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Manipulation (Bahorel): July, 1830
There was a faraway look in Aimery's eyes, thoroughly incongruous considering the level of apparent concentration he devoted to debauchery. Perhaps it wasn't as obvious to the others as it was to me. Bossuet certainly couldn't be expected to know that his heartfelt praise meant little, and when he said, "Chéri," and threw his head back, he didn't see the moment of pain in Aimery's eyes. Jehan ought to have known better, but he was distracted, clinging to his Eagle, kissing Audric with a passion I'd never known he felt for the fellow. I had expected Audric to be saner than he was that night; but he can't always have such desires, or living with Julien would kill him from sheer frustration. I was trying to be a passable host, though they needed little encouragement to entertain one another. At the beginning, I wanted nothing more than pleasure and absolution, a little abandonment, in the way that the city had been mad in her search for freedom. Once I had caught my breath, it was not enough. I saw the distraction in Aimery's eyes, but every time I would have reached out to him, one of them kissed me, and I could hardly push them away. It was not terribly long before we were all rather tired. Jehan, Bossuet, and Audric had borrowed one of my mattresses and curled up on it. Aimery lay on his side beside me, half asleep with his head on my shoulder. I kissed his cheek and he opened his eyes, smiling at me, though he seemed a little distracted still. "Are you all right?" I asked, keeping my voice rather soft so as not to wake the others. "Of course, Chris." If I hadn't known him as well as I did, I would have ignored the faint wistfulness in his tone. "You're worried about Daniel." He buried his face in my shoulder. "Of course I am." "He'll be all right for the night." "I hope so." I pressed a kiss to his tousled curls. "He will be. And if you don't get any sleep, then you won't be able to take care of him tomorrow." Aimery sighed. "I don't know how I can sleep." I ran my hand down his back. "Aren't you exhausted?" "Chris," he objected, laughing. "Yes." "Are you sure?" He gave me a long look. "No, I'm not completely exhausted. Just mostly." I grinned at him. "It might be easier to sleep if you were completely exhausted." "I'm not sure I can move." "All right." I kissed his forehead and sat up, rubbing his thigh. "You won't have to move much." He stretched. "No? Just as well." "Lie on your stomach, cher?" He crossed his arms under his chin and rolled onto his stomach. "There. Better?" I kissed his shoulder, then edged over to light the tallow candle on the table beside the bed. "Yes." He turned to look at me, grinning. "What, chéri? Haven't you seen enough today?" I thought of the beauty of Jehan's face, transfigured by pleasure; of the surprising gentleness of Bossuet's deft hands; of Audric in the throes of desire I would never have attributed to the man, which rendered him almost handsome. And Aimery, who lay before me, languorous before I had even begun thanks to our friends' kind attentions. "Not yet." He smiled at me and laughed again, softly. "I know you think I'm handsome, love, but they're trying to sleep. " "I know," I said, stroking his thigh. "I only want it lit for a little while." "Hmm?" "I only want the candle. Not the light." Aimery blinked at me. "Oh." He sighed as I slid a finger into him, slick with oil. I kissed his neck lightly, marveling at his calm; he was rarely so placid in my bed, but then, he rarely attended such bacchanalias. When I added another finger, he bit his lip and said, "Pause a moment." Of all things, I could not deny him that. I let him go, easing my fingers out of him, and treasuring the small gasp their departure provoked. He sat up, pulling his knees under him, and embraced me heartily. "You're a damnable tease, Chris, you know that?" I smiled at him. "I've no intention of changing my ways." "I know. That may be the worst part of it." "But it doesn't stop you from giving in to me." "No," he admitted. "At least, not when I think you're asking something that could be fun. Or interesting. Or both." I kissed him lightly. "I always hope for both. Lie down?" He settled on his knees, resting his cheek on the pillow again. "You look diabolical tonight." I wet my fingers with the oil and ran them down his back. "Do I?" "Oh --" "Perhaps it's the candlelight," I suggested, and with my free hand I retrieved it and blew it out. He turned, trying to get a good look at me. "You're still grinning." "I'm still happy." I pulled my hand away. "Diabolical," he said again. I poked at the softened candle, rubbing the thick fat over my fingers and thumb, down over the knuckles, onto the palm and the back of my hand. Aimery turned to watch me. "What are you doing?" I tried to make my smile a little more innocent for his benefit. "Making love to you." He raised his eyebrows. In the half-light, I could read no distraction in