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Chathams Visitor | 27th 10am- Xmas 1677


Hope

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Willougby's mind was as full as his mouth, a whirl of possibilities, his fingers pressing onwards between skin and breeches around his paramours hip.

 

Though before he got very far Charles was goading him with playful challenge. Willoughby made an amused rumbling sound, and slurped free of the delightful appendage to give a snort of "It seems that indecency is relative! I've my work cut out upon such a dissolute." Aha, so Charles had dallied with gents before, the way he spoke was practically an announcement that he was up for anything.

 

Hands moved to touch the flesh then revealed, dashed with scars, lean yet with latent strength. Jonathan fell hush a moment, plainly Chathams life had been very different to his own. A faint frown briefly formed, yet as quickly was discarded. "No need for the cliche question, I can see where you have been, it is where you intend to go that is to my interest..." a puff of a laugh was given as he loosed his own shirt strings and lifted it off over his head. The hairless torso revealed was porcelain pale, seemingly never touched by the sun let alone a sword, the bones beneath which might easily be itemised individually - the fellow now stood, and begun loosening his buttons.

 

While pouting.

 

"I am rather missing your succulent penis, I shall expect some manner of compensation for this untimely, even if neccessary, interruption."

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"I should be careful with that pout were I you sweetling. It's pretty enough to tempt me to discomfort you further in order to see more of it."

 

Catlike, Charles slid forward, hands reaching out to drag fingertips over Jonathan's exposed chest. His digits moved slowly but unerringly towards Willoughby's nipples, tracing teasing circles around the sensitive nubs.

 

"Don't fret. You can sup to your heart's content soon, but first I believe you mentioned compensation..."

 

Charles sank to his knees, undoing the last of Jonathon's buttons and exposing his prize. Gently, he reached out and began to stroke at torturously slow pace. He smirked up at Jonathan and replaced hand with tongue, licking from root to tip even more slowly. He kept that up for what he intended to seem a subjective eternity, determined to wring more moans from Jonathan, before his hands slid round to seize hold of the other's arse and he leaned forward to take the cock in his mouth.

 

Charles worked at leisurely pace, pausing frequently. He had originally planned to keep this up until Jonathan begged for release but his own patience was beginning to wear thin. He released Jonathan's cock and looked up at him, eye smoky.

 

"Well, that's our appetites whetted, I think. Now tell me, what do you want for the main course?"

 

Charles might have been impatient, but that was no reason to be merciful.

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It was a marvelous thing, this thing, that happened.

 

Jonathan's hips arched forwards, as his eyes savored the sight of his cock disappeared, and the wondrous sensations Chatham gifted him. None knew a cock better than another man. His hand fondled into Charles locks, "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..." his softly sung mantra, a heavenly chorus sung by this fallen angel.

 

With eyes broody dark and dilated, he stared at Charles' jauntily asked question. Deeds overtook speech, Jonathan's hands became discordantly heavy as they were placed upon Charles, moving him about pushing. Cheeks were spread, tongue pushed in, spitting, a finger quested. Slicking, more spit applied, and pulsed in preparation.

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Charles laughed in delight as Jonathan manhandled him, bending easily in submission to the other's will. He had not anticipated such a reaction to his teasing, but having one's expectations confounded like this was fun.

 

"Ah, now that's more like it darling. I've been cruel. Pay me back in my own coin."

 

Breath coming in short pants, Charles rocked back against Jonathan's exploring digit. Lightning bolts of pleasure flashed through him. Blindly, he reached back and took hold of his paramour's cock, stroking gently, though his rhythm was oft disrupted by his own eagerness and Jonathan's talented finger. Moaning, hair in disarray and eye glowing with half mad lust, he looked back over his shoulder.

 

"More."

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You have. Jonathan might have replied if he was not so busy. His pent up need spoke too much already -- the discarding of restraint surprising even himself. That such a finely polished individual could become such an animal, and Charles toff accent a mind jangling narration.

 

Twisting, writhing, hips tilted as Charles hand reached towards the labouriously swaying thing, the swollen and throbbing thing, the brute beast of a thing.

 

His lover was receptive in the best of ways, snuffs and snorts of lustful intent were puffed into the musky channel, finger crooking, tongue slathering, and then a second entered the breech, driving deeply. Though scant time was given for Charles to acclimatise to that girth. Chatham's plaything was pulled free, and taken within an impassioned clasp, set to the dark star mark and thrust. Partially withdrawn, thrust, withdrawn a little more, and thrust again.

