An Improper Holiday (10 page)
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Authors: K.A. Mitchell
“Snip! Snap! Dragon!”
Many players ceased to find it worth a longer exposure to the flames to seek any remaining treats. Ian took another turn. If pressed, he could claim he did not want Charlotte spending time as Lewes’ consort, no matter how playful the circumstances; but he could not hide the true reason from himself. Ian could not bear the idea of Nicky at Lewes’ beck and call, couldn’t bear to see that arrogant bastard win.
Ian’s fingers were tingling from near burns, bristling under the skin as if he were touching nettles.
Lewes and Lord Anthony also refused to miss a try at the bowl.
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“Do be careful, Stanton,” Lewes remarked while biting down on another almond. “You know you’ve
just the one hand left.”
“Yes, Stanton. It’s hardly sporting of you to keep Lady Charlotte’s company all to yourself. You are
her brother after all,” Lord Anthony added.
Holding his back teeth together so tightly they ached, Ian ignored the idiots and plucked out a dried
cherry, blowing on his fingers with burning lips as if such action could salve the sting.
“For God’s sake.” Nicky plunged his hand through the flames, rooting about for the space of a full
heartbeat, during which Ian envisioned Nicky’s sleeve afire, the blue tongues leaping up to his curls.
Nicky safely pulled out a handful of burning fruit and closed his fingers around them to smother the
flames licking across his palm. He opened his hand again to show the golden raisin.
“All hail His Majesty, the King of Misrule.”
Though Ian lent his voice to the acclaim, he felt far from cheered. He should have known relief that
Charlotte would not be paired with such as Lewes, that she was safe from even Lord Anthony who might
be inspired by the merriment to take liberties. Instead, he felt as ill as if the fruit he had ingested had been charred rather than sweetened by the brandy.
He should not have been surprised by losing, and at Nicky’s intervention. How could Ian ever hope to
be recognized as even as much a man as Lewes when other men were what he was not? Whole.
The sconces were once again lit, gifting Ian with the sight of Nicky sucking the sweet taste of brandy and fruit from his fingers.
Ian turned and grabbed one of the steaming towels a footman was circulating among the guests. As
soon as he had wiped his hands, he found himself face to face with Nicky who took the towel, though after such a lewdly thorough tongue washing, Ian could not imagine why he needed it.
“Better now?” Nicky asked.
“Why? Because you were forced to rescue Charlotte from that man you call friend when I could not?”
“Think of her position, Ian. If you wish to get her married—only not to me—she can hardly show her
light if you keep it veiled.”
“But why you?”
“How dog-in-the-manger you are. Not Julian, not me. What was wrong with Tony? Is there a man
here who could meet your ridiculous standards?”
It was fortunate Nicky had taken the towel or Ian might have flung it in his face like a gauntlet.
“There is nothing wrong with seeking the best in oneself—or others.”
“Maybe. But for we lowly mortals here, it’s bloody exhausting to keep taking a fence that does
nothing but grow higher with each try.”
With that, Nicky quit his company, drawing Charlotte aside for a private conference. After a few
moments, Nicky’s laugh remained anything but whispered as it rang to the rafters.
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“Your gracious rulers have declared a pleasant occupation for the morrow,” Nicky said. “We will
have a procession around the castle in a sleigh.”
There was a murmur of approval.
“The sleigh to be drawn by our devoted subjects,” Charlotte added.
“What? You would use us as horses?” Lord Anthony demanded.
“But of course.” Charlotte favored him with a smile. “How better to serve us?”
Further refreshments were furnished for the guests, but as soon as the New Year had been dutifully
sung and toasted in, Ian made for bed.
When the hair on the back of his neck prickled pleasantly, Ian knew who followed at his heels.
“Your king has a special request of you, Mr. Stanton.”
“I am fatigued, Nicky. Perhaps tomorrow.” Ian turned to face him. “And I promised your father I’d
first foot.”
Nicky’s face held all the disappointment of a schoolboy seeing his favorite treat snatched away in the last instant. If there was a man who could turn a cold heart to such an expression, he was not Ian Stanton.
Ian bowed. “Very well, Your Majesty. What is it you desire of me?”
Nicky’s grin was alarming.
~ * ~
Of course the royal request began with subject and king naked in bed. Ian’s again.