his expression, nothing but a certain amount of surprise and hopeful anticipation. "Oh." "If you'll allow it." He grinned at me. "I'll try anything once." "Hopefully more than once," I said, and began to stroke him again. He pressed against my fingers eagerly now that he knew it was no simple preamble, but I would not rush him. Although I knew full well that he was quite as relaxed as I had ever seen him, and I could feel the eagerness in the tension of his body, I didn't dare to push him. "A little at a time," I counseled him, even as he whimpered and pressed against me, rocking his hips, fucking himself on three of my fingers pressed tight together. "You'll drive me mad," he told me breathlessly, hardly for the first time, and I let him go then. He wailed and reached for me, heedless of our sleeping friends. "Just a moment," I told him, reaching for the candle again. Although my hands were slick, I managed to light it and tug at the warming material. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world." With my somewhat less slippery hand, I stroked his back, trying to calm his desperate breathing. "On your elbows, perhaps, cher, and don't be quite so eager." He snorted. "That's easy for you to say." "I know, Aimé. I know. Just let me. Trust me." Some measure of tension left his back, though he was still braced somewhat awkwardly. "All right." He caught his breath as I crooked a finger inside him. At the second, he gasped and stilled his hips by force of will. With three of my fingers deep inside him, his hips twisted and he buried his face in the pillow to stifle a groan. I waited, stroking him and adding more of the melting candle, until I felt him relax a little more. I slid my fourth finger into him. He swore magnificently and began begging me to fuck him. "Now?" I asked, running my thumb over the curve of his ass. "Yes. Please. Now. I want you so badly, Chris." I began to pull my hand away, but he cried out and reached back to press my wrist. "No. Don't stop." I chuckled. "I misunderstood. All right." As I wriggled my fingers gently, he shuddered. "Please, Chris." "Insatiable," I chided him, trying to focus on fulfilling his request. He was devastatingly beautiful on his knees with his thighs spread wide, begging me to push him farther, to take him, to possess and treasure his fine, pale body. He was as splendid a Ganymede as any doting god could wish for, and I counted myself greatly lucky that I had him pleading with me to take advantage of his sweetness. I would have prolonged the game if I could have stood to listen to his hoarse whispers a moment longer. As it was, I tugged a shirt down from the head of the bed and tucked it beneath him while he whimpered. With a final dab of tallow on the least slippery angle of my thumb, I pressed it into him, caressing him with my free hand. He cried out into the pillow, mumbling meaningless phrases, cursing my name, swearing that he adored me. He was shaking violently, pressing his cock into my hand and rocking against the hand buried inside him with unconscious, desperate thrusts. I stroked him hard, gauging every murmur, every little yelp, and encouraged him with slight movements within him. He bit his lip fiercely, choking back a cry that must otherwise have woken our companions, and came with a low wail, shuddering and pressing against my hand. I kept pace with his first sharp thrusts, then, as his rhythm faltered, I sped up my hand. He cried out again, louder this time with surprise and joy, then fell silent and limp. He gasped for breath, resting his weight on his knees. It was perhaps a minute before he spoke. "Jesus, Christophe." I tugged my thumb out of him and he bit his lip. "That was --" "Fun and interesting?" I asked, chuckling. "At the very least. God." He shifted slightly, and I took that as the cue to pull my hand away, slowly. Aimery whimpered. "God." "Are you all right?" By the single, dimming candle, I could not see any signs that I'd hurt him, but -- "I'm not in pain," he assured me, and I relaxed. "Ah, good." I wiped my hand on the already terribly sticky shirt. "Are you sure?" He sat up, wincing a little. "I'll remember this every time I sit down for a week, but nothing really hurts." I kissed his cheek. "Good." He put an arm around my shoulders. "God, Chris." I grinned at him. "So you liked it, then?" He laughed and punched me in the shoulder. "Yes." He glanced down and wrinkled his nose. "Rather a lot. May I --?" "Of course," I said with a wave of my hand. He borrowed the shirt to remove lingering stickiness, then dropped it on the floor with a disdainful expression. "Are you tired now?" I asked, smiling at him. He yawned at me. "Yes." He drew me into his arms and tugged the sheet over us. "Very." "Good night, then, Aimé." "Good night, mon frère. Sleep well." I kissed his cheek and put an arm around him, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as he fell asleep nearly immediately.
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