How to Catch a Leucrocuta
Christopher Drawlight came to London under the great impression that everyone else would be fooled by his Gentlemanly Nature. Though he was never a true gentleman Drawlight could act very much the part; attending the most elite parties, speaking of the most intimate gossip and dressing remarkably well given his financial situation. The less suspecting group of persons was his target upon entering a new situation or party. Never once had the pauper-turned-gentleman ever imagined that he would be found out to be nothing more than a fraud, a false-gentleman without a guinea to his name. No one knew where Drawlight obtained his rent money for his mediocre apartment, in the least-desirable part of London, and Drawlight intended to keep it that way. A gossiper who kept his own personally life in secret—yet mocked and chatted about everyone else's. It was this ironic fact that may have led to his undoing; or rather his sudden friendship that in the end lead to his undoing.
It was one of those boring parties that Drawlight felt he had to attend in order to be able to carry on the newest gossip. Not much of a dancer himself, he mostly kept to the wine table or with his back to the wall. This particular host he barely knew of, a Mr Lascelles, and he only recently had gotten an invitation to attend the ball. While he sipped on perhaps the finest wine he could ever recall Drawlight wondered about his host, whom he'd never met before. Drawlight assumed he was only invited because of one of his most gracious women-acquaintances mentioned him to Lascelles. It was nearing the middle of the dance already, and Drawlight grew impatient with waiting for the host to show themself. Gradually growing tired of his current position by the wine-table Drawlight began across the dance room, careful not to run into any of the cheerfully dancing couples on the hardwood flooring. After having nearly collided with several persons Drawlight found himself at the base of a flight of stairs, couples intermingling on the steps, woman hiding their faces behind paper fans, men talking of horse races and those who took to admiring their gracious host's house. Drawlight weaved through them, careful not to overthrow his wineglass and made it to the top. Under the pretence of having to find a lavatory Drawlight began to wander the halls of the Lascelles Manor. The first room found by him was an office of sorts, neatly kept much like a maid had just came through, Drawlight's curiosity became peaked once he lay eyes on a portrait of a woman with tight brunette curls in her hair and a fashionable blue dress. He wondered if that was Lascelles or perhaps a distant cousin of his/hers (his knowledge of his host was exceedingly low, Drawlight discovered to much disappointment and frustration). Drawlight shot a glance to the two entrances to the room (one from which he entered, the other behind the desk) and decided that no harm would come from him simply looking to see what was inside the drawers of the desk.
Inside the desk he found many letters, crumbled up and torn in a flattened mound, most of them stopping after a single line of script—something to the effect of: "Dearest Lady Bullworth… I hope in time you can forgive me." But then after that it would stop and be scratched to pieces with random pen-strokes and black spots. Drawlight assumed that it was the letter began by a gentleman and he threw them to one side and continued on through the drawer. More letters began to appear, mostly to the same person before the Miss or Mrs Bullworth. They clearly displayed the problem between Bullworth and Lascelles, and Drawlight found it to be the most pleasing piece of gossip he could ever run across. Having been so entertained by the letters he decided further investigation would be fruitless for the time being. Sliding the notes back into their place Drawlight closed the drawer and with swift execution made his way to the door once again. But upon trying to exit he found his way completely blocked, by a tall decently-handsome Gentleman. Drawlight's face tightened with dread for a mere second before he regained his calm. "I beg pardon, Sir."
The gentleman remained where he stood, being taller than Drawlight himself he had no trouble looking over the other gentleman into the office. His eyes darkening as if he found something amiss with the room, or perhaps with Drawlight himself, the man asked slowly, "It seems you are lost, Mr Drawlight, am I correct?"
Drawlight felt a certain amount of intensity from the taller man's voice and replied sharply, "How could you have guessed, Sir. But I believe you and I haven't met already. Or at least to my sad recollection, we have not."
The man didn't move from holding Drawlight in the room, and simply replied with a smile, "I am the man who's desk you were dallying through. And you may not know of me, but I have long had my eyes and doubts cast upon you."
Drawlight once more felt unnerved, as he had when he just lay eyes on the man, and having been caught during his shameful act he was left with not much to say. Several stupid noises managed to escape his lips and words died before they escaped his throat. Lascelles took his guest's stupidity as an opening to say, "Come with me for a moment, Mr Drawlight. I'd much like to talk to you in a place more comfortable. Perhaps you will think of some clever reason as to why you were rummaging through my office by that time." Spinning on his heels a bit, Lascelles made his way away from the doorway, leaving Drawlight with only two options—to give up his attempts to make a life for himself in London or to accommodate to this Gentleman's wishes. In the end Drawlight followed Lascelles, looking much like a whipped dog following its master knowing more punishment was to come later. Lascelles took them to the drawing-room of the house and upon entering let the door close behind them (Drawlight did recall that Lascelles took the time to lock the door).