“And now?” Ian might be unable to master a simple child’s game, but at least he knew he could still
offer pleasure to the man straddling his hips. Ian reached out and grasped Nicky’s shaft, stroking him, lavishing the attention of his thumb on the slick head as the foreskin retracted.
“Your king desires you to lie there while he takes his pleasure.”
“Oh, he does? And does his gracious majesty no longer enjoy this?” Ian favored Nicky with a faster
stroke, a twist that brought a soft grunt before—
“Wait.”
Ian stopped and Nicky swung off, moving to the edge of the bed and leaning down, arse up. The lump
in Ian’s throat weighed two stones as he swallowed it down. Why could he not control this desire? His
fingers longed to trace the curving flesh, to seek out the entrance to Nicky’s body, to find again the hot embrace of that channel. But he had made the limits clear. And for good reasons. No matter how
pleasurable Nicky’s finger had felt, there was a world of difference between finger and prick, even in the most modest of men. His reading had suggested even the Greeks disdained the practice as it turned the very idea of masculinity on its…well, on its arse. He would not ask that of either of them. Pain, history and the law all bespoke the risks.
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Nicky’s face returned to view, somewhat reddened from his previous position. “Here.” He held a
pretty little vial such as might be found on a lady’s dressing table.
“What is it?”
Nicky removed the stopper and handed it off. “Oil.”
This time the odor of lavender was overpowering.
“Perfumed oil,” Nicky admitted a little sheepishly. “I pinched it from Anna’s room. It was either
lavender or roses, and I thought you would prefer the lavender.”
“For what?”
Nicky put a generous drop or two on his fingers and then coated Ian’s prick. “This.” Nicky’s hand
glided, the warm and slick strokes positively maddening. “’Tis far better than spit alone.”
Ian could scarcely gasp. The only thing akin was Nicky’s mouth, his throat, hot and wet, but this was
tighter, harder, a knowing, familiar grip.
“Trust your king.” Nicky’s hand moved faster, then slower. “Have you never tried something to ease
the dry rub of skin? Did no one ever show you?”
Ian grunted then bit his lip. “Show me?”
“Come, Ian, you surely did not spend all your time soldiering without any release. I have confessed
my sins.”
“Some of them.” Ian meant it to be a deep growl, but the harder Nicky stroked, the more difficult it
became to contain the whimpers that sought escape on the backs of his words.
“What of you? Camp followers, a dutiful lieutenant, a fellow captain?”
Ian shook his head.
“You would lie to your king?” Nicky stopped the rhythm of his hand, fingers a tight ring over the base of Ian’s prick.
“No. No one. I—” Ian closed his eyes. He could not face Nicky. Not with this between them, the truth
that no one had ever touched Ian intimately but the man above him. Eyes still shut, he shook his head.
Nicky’s unoiled fingers were gentle on Ian’s chin, then his cheek, thumb light across his still-burning lips. “I would not have minded.”
“I would have.” Ian opened his eyes.
Nicky’s eyes glittered in the candlelight, moisture gathering in the lower lashes. Ian thought Nicky
might speak again, but he brought both hands to Ian’s shoulders, holding him flat as Nicky lowered his head for a long, thorough kiss. Never rough or demanding, his lips and tongue offered, worshiped,
celebrated. Despite the one drop of moisture that fell to Ian’s cheek, he could feel Nicky’s smile against his mouth. “You stupid, ridiculous, amazing man.” Nicky raised his head for an instant and then kissed harder, tongue licking inside Ian’s lips until Ian strove to move away.
“My mouth is still cursed raw from Snapdragon,” he explained.
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“As if I needed more proof.” Nicky rolled his eyes heavenward, the lift of his head and neck driving
his hips against Ian’s, demonstrating again the usefulness of that oil. Ian’s prick slid against Nicky’s hard belly, pressure bringing insistent need to the fore.
“Nicky.” Ian didn’t care if he was pleading. Desire had a painful grip on his ballocks, pounded spikes into his thighs.
“Do you trust me?”
“As king?” Ian smiled.
“As king. As a man. As the man who wishes to share the heights of passion with you.” Nicky was so
rarely serious that his words acted as a rope tied to Ian’s spine, pulling him in with the promise of safe harbor.
