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Play the Game | Modern AU | Heather

Robert Saint-Leger

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Jello. His entire body felt like jello. If he was at home, he might have been able to finagle a masseuse for after his daily training sessions. At Oxford it was like seven months of training Hell where stretching and electro-therapy with from the trainer was about all the pampering he was going to get unless he went in town for it. Stretching, physio, hot baths, and cold baths did not do much to reduce the pain of lactic acid buildup.


He had been late for one training session and coach was making him pay. As if an hour and a half at the gym at 7am and 3-4 hours rowing or on the water between 1pm and 5pm six days a week were not enough, he was stuck with half an hour of planking and an hour of boat maintenance for two weeks. A quarter of the crew was cross with him, and he was threatened with being tossed back to the Isis boat which was absolute shit. He was the best stroke. They all knew it. He had the most experience even though he was one of the two youngest on the Blues. He had been competing at Eton and at the Henley Royal Regatta since he was a young boy. He had the hard and calloused hands to prove it while the all the nancies cried about their little blisters.


Most of everyone had already left the smaller training facility at the boat house, so it was rather quiet when he left the ice bath room dressed in his jeans and pulling a blue OUBC hoodie over his head. When people saw you in training skins, a little chest flesh was no large matter.


He still had reading to do for one of his Poli courses which was one thing he could not pay someone to do for him.


Ooop, ginger, 2 o'clock. his mind said instantly when he saw Heather, the sexy ginger cox, coming out another door into the foyer.


"'Lo," he said, too worn to properly say 'hello.' "You're here late, Heather. Coach cross with you too, or was there a meeting with your crew?" He grinned, never too tired to try to flirt. "How's the lit mag?"

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Heather had met Robert before, on several occasions. As the youngest sister to the viscount of Elmdon she'd been at all the right parties that they were both forced to attend, and they shared History class and sports. Oxford through and through. Yet when he showed up beside her tonight at the hallway, she looked startled.


Her glasses were slightly skewed and she was clutching a book to her well endowed chest. The top buttons of her blouse were loose, the cardigan barely covering the exposed flesh. Jeans tightly hugged her curves. As always she carried her golden red curls in a tight knot but several tendrils had escaped, framing her pale face. Her eyes were red rimmed.


"Beverley, you scared me," she accused him, rightening her glasses. I need a drink, a very heavy drink. "Yes, well the coach invited me in to discuss.. to discuss..." Heather stammered, then burst out in tears.


"Excuse me," she gasped and moved away with fast paces, hurrying to the exit.

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"Sorry," he said, making puppy eyes at her and then grinning...until she burst out in tears. Had one of their coaches delivered bad news?


He immediately wondered if he could help. Their head coach had rowed with his father when they were at Oxford, and they were still mates, much to Bevs' chagrin. However, they had a handful of coaches, so there was no telling which one it was.


Nonetheless, he trotted after her. He wasn't the tallest bloke on the crew at just a bit over 6-foot whereas many were a few inches taller than him, but it was easy enough to catch up to her and bar her way out the door, placing his body between her and it.


"What happened?" He pulled the rest of his hoodie down over his abs and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

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Robert stopped her as she tried to push her way through the foyer and out into the open air, feeling like she couldn't breath. With difficulty she took in a few deep breaths. Heather wasn't a confident girl at the best of times. Teary eyed she looked up at the kind, quirky eyed athlete. "Oh please," she begged "let me pass, it is not really important."


Yet his hand at her shoulder kept her and after looking down in despair, Heather's green eyes looked up again "The coach, he is threatening to throw me off the team if I don't follow his orders. He.. he started off with saying I was to fat and must loose weight then. he.." She swallowed "Then he touched me.. there."


Heather looked away again "I pulled loose and left. Now I'm afraid I'm off the team. Please Beverley, I feel so horrible and embarrassed, let me go." The redhead sniffled.

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"It's important if it has you crying," he replied.


He had seen his sister Annie cry over things enough times, and he went absolutely mental whenever anyone upset his sister. Only he was allowed to be an arse to her. Anything else with a penis had to worship her, that was just how it was.


In that same vein, Bevs was very protective of his fellow rowers. They spent so many hours together a day for over half a year. It was a separate family. Not to mention he had classes with Heather and ran in the same social circles in the summer off-season for rowing.


For Bevs it was rowing and then the social season, back to back.