"Take a seat, Mr Drawlight." Lascelles' voice bordered demanding but acted though it was a request. "Now, then, let me tell you that it was not much to my surprise to find out about you, Mr Drawlight. A few of my friends had been talking about meeting your acquaintance and hoping that I would do the same. But it's always good manners to get to know your guest's interest before meeting them."
Drawlight's hands were resting on his knees. His back was stiff like a board was underneath his clothing keeping him from leaning forward in any way. Sweat began to form at the side of his face, near the base of his neck and in his palms. "Sir, I can assure you I meant no harm in glancing through your notes. It was only for my own knowledge and nothing more."
"I can assure you that I know better than that, Mr Drawlight. You have established yourself as an adamant source of gossip in London ever since your arrival." Lascelles scoffed in a dark manner, much unlike a gentleman was supposed to act. Drawlight was beginning to wonder if this man was but only rich and not gentlemanly at all. Lascelles strode across the room, from his fixed position at the door, to where Drawlight had sat down. Lingering at a stand beside Drawlight the taller man's face soured at the smaller Drawlight for a moment, "You aren't a gentleman. I know your background, and you are nothing but a fraud in this city hoping for an easy life and nothing to do but attend parties for your days and spread your ill gossip about others."
His words were like venom on his tongue. Drawlight could only hope the man had no intention of dueling with him, but would not be surprised if he did. Drawlight closed his eyes, wishing himself elsewhere at this moment in time. He'd never been a courageous man, let alone one who could defend himself—in short Christopher Drawlight knew that in the face of aversion he would perish without a doubt. At the moment his heart raced and he did not know what to say to the gentleman before him. Instead he let out a whimper, "Please, sir, I promise not to cause you any ill-will… I beg of you not to challenge me to a duel or worse yet expose me! I will promise to leave London immediately without another word."
Lascelles remained silent. Drawlight, neglecting to wipe the fresh tears from his eyes, glanced around for the gentleman only to find he was exactly behind the chair. Lascelles loomed over the backside of the chair where Drawlight sat, and reached down slowly and grabbed the wineglass from his frighten guest's loose fingertips. Drawlight choked out another whimper as his pathetic state of confusion and self-disgust continued, and waited in shivering silence for Lascelles to tell him of his plan. Lascelles placed the glass on the table beside the desk, a vulgar grin across his face. His ungentlemanly manner becoming more apparent as he replied, cleverly, "That all won't be necessary, Drawlight. I don't find as much entertainment from exposing people for the worthless liars they are. As a matter of fact, I don't think you will be leaving London so soon either."
Drawlight did not know what to say, and lacked the courage to ask why exactly Lascelles did not take more joy in wanting to expose him for a fraud. Instead he bit his lip and silenced his tears so the other man could not guess his state from his fixed place behind the chair. "No, Drawlight. There'll be no need for you to leave this place so quickly. Dash home on some borrowed horse, pack your single bag full of possessions and leave to go back to wherever you hail from. You'll find I'm a much more pleasant person than you'd guess me to be. Since you'd been here tonight, I'd been watching to see what exactly you were up to, and you know what I am now to understand about you?"
Drawlight's hands tightened on his breeches, not saying anything more than, "No, sir."
"You're interest in gossip and the hidden lives of others is far more vast than even my own. Yet your life, even to my knowledge, is full of more holes than your cheap overcoat." His hands come down onto Drawlight's shoulders, resting there with a thud. Drawlight's eyes widened, anger swelling where his fear had once been. "Nothing a few patches couldn't fix up, eh? You do those yourself or do you have a tailor that you employ?"
"How dare you!" Drawlight exclaimed, making an attempt to get up from the chair. His full intention was to slap the man across his face. Now Drawlight could care less about dueling or not; this Lascelles was far too ungentlemanly for Drawlight to stand. But before he could rise from the chair, Lascelles' hands on him jerked him back in place. "I don't care who you perceive yourself to be, sir! It is far better to be a rogue posing as a gentleman, than a gentleman who's actions and words mock a rogue!"
One of Lascelles' hands clamped across Drawlight's face, muffling the smaller man's insults towards him, the other hand remained on his shoulder and painfully tensed. Drawlight winced, letting his anger settle once more, hearing Lascelles' voice deathly low, "Now, you may find that my attempts to keep this conversation civil are a bit harsh, Mr Drawlight, but unless you wish to be exposed right at this moment, keep your mouth closed." Mr Lascelles let the hand on Drawlight's mouth slide away, lingering on the other man's slightly parted lips for a moment before dropping away completely.
"If you don't intend to expose me, what do you intend to do?" Drawlight questioned softly, the hands on his shoulders beginning an irregular caressing motion, which reminded Drawlight of someone trying to calm an animal. Drawlight could not help but become curious as to what the (somewhat) gentleman's intentions were, having ruled out money, justice and malicious enjoyment. What more could be left?