“Yes.”
“Then simply lie there.”
In that moment, determined not to break any more commandments than necessary, Ian could admit
the truth to himself. He knew well what Nicky had planned, no matter how much Ian might pretend
otherwise, no matter how much he wished he had the strength to refuse.
Nicky grabbed his glass vial again, thoroughly coating Ian’s prick in the scented oil. If he spilled now from the pressure of Nicky’s hand the decision would be taken from them both—but Ian held himself in
check. As he watched, Nicky reached behind his body, eyes drifting closed, mouth going slack. Then he
lifted himself and the head of Ian’s prick was surrounded by wet, textured warmth. He could feel the space there, the muscles that sought to repel him even as Nicky’s downward motion forced those muscles to
yield.
Nicky groaned, the sound deep and low. Although Ian’s grip on his will was as slippery as if his hands bore the coat of oil, it was strong enough to keep his hips flat against the mattress. He would not give way again. Would not surrender to the incredible force that drew his cock deeper. Would not force the issue no matter what Nicky claimed he wanted. As he sank lower, he caught his lip in his teeth, eyes twisted shut.
Ian reached for Nicky’s hips, forgetting again that one arm would lack enough force to move him off.
Nicky pushed down until his arse landed on Ian’s thighs, sheathing every inch in hot, fluttering, slick sensation. His prick inside Nicky’s body. Every breath and movement Nicky made licked like the brandy’s blue flames across Ian’s cock. How could it not be a consummation to pleasure Ian’s very soul?
Nicky’s breathy complaint brought a return to mundanity. “Christ, Ian. Move.”
“But—”
“Of course it hurts, you wantwit, your fat cock is up my arse. Now do what I said and move.”
Ian held Nicky’s hips and rocked upward.
“Yes. Again.” The furrowed concentration on Nicky’s face relaxed.
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Ian tried lifting him as he thrust his hips upward. Nicky’s expression softened more, lips curving, eyes wide, the laughter they always held ready to burst free.
“C’mon, Ian, put your ballocks into it.”
May as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb
. Ian wrapped his arm around Nicky’s back and
somehow kept his berth deep in Nicky’s body as he rolled him to his back.
Nicky looked up with his fallen-angel smile, and Ian drove his hips forward into that amazing clench
of muscle and soft skin. A shudder rolled up his spine. “Sweet Jesus.”
Nothing could ever match this, Nicky’s legs wrapped high on his back, the sweet groans from his
throat, the incredible pressure of his body on Ian’s prick.
He wanted to stay here forever, deep steady rhythm of pleasure from the drag of Nicky’s arse on Ian’s
shaft as he lifted his hips, the tight sucking kiss as he pushed back in. He raised his upper body, bracing his weight on his good arm and stump, and pumped slowly until Nicky shoved at his chest.
“Damn.” Nicky’s back arched as his hand found its way to his prick. His next words came out in
gasps punctuated by Ian’s thrusts. “You’re. Too. Quick. A. Learner. By. Half.”
Pleased, Ian arched his own back and the resulting cry Nicky bit off behind his hand inspired Ian to
rise to his knees. It seemed only natural to pull Nicky closer, dragging his arse onto Ian’s thighs with Nicky’s enthusiastic help. His hand too, seemed to know to rest on Nicky’s hip to steady him against the way Ian’s body demanded a harder, faster, rougher pace.
“Yes.” Nicky’s hand on his prick matched the increase in speed, and Ian was torn between watching
Nicky’s hand and his face, desiring in equal measures to see pleasure take hold on his expression and the proof of it in the explosion from his body.
The first of the spasms that rocked Nicky’s body were accompanied by a hoarse cry that had Ian
casting an eye for a pillow to drop over Nicky’s head even as pride burst from Ian’s chest that he could cause him to make such a sound.
He was unprepared for the consequences of Nicky’s satisfaction. As the first creamy burst shot from
his prick, the muscles in his arse clamped harder on Ian’s own cock. Nicky’s release pulled Ian’s into that warm body, a hot rush of seed shuddering from him even as Nicky continued to fire streams onto chest and belly. The force of the contractions sapped the strength in Ian’s spine until he could only fall forward onto Nicky, feeling more beastlike than human and oddly uncaring of the distinction.