"Well, part of being an athlete is gaining of losing we----wait what?!?" He had totally started answering before he had processed her entire sentence, but once he realized what she had said, he was somewhat scandalized. One of their coaches had harassed her?


"There, where there?" His eyes were wide like dinner plates. Her breasts, her punaani, what exactly? Christ!


"That shit of a cox coach?" he guessed, hoping beyond hope it was that snarky, young arsehole and not their head coach. If it was an assistant coach, Beverley was having delusions of getting them sacked. Or just punching them in the nose.


But he rather needed his hand for rowing.


Testosterone course through him, especially post work-out, he looked between her and the door to the office, gritting his teeth.

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Heather had grown up under the protection of 5 elder brothers, so she was not surprised by Beverley's reaction. Her brothers had all graduated or moved away well before her, and not here to protect their little sister. It felt reassuringly familiar to have him fuss over her.


"Yes, Percy," Heather confirmed with a swallow it was indeed her cox coach "He touched my breasts. First he said it was like.. to test how fat I was, but he.. well, he pinched me.. and wanted to kiss them and then he groped some more and.... " Her pale skin was getting rather pink of embarrassment. She really didn't need to explain more, did she?


"I didn't like it," the redhead finished. She had read enough smutty novels to know where it would lead and while she might fantasize about it, being confronted by someone in a position of power doing things like that to her, it was not sexy at all, and rather revolting.

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Beverley grit his teeth even more as she spoke.


Had that arse not heard about the sex scandal at that American university in their version of football? Bevs could be undisciplined, but he did have some sense of responsibility to maintaining airs. He might not act it the majority of the time, but he was the only son of an earl. Just like he knew what scandal he shouldn't bring to his family, like pushing himself on some girl, he also knew what scandal shouldn't be brought to the club or university either.


"Is he in his office?" he asked, letting go of her shoulder and heading in that direction. He was not sure what he was going to do, but he was going to do something. Perhaps he should have gone to see if Coach was in his office, as in their head coach, or perhaps he should have texted him. Unfortunately testosterone was a chemical that did not oft make young men of his age make rational and responsible decisions.

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Heather knew what was happening the moment she saw the flint in Beverley's eyes. Not because she was psychic but because she had 5 over protective brothers who did just the same thing every fucking time.


"NO, Beverley.. don't be an idiot," she pleaded as she hung onto his arm, refusing to let him go "You'll be thrown out of the team just like me and for what purpose? Please, just get us out of here. If you still feel that way tomorrow you can talk to the Coach."


The redhead pouted prettily at him, unaware how her still half opened blouse was providing an interesting vista to his eyes. "Please Beverley? I promise to send Elmdon an app tonight so he can be angry and do something useless like shouting over the phone at Percy from London. You can even talk to Henry and discuss it, if you like. Just get me out of here now."

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Even in the 21st century, the elite took care of their own, and it was only because Heather plead so cutely that he stopped to at least hear her out. It took only a few moments for enough rationality to kick in to realize he couldn't afford to break his hand on that dumb-arse's thick skull, and he might be tempted to it. He was not fond of Percy.


"I won't be thrown off the team," he protested. "Not if he touched you. Coach would never sack me for that."


His hazel eyes looked toward Percy's office door and then back at Heather, noting the tempting titties staring back at him. He licked his lips.


Take a fit girl home or break his hand on Percy's face...


"You won't get thrown off the team either," he half-grouched, his aggressive testosterone high turning into a different sort of testosterone fest, in true tradition of young men his age.


"Okay, but I've only my motorbike if you want a ride...and I'm going to text Coach whenever we get," he paused, actually not knowing where he was taking her. "Am I taking you back to yours or?"

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"Your room," Heather quickly determined, thinking of the absolutely mess at her place that she couldn't introduce a living soul to "And yes, do tell Coach, but not right now." She slowly pulled him towards the exit.


The redhead gasped slightly when he mentioned the motorbike. Now that was so cool. Secretly she had always longed for a rebel. She couldn't quite explain it but well, it melt her to the core. RAWR. Better not show it. He might think her the wrong kind of girl. Politely she managed "What kind of moterbike is it, a Harley, a Triumph?"


"Can we swing past a 7/7 to pick up a bottle of wine," Heather asked plaintively "I think I'll need a bit of a drink."