Lascelles leaned down to Christopher's ear, pressing his face against the side of his head for a moment, "I'm going to use you." He whispered, letting a dark chuckle escape him. "Is that fine with you?"
Drawlight's stomach lurched. Something about the man's tone was too much to stand, or rather his words in general—the phrasing he used—caused Drawlight to fret an outcome he did not want. "But on the contrary-y… It depends on what manner you mean…"
"Every way I can." Came his reply before Drawlight felt a hand come underneath his chin and force his head to one side. Eyes widened Drawlight knew little of what to expect from the odd gentleman; least of all did he expect what happened next. His face was pushed into the notch in the chair where the back met the tall sides, leaving his neck bare; there mixed in with the pain of his neck being forced to one side he felt Lascelles' lips against his collar.
Drawlight jerked away, trying to free himself from the taller, albeit stronger, man's hold. Crying out desperately (almost womanly),"Lecher! Scoundrel! Get your wicked hands away from me this instant! I'd rather be in incarcerated than to suffer whatever you mean to do to me!"
The hand against Drawlight's chin tightened unbearably, acting more like an iron clamp than the clammy human flesh it was. The smaller man's jaw pained him to the point of silence, and he no longer protested now he only attempted to do so but found it far too difficult. Lascelles only laughed at this but never replied, more than a teasing prod with his fingers at Drawlight's cheek, tracing an awkward circle with his nail harsh enough to leave a white mark across Drawlight's skin. Then returned to doing as he had before Drawlight's protest but leaving his hands threateningly tight on his victim nonetheless as a deterrent for his struggles. Drawlight's only course of action, besides more fruitless resistance, was to take this and be nothing more than the gentleman's puppet.
"I would best assume…" Lascelles said, between his false-affections on Drawlight's collar, "You would not know much of the King's Court, would you? Ever been in for theft, sir?"
"N-No, no, sir." The grip on his jaw became lax enough that he could speak freely again. "I've stayed as far away from that as possible."
"Good. I hear in imprisonment is harsh on one's body and soul particularly if one's crimes are detestable. Such as those who commit fraud against women and other vulnerable laypeople in London." Lascelles said, his eyes glancing over Drawlight's fearful expression for a moment, before whispering in his ears as if recalling an ancient story of Fairie: "Like you, I'd say. Among those that steal wheat for food and money for clothing… you would have to be detestable, I dare say, to any of them."
Drawlight's eyes clamped shut at the exact moment he felt the thicken tears began to flow from them again. He wanted nothing more than to smite this man holding thoughts of the King's Court over his head as Death's Scythe ready to chop off the top of his skull. Shivering as Lascelles drank in his fear and kissed on his sweating collar, without remorse. "A curse-e…" He began as he felt Lascelles' free hand pulling at his tightly buttoned coat.
He could not continue; Drawlight was stopped by the fear—no promise—of pain Lascelles gave him. Lascelles hand twisted like a snake underneath his clothing to formerly safe flesh. Lascelles' despicable voice whispered encouragement to him, provoking Drawlight to continue though he dared not utter a single word of what he was going to say. Too much was Lascelles' enjoyment when he caused Drawlight pain, and Drawlight was determined not to sate the gentleman.
"Nothing to say anymore? Don't tell me your honorable sense of what a gentleman should be has left you all of a sudden." Lascelles' hand on Drawlight's chin turned the smaller man's face towards him. Drawlight's eyes were still thick with dread as they came to view Lascelles' own. "I am more a gentleman than you could ever hope to be, Christopher Drawlight. And you'd do best to remember that I will be in charge of your actions from now on, sir." Drawlight's lips parted, awe-struck at the frightening intensity the other's eyes held; not realizing his mistake until a moment later when Lascelles leaned forward and let his lips meet Drawlight's. Drawlight was forced to swallow a cry of anguish as Lascelles' tongue slipped its way into his mouth. Before he could so much as veer his head backwards and try to get away from Lascelles, Drawlight was stopped by a strong hand at the top of his spine. Lascelles' eager, ravenous tongue searched every crevice of Drawlight's mouth; though the smaller man's fight grew as the kiss lingered Lascelles would not let it break until he was satisfied. Letting Drawlight's head free Lascelles watched the man rear back, gasping for air as if he'd been holding it through the entire ordeal. A fresh string of saliva traveled down Drawlight's chin as he shrunk back in the chair, coughing against the leather material of the furniture. His arms coming against his face as he silently wept.
Wiping the string of dribble off his victim Lascelles took a moment to give Drawlight a second overlooking as if he'd never quite paid attention before as to what Drawlight's body looked like. "Come here, Drawlight. I have a favor to ask of you."