 

Johnathan probably ought be embarrassed that he emptied his load so swiftly into the other man, but at the moment, panting and gasping, euphoria was all he felt.

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Charles moaned loudly as Jonathan added a second finger, stretching him wonderfully. It had been a while since he had indulged like this, and he had forgotten quite how intense it could be. He redoubled his attentions to his lover's member in thanks.

 

He could not help but whimper as Jonathan removed his fingers. (Thought was distant, but a Charles in greater possession of his faculties would have appreciated the reversal. Sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, after all.) His disappointment was shortlived, as swiftly fingers were replaced with Jonathan's cock. Charles pressed his hips back and gave voice to his delight as his paramour entered him.

 

"Oh fuck."

 

Charles matched Jonathan's thrusts, grunting, reduced to animalistic instinct by the white hot bursts of pleasure tearing through him. He could feel himself rushing towards the precipice of completion... and then felt the hot rush of Jonathan's climax within him.

 

Naked, on his hands and knees, prick twitching with need and Jonathan slumped against him, Charles could not, off the top of his head, recall the last time he had been so damnably frustrated.

 

"For your sake, I sincerely hope you intend to finish what you started."

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He'd been selfish, and Charles voice brought that fact to his face. With cock still thrust deeply, he mumbled something gravelly. his hand snaking around Charles hip. Gyrating, some moments of fullness left, he worked the tunnel. His mumbles grew more articulate, as hand found his lovers prick and clasped. "... it's been some time, and you were, so irresistible." his hand caressed while he pulsed with as much thrust as he could still manage.

 

Upon a pause he shifted position, trying to maximise penetration, overwhelming feelings of love sweeping over him. "My god, but you look so beautiful like this." he looked down at the symmetry - the ridge of spine over his bent back, his head down, legs agate, fleshy glutes sundered. Yet his own cock was failing, weakening into languid stupor. Grinding his hips in against Charles arse, he held himself place. "I shall make it up to you Charles, what do you need." his free hand slid up the others back with tender marvel of his conquest.

 

Charles had not deserved to go unsatisfied.

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To be entirely fair to Jonathan, he set about trying to rectify the situation as soon as it was brought to his attention. Charles moved back against him, seeking to reignite his own fires. Alas, there were sparks, but no conflagration. Charles spoke as they worked, voice hoarse.

 

"Don't fret. It happens to us all. And you've been deprived, poor thing. You should have said. I would not have teased so."

 

The change of position seemed briefly promising, but the unfortunate facts of male biology defeated them before that potential could be realised. Still, it was nice to hear Jonathan's compliments,even if Charles knew that a man could and would say absolutely anything in the post-coital haze. He reached behind him to stroke the hand his lover had laid on his back.

 

"Well, you have a lovely bottom darling, but I fear it would take too long to get properly acquainted with it. I seem to recall you lamenting the loss of my 'succulent penis,' as you called it, though. Care to remedy the lack?"

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Willoughby was feeling like an utter prick, he really expected more from himself. While Charles sounded forgiving, he had an awful fear that he was just being polite. "It's no excuse..." with a host of unexpected emotions sweeping over him, the dandy was shockingly close to tears.

 

With a new tenderness he bent and kissed Charles back, trying to disregard the slop of his cock and the chill of the room that now bit upon it. "Yes, please..." with a sense that this was a doomed finale to an already failed audition, he slid to his knees. The men shifting their positions, Jonothan trying the other not to see his face. Feeling a fool for the droplets that now slid down his cheeks.

 

Taking up Chathams penis, he supped upon it gently now, licking about the head of it before popping nob between his lips, fingers sliding down to caress his gentleman's balls. You fool. he chided himself still, as he took his last supper rhythmically deeper and deeper.

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Charles felt his breath leave him in a harsh gasp as Jonathan's lips wrapped around his cock. His hands unconsciously reached out to tangle themselves in his lover's curls, stroking encouragingly.

 

"Oh, Jonathan..."

 

Moaning freely, searing bolts of pleasure shooting through him, Charles was not in a position to note Jonathan's emotional fragility. His own frustration vanished, as the sparks finally took root and blossomed into an inferno.

 

"Jonathan!" he managed to grit out in warning before the flames consumed him and he spent in the other's mouth.

 

Smiling contentedly, Charles withdrew and reached down to stroke Jonathan's cheek. Belatedly, he took notice of its dampness. He frowned.

 

"Are you crying? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

 

Charles dropped to take Jonathan in his arms.

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Hearing his name, was heart-wrenching at the best. While he thought he'd messed up any hopes for continuance, Jonathan did his best towards pleasuring his paramour, fingers questing down under to that taut bit of flesh there, while he worked a fervor upon turgid shaft.