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"Okay, but I can't promise the wash has gotten done lately..." he said, with a shrug. It was hard enough for him to manage academics and grueling training, let alone do it whilst being clean. His bed and desk were clean enough, and it was a big room, so they could just stay on the side away from the wash bin.


"Triumph," he replied. He had three other bikes at home, but the Triumph was the cheapest and the one he would not mind stolen. It was also the only one that he had a box on to hold things.


There was a chill in the air, but winter was not yet arriving. He walked to his bike and then opened the box in the back, pulling out two helmets and handing her one. He pulled his on and put his leg over, backing it up with his feet.


"Well, come on then. Mount up and hold on."


It was not a long trip back to Oriel, even with a stop for wine. "Make yourself comfortable." He pulled out his phone and texted his best mate while holding up the bike with his feet. Have sexy ginger in the room. Hope you don't mind staying out for awhile.


Stashing it back in the pocket of his jeans, he stretched his arms over his head, pulling on them and groaning. He was so sore, and with how much water he was trying to drink to flush out the pain from the lactic acid, he had to take a piss every half an hour.

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Heather giggled as Robert confessed to his unorderly state, glad she didn't have to confess the same. "I won't look," she promised sagely, almost relieved.


"Oh," she cooed "A Triumph, just like the doctor." Admiring her fingers went over the steel, savouring its feel. Her green eyes were slightly widened when she accepted the helmet from Beverley's hand, her breath catching in her throat.


This was all so unexpectedly exciting. She swallowed, not sure if she dared sitting on the motor. Beverly didn't allow her a moment's hesitation and with a debonair air that was entirely faux she wrapped her legs around the machine and put her arms around his waist. Her large breasts pressed into his back.


"Are you hurting?" Heather wanted to know through the helmet, a little anxiety showing through her voice.

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"It'll be hard not to notice," he confessed. He was used to having an entire house full of staff to clean up for him and do his wash. Now, it was paying someone to do his laundry or taking it to the dry cleaners, and paying some poor freshman girl to do the vacuuming and wiping up in the room for them.


"Which companion would you be?" he asked her, smirking in his helmet. He hadn't pulled the visor down yet.


Mmmmm, nothing like the feeling of tits against your back... The motorbike was good for many things. You even got a good vibration from the seat if you were a girl. Maybe she would want some more personal consolation by the time they got back to his place. He knew he would. Then again, he had no idea she was a virgin.


"Yeah, a bit," he shrugged, which looked funny with a big ole helmet on his head. "Coach is really hard on me. He rowed with my father, so he wants to play anti-favourite, and I showed up late to morning training last week. Been stuck doing medicine ball planks for a half an hour everyday and waxing up boats. It's fucking mental. I'm so sore, I think I'm more lactic acid than blood right now."


He revved up the engine. "You ready? I won't go too fast." He was lying. Pushing the limit a bit and having a girl clinging to you for dear life was a good step one to getting into their knickers or at least up their shirt.

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(Pardon my brief interruption!)


Already back at the room after practice, Morty checked his phone and sighed to himself, but managed a reply while he quickly searched for his pea coat and something to read.


I'll take one for the team, came the reply. Leaving the room now.

Seconds later, Bevs got another reply, reading, Pay me back by cleaning up your shit afterwards?


Seriously, who couldn't find time to do some laundry once in awhile?

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"River Song, " Heather gave a guilty goofy smile for having been discovered a fan of science fiction "My most favourite doctor is David Tennant." She held on tight to Beverley as the engine started, pressing herself against his back. It was rather thrilling, her heart beating faster.


"I can help make those muscles loose. I'm an experienced sport masseuse," Heather offered shyly before closing her visor, hoping that he didn't see her blush. It sounded so forward. She bit her lower lip wondering if she should explain that she had plenty of experience because she had practised on her brothers, most of them being real jocks. However, mentioning her brothers always dampened the enthusiasm of gentlemen so she just bit her tongue.


During the short ride to his dorm the redhead was both frightened to death and horribly excited. She clutched at Beverley's waist afraid to fall off, pressing against the full length of him. She had never done something so daring in her life. The adrenaline still coursed through her body as she stepped off the bike gingerly, removing the helmet and shaking out her golden red curls.


"That was fun," she giggled nervously "Clarence will never believe what I just did." Heather Abigail, stop mentioning your brothers, she cursed mentally, hoping that Robert would just ignore that. Trying to suppress her nerves she handed back the helmet. In her pocket her smartphone gave a small buzz, and then another one, but she ignored the messages.