Drawlight's arm lowered and he watched Lascelles apprehensively as he coaxed him to the edge of the chair. Drawlight mouthed the word, "No, please." Several times begging to be let free and anything else he could think of saying as he complied to Lascelles' summons. His knees closely together as he drew nearer to Lascelles; Drawlight's sitting height was almost directly even to Lascelles waist he noticed. Drawlight's eyes adverted to the carpeted floor as he neared, saying, "Yes, Mr Lascelles?"
Lascelles grabbed the back of Drawlight's head forcing him against the standing man's clothing. Drawlight assumed it was another false-affection of sorts and let himself be moved. "Drawlight…" Lascelles began, his hands wandering down from the smaller man's hair, to his collar, and finally to the waistline of his own clothing. "I want you to forget about Miss Bullworth. I want you to forget about her so much, in fact, that to insure you forget about her…" Drawlight felt a knot forming in his stomach as he heard the sound of a button being undone and clothing being shifted. "I shall be forcing a new memory upon you, Mr Drawlight. A memory of your greatest embarrassment. After this night, we should be free to be friends—no partners—in this great city and never to be apart, I think."
"I-I won't." Drawlight managed to say as he closed his eyes, feeling his face coming in contact with flesh as the clothing Lascelles wore fell down to his knees. His words following as fluidly as tears now, that spilled onto Lascelles' bare flesh. "I won't-t do it. Kill me, expose me, but shame me no more with your vile behavior! You humiliator! You sadist! You have no right to do this to me! Whether I have wronged you or not-t! I will-l not do anything more you ask-k of me, villain!"
"Stubborn, Mr Drawlight. But I will prove to be more stubborn than even you." Lascelles told him, with all the calm he could muster in his current state. Using one had to stroke hardened flesh as he contemplated the pathetic Drawlight leaning against him, begging him to continue no further. "You'd rather death or exposure, Drawlight?" Lascelles' swift actions were almost too jagged for Drawlight to follow, within a second Lascelles had resolved his 'problem'. Reaching down to the table beside the chair Lascelles grabbed the abandon wineglass and dashed it against the table, shattering the thin stem of the glass into a sharp edge. Drawlight did not even have time to give an outcry before the end of the bottle pricked against the flesh of his collarbone. "I give you the choice of death, are you still too defiant to listen to my reasoning?"
"Where-e is reason in this madness-s…" The bottle raged a war against the flesh at the side of his throat as Lascelles' reply to the question. Burying his head against the man's flesh to muffle the scream that tore through him Drawlight now knew no matter what words he used none would save him from this. Drawlight's skin was speckled with blood now, and his will becoming less as the thought of dying by this man's hands. His hands clamped around Lascelles' legs, finally giving in with a single word to his aggressor before letting himself be manipulated. Truth told Drawlight knew nothing of what to do, as most gentlemen would not; the general jest of the action Lascelles desired was evident but Mr Drawlight was unsure of how to achieve his goal. His piteous, lost eyes glanced up to Lascelles' expectant glare and he admitted, "I'm not-t sure of how one should go about this-s…"
Lascelles made a sound much between a laugh and a disgusted groan, reaching down he grabbed a hold on Drawlight's collar still ripe with flowing blood and pulled Drawlight against his crotch, holding his erect member in front of Drawlight's face, more particularly his mouth. Closing his eyes once more, Drawlight's face grimacing as he took the tip of the flesh into his mouth. Hearing Lascelles' gasp at the back of his mind, Drawlight set about making this experience one he would hardly be present for—he thought of anything but what he was currently doing. Putting more of the heated flesh into his mouth Drawlight leaned forward beginning to draw his tongue around the member as he imagined was the correct course for him to take. Hearing Lascelles moan loudly was his only measurement of whether he was doing the action correctly or not; but as Drawlight pulled away to the tip of the flesh again he felt Lascelles' hand tense on him and suddenly jerk him forward forcing more into Drawlight's mouth until the urge to retch stung his throat. Drawlight's stomach could only tense but he was given no relief as Lascelles began to pull him away again and repeat the same action as before (but managed to spare Drawlight's stomach to pain of choking him this time). Lascelles' mumbled something inarticulate through gritted teeth and suppressed moans, none of which Drawlight wished to hear because he assumed it was the same sort of things a man would say to a back-alley streetwalker; before Lascelles' hand tensed on Drawlight and he let out an cry of ecstasy though he was clearly attempting to ingest it in his throat. After the ejaculation, Drawlight stumbled back into the confines of the chair, leaning over to one side and hacking disgustedly and wiping at his face. Lascelles slumped against the furniture, the broken glass sliding from his loose fingers to the ground.
Drawlight's eyes bordered hatred and some other distant emotion as he continued to try to clear his mouth from the salty, hinting sweet, taste. Saying nothing as he heard Lascelles hoarsely laughing over him, "A little persuasion never hurt a soul, Mr Drawlight. Though your ignorance would suggest you had never engaged in such an act, your actions were well enough acceptable."
