim to insist he was perfectly happy in the stables or in front of the fire in the common room. And as Lionel had started for the dining room before he could suggest it, then asked Jim what he was in the mood to eat as soon as they sat down, he was left with no chance to protest. From the small smile on Lionel’s face, Jim was certain he’d known what he was doing.
And the meal hadn’t disappointed, good roast beef with vegetables and fresh bread with butter melting over it, and the excellent company. That was why he was so reluctant to let Lionel pay. He was quite used to men paying for his time and company and everything that came after, giving him money or even gifts. He’d been a whore for almost eleven years—it was old hat by now. And he’d even liked some of the men, particularly at Rosamond’s, where she kept an eye on who was allowed in. Even old Brisban had been nice in a sad, drunken sort of way. But none of them were like Lionel. Lionel didn’t mind when he let his practiced patter fall, and said what was on his mind—in fact, he seemed to like it better. Which was a relief, as Jim was out of practice. He hadn’t had to use the charm he’d worked to perfect at Dixon’s, where he’d been expected to stay silent or react to whatever Dixon threw at him, not make conversation. Lionel seemed to like his conversation, even the odd, unrehearsed bits, which made spending time with him more enjoyable than anything Jim had done in a long while.
And that was why he was reluctant to take anything from Lionel; he didn’t want his new friend—was it all right to call Sir Lionel Westin his friend?—to think he was coming along for the chance at a free carriage ride and a nice room at a comfortable inn. And he wondered if Lionel suspected some of that. In any case, he didn’t give Jim a chance to object when they were shown to their rooms either, merely handed him a key and followed the host upstairs without a word.
The room Jim had been shown to was small, but the bed was soft, and someone had brought hot water for washing almost as soon as they’d been shown up. And Lionel was just across the hall. Jim couldn’t help thinking that. Probably undressing, just as Jim was about to. He could imagine Lionel there, in that fine linen shirt and nothing else, the cloth just barely long enough to be decent as he answered the door. Jim doubted Lionel had ever had to pay for his pleasure, so he might be surprised to see Jim there, might protest a little, but as Jim had told him, he was very good at giving men that they wanted. So what would Lionel want?
Nothing too exotic, Jim decided, not yet, anyway. He couldn’t quite see Lionel wielding a flogger. Besides, there was very little to work with in the small rooms of the perfectly respectable Green Stag. No, he would push Lionel back into the room and drop to his knees before the man could protest. He’d raise the hem of Lionel’s shirt just enough to gain access to the magnificent cock beneath. Jim was certain it would be magnificent. Just like the rest of him. He’d seen the way Lionel’s worn-in buckskin breeches clung to his lower half as he’d climbed in and out of the carriage. That gave Jim another idea. He’d save the cock and instead run his tongue along Lionel’s balls, along the sensitive spot behind them, then crawl around and run his tongue along the valley of the beautiful arse he’d admired downstairs.
Lionel wouldn’t be used to such attentions. He would protest at the intimacy in a way he hadn’t to Jim’s lips around his cock, but he would be breathless too, desire building as Jim kept sliding his tongue along, maybe a detour to feel the firm muscles there. And then he would slide his tongue into Lio
nel’s hole and feel the man gasp with pleasure at the intrusion. He would keep at it, rolling his tongue so he could press further inside, until neither one of them could stand it anymore. Then he would crawl around and take Lionel’s cock in his mouth and draw every bit of pleasure he could, until Lionel was shaking and sated.
Jim leaned against the bedpost and loosened the fall of his trousers. Dream Lionel was still wearing his shirt, now rucked up and sticking to his chest with sweat. Jim would rise from his knees, sliding his hands underneath the fine linen to feel the smooth skin of Lionel’s chest. Or would there be hair? Jim wasn’t sure which he’d prefer. Either way, he’d slide his hands along the firm chest, sliding the fabric up with it, pausing to get the sling out of the way.
The sling. Jim stopped thinking of his fantasy Lionel and started imagining the real one. Lionel’s shoulder was sprained, and clearly, moving it too much left him in pain. Probably the only thing the man wanted tonight was some relief from his injury. Jim pushed away from the bedpost and did up his trousers. Thinking of Lionel in actual pain killed the mood entirely. But it did give him a reason to cross the hall and knock on Lionel’s door.
Lionel answered the door quickly, but unlike Jim’s imaginings, he was fully clothed except for his cravat. When he saw Jim, he looked concerned. “Is the room all right?”
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