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Bevs did not care if it was forward, it sounded good to him. He was so achy. Not to mention girls generally liked his lean muscles. He would need to come up with an excuse to take his shirt off to show off his shoulders, arms, and abs to showcase what rowing a few hours a day did to your physique.


Not that she really had not seen, because their racing skins showed everything.


"All right then, you're hired," he joked back at her. "A rescuing and a ride for a massage." He grinned into his helmet and lowered the visor, enjoying the feel of her body squished onto his. He smiled more and more as she squeezed him tighter and tighter.


"Let's not tell Clarence about the massage," Beverley quipped. "I don't need him and your brothers glaring at me all holiday season and all summer season." He chuckled and winked, storing the helmets away.


Checking his phone, he texted Morty back, Yeah, mate, sure.


"Morty's off studying," he confirmed to Heather. Score! Room to himself.


He opened the door. The room was very large and had it's own loo. She probably did not want to go in there, he knew he had clothes on the floor. He tossed a few things off his bed and off his chair into the laundry pile in the corner sheepishly.


"I'm not very good at cleaning," he admitted. "Once you have an entire household staff, cleaning just never becomes an activity." He shrugged. At least she knew where he came from and had likely already guessed he never cleaned up after himself.


He poured her out a glass of wine and then sat on his bed. "So...about that massage." He grinned and went to take off his hoodie.

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"Forget my brothers," Heather rolled her eyes, "Despite their claims they do not have anything to say about my life." Since her father had died the protectiveness of her brothers had only increased and they could be an intimidating lot in an effort to protect their little sister. Thankfully Henry was in London and Darren overseas, while Adrian was emerged into his own studies. Clarence and Edmund though, were a menace. Clarence was a college drop out who still lived in the vicinity of Oxford, emerged in vague business deals he didn't much speak of while Edmund was in the Royal Airforce and currently off duty, which meant he was bored and rowdy. She ignored the next three buzzes from her backpocket.


She swallowed as she entered the room of Morty and Bevsy. It was a familiar sight of unkept student rooms. Heather had built up a high tolerance for it, especially as she wasn't the most orderly person herself. Yet to enter the room of a male student, without doing an editorial meeting, or reviewing an article or some such serious business, was a total new experience.


Out of nerves the redhead gulped down two large sips of wine. It started racing in her blood, relaxing her some, but the awkwardness was difficult to get rid of. Oh my god, he was undressing. Heather sat on the edge of the chair, gasping at the sight that was revealed. She probably had to say or do something, but it was difficult not to just stare.


"Right," Heather mumbled, embarrassed. She put the glass on a nearby small table and rose from the chair to come sit on the bed with Beverley. "You.. ah.. better lie down on your stomach," she stammered "I.. I need to be able to exert some pressure." God, why did she say that? That totally came out wrong. Blushes appeared in her neck. He probably thought she was some kind of weird nympho. Why was everything in a book so much easier?


Quickly the redhead rose again, unable to sit on the bed with him like this. "Is it okay if I put up some music?" She perused the collection of CD's that Beverley and his roomie had available, bending with her back to Beverly. Her backpocket buzzed again.

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Bevs took off his hoodie, his shorts just visible above the waist of his jeans. They were a thin, blue plaid. He was actually a bit thankful he wasn't wearing the ones with the big smiley face over the flap. Dark chest hair traveled down into them, and he sat as if this was hardly sexual at all. Of course, he was thinking about it, but he was thinking about it most the time. A massage could be a massage. He doubted it would be, though.


"Surely you're not nervous," he said, with a grin, lowering his head to look at her face a bit more clearly. "I'm sure you've been in a bloke's room before. It's only a little massage. I promise to behave." His smile quirked a bit wider.


He really didn't promise to behave at all, but she needed to relax, and so he laid down on his stomach, laying his head down on his forearms. He might come off as not being very intelligent because he was so focused on his training, but he was not all jock, even if he had the muscles of one. He was still very thin, thinner than most the rest of the crew, and even though he was just over six feet tall, he was one of the shorter ones as well. Much of his game with women was money, what he would inherit, his motorbike, and being an athlete. He knew it was hardly him, himself.