Drawlight looked as if he could retch. Lascelles' slumped, lazy posture straightened as he began to fix his clothing to some degree, taking out a handkerchief to clear himself of anything that Drawlight had left behind. After having cleared himself Lascelles leaned down, running the handkerchief over Drawlight's chin lightly. Drawlight's eyes shrank to the ground, too upset it would seem to face his aggressor. "Now, Mr Drawlight, your knowledge shall be a good tool for us, as friends. Together we shall gain the life of luxury."
"You-u speak of partnership-p… but clearly one is greater than the other—not equal." Drawlight whispered, his mouth felt strange at his first words.
"I knew you would be understanding." Lascelles sounded amused as he took the handkerchief and dabbed at Drawlight's shoulder, which soon turned the cloth a dark crimson. "You will not do anything without my lead, of course. You owe me many things now, sir. For one my kindness to you in not exposing you to those who would sooner have you hanged if they knew what I did about you. As much as it would amuse me to see you with twine around your throat, I would not gain anything from the experience, friend."
"I would rather death than be your partner. You, servant of Lucifer or a wicked fairy—I haven't a clue which—but not human enough to let pity trickle into your mind for an instant at the suffering of another!" Drawlight bend forward hiding his eyes in his knees. "Expose me for all you want I will tell them all of your ill-treatment of me."
"They will not believe you. At the revelation of your crimes they will immediately be drawn to my plight."
"The human heart is not as unseeing as you suppose. They will see my torment and understand my misery." Drawlight said, his face still hidden in cloth, heaving panicked breaths, "I beg of you let me be hung or jailed! I can no longer bring you harm, you have humbled me by shaming me so!"
"You speak nothing but of your shame, but do you know notice of what harm your antics could cause those you wrong yourself." Lascelles leaned down on one knee to Drawlight, his arm going around the smaller man caressing the knotted back of the scrawny gentleman. His lips against the other's ears, murmuring: "I know nothing of your suffering except that I share the same burden with you, having encouraged it and engaged in it willfully. You can only be promised if you so much as crack your mouth of a single moment that has passed here I will be placing a pistol where my own flesh was only minutes ago."
"I understand, sir." Drawlight droned as he realized affections were being rained on his throat once more, far away from the place where Lascelles wounded him. Lascelles knew that engaging in this act willfully was a contemptible act that would cause him a social outcast if a single rumor would spread, but he was unconcerned. This unconcerned, arrogant, nature was more frightening to Drawlight than the hungered affections Lascelles gave him. Lascelles knew control; and he knew Drawlight was in his control. "You seem afraid of-f nothing, Mr Lascelles. Does not even God frighten you, sir?" He would do anything to stop the affections if only for a second while Lascelles answered his question.
"Are we in a chapel?" Lascelles hotly replied, moving Drawlight's clothing off of his shoulders as he searched for more skin to harass. "God lives in the Church of England not my drawing-room, Mr Drawlight. So pray what you will, but the door remains locked and you in my friendliness."
Drawlight's shirt was twisted in a furious jerk off of him, leaving only an undershirt between Lascelles and he. The undershirt, formerly white, was a host to a multitude of crimson stains and spots from the injury he obtained recently, not to mention several patches of off colored material (which remained covered unless he was out of the public eyes). Drawlight felt himself go red as Lascelles hand traced over several of the makeshift patches, "So what is it? Tailor or you yourself?"
The shirt was unbuttoned next with the clumsy fingers of the other gentleman, Lascelles chuckled to each scrap he crossed paths with as he loosened the shirt until it barely clung to Drawlight. "You won't do it again. You'll simply buy a new one. I'll be providing that money for such things. If you are to be my company I will need you to be presentable."
Drawlight felt a pang of lightheadedness rush throughout him, his eyes blacked for a single moment threatening him with collapse. His sudden swoon forced him to use Lascelles as a post, his hands pawing at Lascelles' clothing, "That laceration bothering you, sir? I did not mean to wound you so deeply but my frustration with you propelled me to do more harm than intended." Drawlight only muttered incoherently as he rested his face in the indentation of Lascelles neck. "I won't allow you to pass out, Mr Drawlight. However you are weaker than I thought, are you not worried about what I will do if you faint?" He was teasing Drawlight; though his point was easy for the smaller man to conceive and Drawlight tried to keep his eyes open and his wits about him. Drawlight could barely inspire his brain to conjure up words for him to question Lascelles intentions now. His thoughts drifted and all of them were met with indifference; the only concern to him now was his growing drowsiness. He understood that his slacks were being unbuttoned, and hardly noticed until the distinct sensation of skin against skin was felt. His sensitive flesh in Lascelles unpredictable grasp caused a swift mixture of emotion from Drawlight, now hyperawareness replaced his drowsiness and he was lost to the feeling of Lascelles' fingers stroking him.