 

Charles had been... so accepting of him, in a strangely open way, grinning and encouraging, conspiring fun together. Willoughby hardly understood why he felt so bloody intensely about it! It was all he could do to try redeem himself some how. Gagging his muses centre, pulsing tongue, and, when the warning cry came he pulled back just enough. Stringy thick gobs, swallowed back, swallowed. Tears of his awful weakness still tumbled. Reluctant to let loose his homage like hold, he suckled that capezzolo grande, sucking it clean...

 

Till despite his efforts, Charles realised anyhow.

 

"No you did not hurt me." the care in Charles voice, brought a new hope, though showed up his earlier selfishness all the worse. Clasping hold of Charles with head buried into his neck, Jonathan admitted, "I don't know what came over me then, and can hardly tell what is come over me now. You... I could not bear it if you send me away and don't want to see me again. But I could not blame you if you did. I treated you like a body, not the man who I admire, and would revere. I am so ashamed."

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Perhaps, in the future, Charles might look back and cringe at the sentimentality they were both exhibiting. In the moment, however, his only thought was to comfort, and so he fell back on the only one of his talents that was even vaguely applicable. He started talking.

 

"Oh hush." Charles kissed Jonathan's forehead. "You shall not have to bear it. You are friend, co-conspirator and now lover, assuming that you are up for return bouts. No, I have my claws in you now Willoughby, and I shall not let you free lightly."

 

Charles ran his fingers through his fellow's hair, cradling him close.

 

"Now let go of this shame. I wound you too tightly and you reacted. Nothing to be ashamed of." He lowered his voice. "In truth, I rather enjoyed your reaction. I would not have been so frustrated, otherwise. So the whole thing amounts to a bolt shot early. A slightly embarrassing story, nothing more. I have a list as long as my arm. Get me drunk enough and I might even share one or two."

 

Another tender kiss to the forehead.

 

"Now dry your eyes and show me a smile sweetling, hmm?"

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It was not the most manly moment no - perhaps the unprepare either of them had for it could be held to blame.

 

Swallowing, Jonathan shifted and looked into Charles face. Breath still catching, but with a hint of his former self, "I've no wish to declaw you," He was just as embarrassed as Charles was for his show of emotion, and relieved as Charles managed to turn a smile.

 

It barely needed expressing, might only further the awkwardness, but the chap said it anyway, "It scared me, that I was practically unhinged." now he understood that it had not been entirely unpleasant for his paramour, he dared to admit the worst of it, "my mind was utter darkness but for pleasure, it was marvelous as it was terrifying... yet you've my vow that next time." He would make sure his lover climaxed first. Shifting position again Jonathan came level with the Earl and suggested, "I shall unhinge you too."

 

With a quick wipe of eyes, he gave Charles the smile he asked for - then kissed him with a grateful certainty.

 

Perhaps the world was mending, the past few years had been rough, many bad decisions.

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"Utter darkness but for pleasure?" His eye glinted. "Did I really do that to you? But, yes, freedom is oft terrifying when one experiences it for the first time. But it is a wondrous sensation, is it not? Free of everything but the moment. So you see, it may not be so difficult to 'unhinge me.' as you put it."

 

Charles did not have much time to appreciate Jonathan's smile, as his new lover swiftly leaned in for the kiss. Charles met him halfway, but opted to let him dictate the nature of the kiss. Jonathan was likely still emotionally fragile, and Charles did not want to upset him further.

 

Breaking the kiss, he relaxed back with a contented sigh.

 

"Ah. Now that that is settled, we can move on to slightly less weighty matters." He stroked a finger along Jonathan's jawline. "Who is your tailor?"

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"Agh, that did not sound right. I mean..." stopping himself Jonathan inhaled deeply, "Lud, you must think me giddy." and bunching a cheek he sighed the breath out. "Perhaps I am." his eyes flashed back to Charles before he could comment on that, "Shut up."

 

The simplest truth was that Jonathan wanted more from this than a fling.

 

The kiss was a simple thing, plain even, though placed with a deliberance. Jonathans eyes then met Charles own, and with a smile that was now less for show as he watched him relax, enjoyed the trace of fingers along his jaw. "I am not sure that I know you well enough to divulge that information." his cheek bunched with another smile, and he caught Charles finger to nip at it. "Brace yourself darling,it's London's best kept secret, my 'tailor' is none other than Mr Masoniere. Hes utterly exclusive course. It's practically cloak and dagger to go on his client list." his being animated with this subject

 

"Would you like me to set you up?" Jonathan of course fancied attending the visit also. "I can imagine you in a chocolate velvet brocade with splashes of burnt orange satin, oh, and those darling twisted leather buttons that look like celtic knots. Have you hounds at home Charles, do you play lord of manor striding about with your gun - with a clutch of pheasants laying somewhere about. I can see the portrait already."