"There's lotion on the desk if you want," he said, pointing to a big pump bottle. Then his eyes went a bit wide when he realized what conclusion she might draw from that. "But it's, erm, not for wanking. It's because I get dry skin from all the oars, water, and baths." And he was a bit obsessive about showering, but he was not going to admit that.


His eyes were still a bit wide. He hoped she believed him. It was good she was not one of those gossipy 'ladies', at least not that he knew of.


He craned his head back at her. "Yeah, sure, of there's a playlist on my computer if that's easier." He heard her phone buzz for the bazillionth time. "D'you think maybe you should, erm, get that?"

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Heather couldn't repress a gigglesnort as Beverley went into so much detail about his lotion, feeling defensive. "Sure," she grinned "don't worry about it. Five brothers, remember?" Who would be utterly mortified if they knew their little sister had a suspicion or two about their habits involving towels, lotion and dirty mags.


The redhead selected a playlist from Beverley's computer that didn't involve any loud overly exciting music, but was just soothing in the background, hoping it was neutral enough. There was a certain pleasant tension to the room that made her slightly out of breath, and then just as she wanted to go over to the bed, another little buzz. Heather snapped it from her pocket.


Heather where are you? Clarence demanded to know in their family whatsapp group I am at your place and your training should have been done two hours ago. Did you forgot our night out?


Why are you not answering me?

Heather you are driving me nuts.

Your room mate doesn't know where you are either.


Heather had totally forgotten that Clarence had vaguely mentioned he might be dropping by. Considering he had a habit of standing her up, Heather did not feel at all guilty for doing the same. She sighed and rolled her eyes as she typed.

For Fuck's sake Clarence, back off.

Change of plans. Sorry.

Go talk with Percy if you want something to do. Asshole groped my tits.

Threatened to throw me off the team to get in my knickers.

I'm fine. Having a drink.


What??! %$#% I'll fucking kill him, Clarence made his opinion clear in no uncertain terms.

Wait. With whom? Henry wanted to know.

Other names started to light up as well, furiously typing. Not waiting on further expletives from her brothers Heather deliberately switched her phone off.


"Nothing important," she lied to Beverley as she put the thing back in her pocket.


The redhead picked up the bottle of lotion and her glass of wine, and walked over to the bed to sit next to Beverley. She nibbled her underlip as she admired his back, wondering if it was awkward to say something about his nice muscle definition. Or would that sound desperate?


Deciding against voicing her interest in his body, Heather poured a little of the cold lotion in the small of Beverley's back, before starting to move it up to his shoulders.

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Having a wank was quite a normal thing for a man to do, and Bevs was no exception, but he didn't have to wank off often enough to have lotion on his desk for the purpose. Thankfully, she did not tease him much, and he was happy to let the topic drop entirely.


She took out her phone and he laid there peacefully and patiently. He wondered if it was her boyfriend or something. That was a whole lot of insistent texting for it to be 'nothing'. He did not really mind either way.


Finally they were ready to get down to business, and he jolted as the cold lotion hit his back.


"Oo!" he grunted, and then chuckled, "Ya could have warmed it up in your hands first!" He had no realization that could be construed as yet more evidence of his wanking experience.


It warmed up quickly enough as her hands began to travel over his back.


"Mmmnnn," he groaned, exhaling. "Don't worry about...hurting me...be as hard as you like." He had not meant that sexually either, but he sure realized it sounded like it and grinned, looking up at her with just his one eye since his other was against his forearm.


"Rrrnn, feels so good. I'm so bloody sore and tense." He sighed again. "Holding a plank for half an hour on medicine balls is torture." Their training was rigorous as it was, but the additions were brutal since Coach was intent on making an example of him. "Mmm, you have nice hands."


There was nothing he could do about the fact that the closeness of a pretty woman touching him half naked was making him half-hard. He would worry about that after her hands finished their current work. His hazel eyes appraised her again wondering if she like him or liked what she saw.


Is it bad form to make a pass at someone who just had their titties grabbed by a sanctimonious arsehole who tried to blackmail her into fucking about with him?

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Heather laughed throatily, having known full well he would yelp at the cold. "It will warm up while I rub," she promised, and concentrated on her kneading and rubbing, from his shoulders to his neck and down again. Her fingers were experienced enough to find the knots in his muscles and work them out with soft motions.


"I could never plank for so long," Heather admired his prowess, while her fingers admired his muscles.