Drawlight bit his tongue to force an outcry from escaping his closed lips as he kept his face hidden from the gentleman's view. Trying to hold his cracking voice in check, "Stop it, Mr Lascelles… you have completed your de-dem-demonst-t-tr-ration on me, will you not leave me to my pain now-w?"
Instead of a reply Drawlight found himself being pulled forward against Lascelles again. His arms pinned against Lascelles body as he was being stood up, using the other's body as a crutch for his weakened form. Never once letting his hand in Drawlight's undergarments free, Lascelles slowly navigated them away from the furniture in the center of the room to a long office-desk, much like the one Drawlight was caught rummaging through earlier. Several unlit candlesticks were scattered on it, and tablets of blank paper as well. Lascelles did not even bother to clear them off as he twisted Drawlight's body away from him, letting his hand leave the man's crotch but for a second to reposition himself; then half-threw Drawlight into the edge of the table to where he was leaned against it, bent.
Drawlight's knees felt weak as he whimpered, "You-u cannot mean to do this…"
"Silence." Lascelles' voice hissed, "I cannot tell you how boring your fidgeting and whimpering makes this. Now, be still while I go to find something to ready myself with; it will not do to have you get injured while I'm enjoying myself, mouse." Lascelles left him propped against the desk as his eyes searched the entire room for something; only to find nothing it would seem. But then as he glanced back at Drawlight, leaning on top of Drawlight's body for a moment as he spoke, "I have little choice but to leave the room, Mr Drawlight but that leaves a dilemma for me to solve. What to do with you whilst I go." Lascelles put his hands slowly on Drawlight's hips, tapping his fingers impatiently as he thought about his problem. Suddenly he reached down and grabbed Drawlight's hand. Within a seconds time Lascelles swiftly fished a key from his pocket, and use it on a drawer just underneath desk's top; putting Drawlight's last two fingers into the drawer, fully preparing to slam them inside and relock the drawer.
"W-wait!" Drawlight yelped, straining against Lascelles' hold on his hand, "I won't-t move! But, please sir, leave my digits in tact… it will raise much suspicion. My throat will be easily-y covered, a tall collar will suffice, but what would I do to hide a broken finger or so?"
Lascelles' lips tightened together, considering this it would seem, then he asked, "What would you prefer, sir?" Drawlight told him that he was too weakened to move swiftly as Lascelles proposed but this satisfied the gentleman little; in the end Drawlight's head was lowered and a large patch of hair was shoved into the drawer instead. Drawlight could only hope his consciousness would remain with him, lest his hair be ripped out as he fell to the ground, lifeless. Once Lascelles left his side Drawlight began to test the limits of his trapped state, but found no way to free himself (without being a bit thinner on top than before).
He wondered what time it was. Was the ball completed? Did guests still linger in the ballroom? Who would he flee to if he got away from Mr Lascelles? What was a little tuff of hair compared to the suffering he was meant to endure? Nothing; so he decided that he would try his hardest to pull his own hair from the drawer and make a attempt to find the nearest servant, maid, guest or otherwise to get him from his current circumstance. Reaching up Drawlight grabbed the edge of the desk, and set about using it as a place to push against with all of his strength. Sooner did the desk move than his hair from the drawer; he mumbled curses (mostly hoping the desk would suffer an accidental fire and that it would be abducted to Fairie where it would be married to a wicked fairy lord). Drawlight knew not that he was joined back in the room Lascelles until he heard the draw-room door closing, suddenly escaping was the furthest thing on his mind. Looking innocent of those exact attempts became a much greater concern. "It-t's quite discomforting down here, sir. I know you get annoyed with my constant-t prattling but this is rather uncomfortable." From the corner of Drawlight's strained vision he saw Lascelles' slow approach.
The gentleman sighed, groaning, "Do you ever silence yourself, if not for a moment? You fool no one with your excuses, you noodle-head."
Lascelles returned to his place behind Drawlight, slowly placing a small bottle of bath oils in an amber blown-glass bottle; setting it before the smaller man's dark eyes. Lascelles let his weight rest on Drawlight as he drew attention to the bottle saying, dully, "I seem to be lacking in the necessities of this liaison. But I certainly hope this will fulfill the purpose of making sure your insides stay intact." Drawlight only grimaced at the thought Lascelles' vulgar implications, but imagined him to be right (though he did not know much about the subject). Lascelles fingers tenderly grasping at Drawlight's hips once again, pressing against the man's end with a teasing nudge. "You will not feel as much pain if you relax, sir. Now, shall we do this before you take a nasty turn because of your lightheadedness?"
