David ran a finger down Richard’s cheek. “You have my word, but I should very much prefer to say yes.” He brought Richard’s hand to his mouth, kissed the knuckles. “And to hear you say it. Cry it out, for me.”
Richard groaned low. David pressed his mouth to the hand he held, parting his lips to take in the end of a finger, and sucked. Richard made a noise in his throat.
“Your hands are sensitive,” David whispered, and delved in between two fingers, pushing his tongue into the join, feeling Richard tremble. “I did wonder, when I have attended to them, if you…”
“Every time. Oh God, do that again.”
David had both of his hands on Richard’s now, sliding his fingertips between the bones. He pressed a little harder. “Every time?”
“Every time you had me at a stand, and I know you knew it. David.” Richard tipped his head back, exposing his throat, and David wanted the cravat out of his way.
Time enough. They had one night to make up for years of need. He did not intend to rush.
He raised Richard’s hand to his mouth again, thumbs tracing the sensitive palm as he sucked each finger in slow turn. Lips, tongue, teeth, over those big hands he knew as well as his own. Richard had his eyes shut, mouth open, and was breathing hard. David’s master, kneeling by him and entirely given up to the pleasure David was making him feel.
David gave the finger in his mouth one last, long stroke of the lips and let it go. A few seconds later, Richard opened his eyes.
“David.” His voice was thick, and he didn’t seem capable of saying anything else.
“Will you come to bed?”
Richard nodded and rose, with difficulty. Ellie had left a candle in the hall, which David took up, lighting the way through the old house’s passages, Richard at his heels. The rectory had been built for a man with a family and had more rooms than the Flemings needed, most unused. David had prepared a bedroom as far from his parents’ room as might be.
The room was still chilly from long disuse, though he had lit a fire some time ago. The bed was old but large, and he had made it with care, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing it for.
This could not be real.
But it was, because Richard shut the door as David put the candle down, came over with one long stride, and took him in his arms. David looked up, Richard’s mouth came down on his, and then there was nothing but kissing. Richard’s hand in David’s hair, the other arm around his waist, pulling David to him for long, hungry kisses with open mouths. David bit at Richard’s lips, felt him gasp at the scrape of teeth, and wrapped a leg around his powerful thigh. Richard’s hand moved to David’s arse, by instinct rather than intention because David felt the jolt of shock go through Richard as he did it. He groaned pleasure into the mouth against his, and then the big hand under him took confident hold, and David shut his eyes at the sheer joy of bodies pressed together, in perfect alignment.
Richard’s fingers drove against David’s scalp, tangling in his hair. “Dear heaven. Mr. Fox.”
David had spent his life being called Foxy, when he wasn’t being called ginger-pate or redcock or Scots bastard. It was not novel. It should not have made him feel so warm.
He stepped back just a little, reached up to Richard’s cravat as he had a thousand times, and stopped.
They stared at each other in the candlelight, David consumed by sudden panic. If Richard withdrew again at that reminder of their positions…
“I think,” Richard said carefully, “I think perhaps I should be undressing you.” He brought his fingers to David’s face. “If you can tolerate my lack of skill.” A fingertip slid over David’s lips, teasing them apart. “Perhaps you could instruct me.”
David made an incoherent noise, shuddering with relief. Richard put his hands to David’s lapels, sliding his thumbs inside the cloth of his coat, and pushed it over his shoulders and down his arms until the material was tangled behind David’s back. “Ah. I see why you do this from behind. On the other hand…” Richard leaned in for another kiss while David’s arms were still caught by the sleeves. “I have you trapped, my fox.”
David whimpered, pressing himself forward. Richard kissed his lips, the side of his face, and stopped only at his neckcloth. “Curse it, I must be about my business.” He tugged at the sleeves of the coat. David gave a helpful wriggle, and they wrested it off between them.
Richard reached for David’s waistcoat buttons. “I trust I will be more handy here.” His fingers were large, not nimble, pressing into David’s chest through the cloth. One button slid through its hole, then another, and Richard gently pulled the waistcoat open.