At some point it was easier to just straddle him. She wore stretch jeans and that her white knickers were getting slightly damp with all this effort was something she thought would stay hidden. To have access to his entire upper body was leaving her slightly out of breath and her eyes were half closed, while she bit her underlip, which had a little swollen quality by now.


It was difficult to let go, with regret she caressed his back one last time, then drew up, sitting back on her haunches, yet reluctant to move."Is that better?" the redhead asked "or are there other muscles that need attention?"

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And she's straddling me! Yes!


Underneath him and in his jeans, his body reacted to this action with need. He pushed into the bed a bit for some relief as she made more than his sore muscles throb.


He peeped up at her through his seemingly close eye, noting her biting her lip and change in breathing.


She likes it. Heh


Making pretense of squirming as she worked at a knot, he teased her parted legs with his arse as she straddled him. Was it his imagination or did he catch a faint hint of her arousal? A grin slowly spread across his face as he opened the eye, or allowed it to be obviously open. He turned his neck and looked up at her.


"They all need attention," he said, with a grin. "My glutes, my abs, chest, and arms...Do you want me to roll over?"


Please say yes. Then, at least, she would be straddling his manhood, and if he got that far, he could play with her a bit and entice her further. After all, if she had no interest, she would not be willing to straddle his hips for any reason, let alone to give him a massage.

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"I guess you better, " Heather found herself breathing a little faster, unaware how she was betraying herself. She wouldn't mind getting her hands on his abs, fulfilling long held secret dreams. What was the harm in that? Meanwhile though he was grinning at her and in her brothers that was never a good sign. It usually meant a prank was imminent.


"Oh," the redhead gasped, and her green eyes widened, when he turned around. Between her legs there was something hard and formidable and incredibly large. Secretly she rubbed against it a little. the dampness increasing. Surely he wouldn't notice? Her heart raced. This was so naughty.


"I guess I better start with your chest," Heather managed, trying to pretend nothing was amiss. She had never in her life gone as far as this, for one thing because there were always nosy elderly brothers shoo-ing off anybody wooing her. No such siblings here though and Heather was discovering she quite liked the blood racing through her veins and that very insistent feeling that made her want to move. Besides, she was just giving him a massage, right? Heather was sure that anything sexual involved kissing and such.


"You have very nice abs," the redhead heard herself say before inwardly groaning. Why on earth did that have to slip from her lips?

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Oh? Oh good oh or oh bad oh? Pfft, she's pretending that she doesn't notice!


He cleared his throat. This was a far more enviable view.


Ooooo... She was rubbing against it! He could not help but move a little as well. Is she doing this on purpose?


"Mm, yes, you had best," he replied, smiling with a look of feigned innocence. His eyes had a glint to them. "Oh, yes, that is very nice." When she hit a particularly sensitive area with her hands, he moved underneath her again. Whether he was faking and doing it on purpose or just reacting to her touch was hard to tell.


As she moved her hands over his chest and abs, Bevs put his hands to her thighs and began rubbing and kneading them.


"A little lower," he encouraged, not exactly talking about the expanse of skin below his navel but below that. How she took it might allow him to gauge precisely what she was thinking and what move to best next apply. A little charm was never remiss. "You are really very pretty."



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Heather gasped as Beverley moved again. Was he doing it on purpose? Her limbs were turning into liquid fire, and she half closed her eyes as she went up into working the lotion into his stomach. Having a man forced himself upon you was quite different from experiencing something sensual that you initiated yourself.


When he started kneading her thighs rhythmically, matching her movements and then encouraged her to go lower, Heather's eyes widened. He didn't actually mean.... She gulped, her hands stopping their movement. "No I am not pretty," she protested shyly and looked away, sitting up, distracted as she bit her underlip "Tis only red straw." The redhead had no confidence in such matters.


Suddenly Heather felt awkward, a blush fought its way into her neck again. She reached for a towel to dry her hands, still soaked in lotion "Did it help?" She found it difficult to abandon her perch.

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He smiled almost lazily, "But you are. I like your ginger hair. It's different and cute."


Even though she stopped her massaging, Bevs did not stop kneading her legs.


"It helped in some ways, yes, but made things a bit harder in other ways," he joked, a light and quiet laugh following as he put one hand on the bed to help lift himself. His abs tightened as he raised up off the bed and put the other hand to her face.