Drawlight shuddered as he felt Lascelles press against him. Soon he found his hair being freed from the confides of the drawer, "Y-You are despicably selfish-h. Do you care for nothing but your own pleasure?"
"Well, I most certainly do not care about some horrid fraud who's ability to bargain is nothing more than a tearful set of begging pleads with nothing beneficial to his assailant?" Lascelles' hands snaked inside of the other man's hips, groaning him through the clothing as he began to lower Drawlight's breeches. Sliding the clothing downward almost hurried Lascelles groped his victim through the undergarments for a moment before doing away with them as well. Drawlight throated a moan, but did well not to let it escape his lips freely to be heard by Lascelles; but it did not go unnoticed by the other man.
Grabbing the bottle of liquid Lascelles unscrewed the lid, and threw it behind him carelessly, dipping his fingers into the oil. His fingers saturated in the oil Lascelles slowly put them between Drawlight's body and his own—easing the several fingers into the man's arse with a lustful grin on his face. Drawlight shuttered again, his hands tensing on the edge of the table. Lascelles noted the other man's actions, and took Drawlight's silence to mean it did not cause him injury and pressed his fingers in further as he used his other hand to pry Drawlight's legs apart. "See, relax." He coaxed; Drawlight imagined the Lascelles' Mansion horses were used to this voice being used by their master. Lascelles obviously treated all things alike, Drawlight concluded in his preoccupied state. Once getting Drawlight in a position he decided was well enough, Lascelles whispered, "Good. Stay like that." Drawlight could only imagine the look on Lascelles' face—his strong eyes dilated with yearning and a fixed grin on his handsome face. Lascelles let his fingers remain inside his sufferer as he undid his already loosened garments and made another reach for the bottle of liquid. This time Lascelles began to rub his member slick with the oil, being certain to get some on Drawlight's end as well. His finger slowly removed from Drawlight's arse, as he slowly positioned himself to enter the other man. Placing his hands firmly on Drawlight's hips Lascelles entered him, roughly holding the man to place. Drawlight half-gasped, half-groaned as he felt Lascelles pushing into him with erect member; the first thrust enough to make Drawlight's hips buckle slightly. Lascelles growled a deep moan against Drawlight's ears, his well-kept nails deepening at the man's hips as he began to move Drawlight in a way most pleasing to him. A pattern growing from Lascelles' actions as he thrust in and out of Drawlight; his own pleasure escalating as Drawlight's own was only a mix of pain and odd sensation (he almost projected to be pleasure). Lascelles' let one hand resting tightly on Drawlight's hips slide inward, and stroke roughly (nearly painfully) at Drawlight. Lips falling open to finally let escape an open moan, Drawlight could no longer help, the man found himself yearning for the fingers groping him. As Lascelles' actions grew fervid and desperately close to his climactic state his caressing on Drawlight sped also grew more heated. At the moment of Lascelles' euphoria however Drawlight found himself unsatisfied as Lascelles' body tensed into a final thrust inside of him, body and hand falling limp. Resting inside of Drawlight, Lascelles breathed deeply a sound almost like laughter, "Not satisfied, yourself?" Drawlight bit his lip in silence. Was it another form of torture? He was certain. But before he could hide his nature for too long Lascelles' hands groped him once more. Stroking his member heatedly Lascelles prolonged the act as extensively as possible until Drawlight finally climaxed himself. Afterwards Lascelles wiped his soiled hands on Drawlight's loosely hanging shirt, finally pulling his limp piece from Drawlight's end. Chuckling as he watched Drawlight's unsupported body slump to his knees in front of the desk, almost hitting his chin on the table's edge. Drawlight's breathing was still strained slightly as he leaned against the desk, he was so weakened he did not bother to look at Lascelles to see what the man was up to at that moment. Rather he felt another pang of lightheadedness and felt nothing but the urge to collapse at the foot of the desk and 'sleep' there.
Light stung his eyes and he grumbled a curse or two to the ones who'd opened the curtains. Drawlight's eyes were barely open but even this amount of light discomforted him; his head pulsated. Just beyond the bed several maids scurried about the room, leaving him alone for the most part. Drawlight didn't remember going to an inn after the ball. The ball—that brought back the evenings events in a rush of emotions—Drawlight's stomach knotted and he felt the urge to retch. Desperately he sat up, preparing to leave the bed and rush for a receptacle. He did not get as far, instead he found himself caught in the sheets of the elegant bedding and tripped out of the bed nearly comically. A manservant approached him hurried, "Sir! What is wrong?" Drawlight told him, his covered mouth muffling his words as he paled. The butler snapped a finger at a maid and told her to fetch a bucket and cloth for the 'young guest of the master'. Drawlight now only assumed he was still in Lascelles' mansion. After heaving, what consist of only wine, into the bucket Drawlight warily asked where he was (to find his assumptions to be correct). The manservant and maids began to tell him a factitious tale of how the master of the house found him stumbling, drunken, in the halls of the manor far from the ballroom and tried to help him into the drawing-room. Once in the drawing-room, said a maid, Drawlight fell wineglass in hand and cut into his throat with the broken pieces and passed out closely afterwards from the unbearable pain and shock he felt. Drawlight did not dispute the falsities they told him. Instead he only listened with a stoic look on his face to cover up the feelings he bore inside; the urge to scream and cry faded at each passing second.