"You don't have to be shy," he said, quietly, daring to kiss her collarbone and then a little further down, closer to her breasts. "I know you have to feel that." As if to illustrate his point, his lifted his hips a bit under her and rubbed his cock against her through their jeans. "You still don't think I think you pretty?" He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.


"Are you curious?" he asked, taking her hand in his and guiding it toward the bulge in his jeans.

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OMG. OMG. OMG. She was feeling him right there. A soft groan escaped her.


"Well, eh.. Heather's green eyes were large as Beverley moved up to kiss her collarbone while simultanously moving up against her, making her see stars and reducing her to just whisper "oooh, that feels nice."


Leaving no doubt to his intentions he moved her hand towards the bulge between them.The redhead was unable to stop her hips from finding some friction, while her hand wandered over his jeans, wondering at the size of him, softly rubbing. He was decidedly well hung. Her heart was racing. It wasn't as if she was falling in love, but this sensual cocoon they were creating was spell binding her.


"I am not sure we should.." Heather protested, her mind briefly wandering to her furious brothers, before gasping again at another thrill shooting through her. Heather felt she had to tell him something, anything, but somehow the words would not form in her mind, she who was usually so verbose. He was melting her and her brain with it. Consequences seemed so very far away.

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He groaned softly, letting out a deep "Oooo" with his lips coming together to form a little O as his eyes closed for a moment. The first time a girl rubbed your cock was always thrilling, even in its simplicity.


His lips ran over his skin more, his tongue now leaving wet trails where he had been. He was more confident now that she wished this. His hand reached between her legs and began rubbing her through them.


Oh, oh my GOD, she is so wet already! He could feel the dampness through the material and another long groan escaped him, pushing air over the skin he was kissing.


"Why not?" he breathed. "Oooo." Fuck, it felt good. "Mm, we can stop whenever you want."


Yet he was confident that once he got her knickers off, she would not want to stop. The secret to getting laid was in your lips between a woman's legs.


He put an arm around her and then rolled her underneath him, straddling one of her legs. Finally, and as if he was compelled by some need, he leaned down and kissed her, unbuttoning her jeans.


"Mmm, take me in hand, eh?" he requested, turning to kiss her ear. "It's a little tight in there."

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Heather knew she should stop the young lord, warn him of the imminent danger if they did not stop right now. "They will be so angry," she groaned nonsensically, rolling up her eyes as pleasure shot through her, excitement building further and further.


Suddenly the world turned upside down. Heather found herself looking up at Beverley. She opened her mouth to further protest, but all that came out was "Nggggh..." He was doing wonderful things and she was immediately distracted, kissing him back with long lavish strokes of her tongue. At least this she knew, only too well. Usually though she was interrupted well before it could go further.


With hesitant hands her hand moved to his pants as he begged for it. Really, the redhead had never considered how a man would get pleasure in a moment like this, not consciously at least, other than what her wide arrange of literature had provided. Usually, despite its explicit nature, it was vague on details, using a lot of purple prose to invoke smut without spelling it out. A bloody inconvenience for how else was she able to educate herself?


With fumbling fingers Heather tried to unbutton his jeans. Damn, where was the time these things simply had zippers? Her hand slipped inside before she was done entirely, curiosity getting the better of her as she caressed his warm hard flesh tentatively at first, before wrapping a hand around his full length, while her other hand attempted to free him further. Hard work, and she with no experience, yet so excited. Her heart beat in her throat.


"Bev," Heather panted, "I.. " she had intended to say they needed to stop but instead she rushed out "I don't know how to do this."

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"So don't tell them," Beverley said, between kisses. "Friends can fool about."


He was clearly not looking for a relationship or he might have been more intimidated by her brothers. Not to mention nobody would think it strange if he even escorted her to something in their set, because they were teammates and both in History. A friendship would not be surprising. At least not in Bevs' mind. Perhaps in Clarence and Edmund's mind there would be.


"Oh!" he moaned, pleased at her pulling at his jeans. "Mmm, yes." God, her hand on it felt so good. He kissed her neck, quite wound up by now and experienced in this progression. He had yet to realize that she was not. "Stroke it," he whispered, having popped open her jeans and slipped his hand inside to test just how wet she was in there.


"Unnnn." More moans as he felt her first through the thin barrier of her undergarments. He moved them enough to the side for his fingers to slip over her slickened flesh.


"Don't know how to do what?" he asked, pushing himself into her grip and letting out another "Ooo!" as his eyes closed.

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