It was later during the evening that Lascelles made an appearance to him. Drawlight, despite the fact that his mind kept insisting he would go insane if faced by that gentleman again, remained undisturbed by his appearance. Drawlight wanted him to believe that Lascelles ravaging of his body did not affect him greatly. Drawlight's act confused no one, especially Lascelles'; even the maids cleaning up the mess in the drawing-room proclaimed their disbelief of their own master but only in the hushed Servant's Quarters. The maids told each other of the strange stains, they all suspected of what, that were around the desk and on the chair's material. The maids knew their master was a force to be reckoned with when his temper flared and nothing could predict his actions (especially if those that insulted him were of low birthing). Once, the butler told the maids, Lascelles caught a servant stealing a couple loaves of bread with the intention of giving it to the birds which she found dear but unfed in the frigid London wintertime. "Lascelles punished her, yes?" urged a maid, interested in the story perhaps for the gory details and nothing of sustenance or moral. "Of course!" remarked the butler with a sober look of regret, "She was beaten and dismissed. She had an ugly scar on her chin as well, looked much like a knife cut it. But she insisted that is was only where she'd fallen during her duties."
Lascelles knew rumors were told but he cared little. He considered himself to be a fairly decent character who only wronged when wronged himself. No matter what he considered himself to be, Lascelles would not rest until he knew Drawlight's intentions thereafter. Lascelles entered the room where Drawlight was resting, his hands stiff at his sides, asking, "How is your throat?" A maid in the room glanced to Drawlight; Lascelles saw this and told her to get a hot bucket of water for Drawlight and leave it at the door upon her return. She quickly obeyed not giving another glance to the man in bed or her master as she left. Lascelles approached the bed with the mannerism of a tiger, with elegantly shifting shoulders and a predatory glare in his dark eyes. Drawlight painfully swallowed, tasting the remains of his own vomit still infesting his senses. "Better than before, sir."
Lascelles stood beside the bed, looking down at Drawlight's covered form for a moment before slowly replying, "Good. I would not like to hear of it any other way." Drawlight was dressed in nothing but a pair of thin-clothed pants. "You are well, then, Mr Drawlight?" Drawlight nodded slowly. Watching Lascelles smile from the corner of his eyes as the other gentleman sat down; Drawlight's stomach knotted up. "I suppose…" Lascelles leaned back with his hands resting on the bedding. "I suppose you remember the events of last night, by the quivering of your lips I can tell. Do not tell anyone the truth, or I will call you out even if you are unworthy of my challenge and will surely die horribly from it. We are to be friends now, Drawlight, I will see that, that does not happen again. I will also see you are not found out by anyone else to be a fraud."
Drawlight's brow was knitted. He lowly whispered, "You mean not to do that to me again?"
Lascelles' lips were tightly drawn together in subtle anger, "No. I will not. Nor will I ever wanted it mentioned again. As you friend I insist you do the same to me."
"Were you then…" Drawlight began, wondering if this was Lascelles trying to tell him that he was not-in-the-right-mind the previous evening or if perhaps Lascelles was as disturbed as he about the events. "Intoxicated?"
Lascelles said nothing but, "Think what you will. I will send you in some better clothing and expect you to have recovered by the time I get back from my business trip to Bath. Good evening." Lascelles' hand tensed on the sheets as he prepared to stand; giving Drawlight's confused glance, a moment's consideration before standing. Drawlight's lips parted as he struggled for an answer out of what Lascelles gave him, but found nothing but more inquiries than anything else.
Drawlight stayed in bed the day afterwards, the maids his only visitors throughout the day. Through chatting with them he gathered information about the master of Lascelles' Mansion. Never once had Lascelles been engaged and his family was only mediocre when it came to wealth and therefore undesirable to marry into for the sake of money; Drawlight began to wonder if that was not what drew Lascelles' anger into an ugly rage the night before. Whether if were aggravation of the opposite sex or the blatant malice that Drawlight thought before—it did not matter because Drawlight felt in time he would be made to understand. Drawlight would be called on again by Lascelles… and he would have no choice but to go. Lascelles held good to his word and never again touched Drawlight with those lustful and vulgar hands that he'd done the night they met but that didn't make Drawlight anymore personal with Lascelles. Perhaps it only made him more suspecting of Lascelles all together; and Drawlight never once turned his back on the man again.