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Charles smiled as Jonathan's animation returned. This sort of light banter was much more his métier.

 

"Behave darling," Charles mock scolded as Jonathan nipped at his finger. "This is a serious matter." He listened attentively as his companion revealed the source of his exquisite attire. "I'm fond of cloak and dagger, and a good tailor is worth jumping through any number of hoops."

 

He grinned with boyish enthusiasm as Jonathan offered to make arrangements. "Would you darling? I would be ever so grateful." He cocked his head, considering the ensemble Jonathan described. "Hmm. That would work rather well, wouldn't it?"

 

Toying idly with his lover's curls, Charles spoke on, warm contentment seeping from his voice.

 

"Well, we have hounds, but I've precious little time for playing lord of the manor as yet. You need good company for pheasant shooting, anyway. Unbearably boring otherwise. Perhaps you'd care to visit when pheasant season starts."

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It might likely take a while for Jonathan to feel utterly at ease in Chatham's company (some might query if he relaxed even in his own company). He grinned, "Or not, I dare say that Mr Masoniere shall have his own suggestions. That is the mark of an exceptional tailor I believe, the advice given is done so personally. Why, these hum drum tailors simply agree with what the client wants, with never an original thought of their own." he explained, or was that forewarned.

 

Still with hold of Charles hand, he slid his fingers through, interlinked. "Pheasant season has never sounded more appealing." he drew a quietening breath, trying to mirror this magnificent calm that his sweetheart possessed. Sweetheart? Yes, sweetheart definately. "I hope we don't have to go outside too often though." he tittered again, and twisting about knelt to look at Charles. "Lud but you are a magnificent man."

 

A sudden thought leaped into his head.

 

"Are you married?" for though Willoughby had never mentioned a wife either, there was one to shuffle about as best as a chap could. '

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"Oh of course. One does not consult a physician and present one's own diagnosis, not if he's worth the title. Why should a tailor be any different? His is the expertise, in the end."

 

Charles gave Jonathan's hand a gentle squeeze.

 

"Oh no, we won't be going out that often. Too many shooting excursions and we wouldn't be able to do it again the next year, after all." A huff of amusement at Jonathan's compliment. "I'm thoroughly seduced already my dear. No need to flatter me further."

 

The next question drew a raised eyebrow.

 

"No, not yet." Charles frowned, as he always did when forced to contemplate the imminent end to his bachelorhood. "I shall have to change that soon, though."

 

Charles glanced about the room. The cold was beginning to make itself known. He sighed.

 

"Loathe as I am to end this comfortable little embrace, we should probably take action to ward off frostbite."

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"Compliments are not always given for the muses benefit." Willoughby's eyes glinted with his retort, "why perhaps I am in fact complimenting myself of the calibre of the boar I stuck." gah, a bit too far. Jonathan rolled his eyes of himself and slipping hand under Charles chin added in soft sober, "I shall want to compliment you whenever I want to, and shall not allow any talk other."

 

Yet to the day.

 

Reaching for shirt, Jonathan pulled in on over. "I've a wife myself - finances compelled." he explained, "yet matrimony is not all that bad, when one can compel they to remain at the estate for the court season. A word of advice Charles, don't marry a woman that wont obey. There needs to be just one pair of breeches in the house or it's outright mayhem." Bold words from the dandy, who plainly had some trouble himself.

 

Passing Charles his own shirt, he stopped to watch the other for a time.

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"A muse and a boar? I wear many hats it would seem," Charles murmured quietly, eye flashing with amusement. Reaching up, he took hold of Jonathan's hand and turned it slightly to press his lips briefly to the inside of the wrist.

 

"Very well darling. I shall make allowances for your needs, if you make the same for my constant flippancy and pathological incapability to take things seriously."

 

Now you can't claim I didn't warn you.

 

Charles listened to Jonathan's advice, nodding along.

 

"Is your lady wife so biddable then?" Charles sighed. "I suppose you are right, though it seems to me that I would bore of such swiftly, and grow... unkind soon after."

 

He shook himself and accepted his shirt from Jonathan, pulling it on but not yet lacing it. He glanced about the room, found his breeches and regretfully stood to claim them. He was conscious of his lover's gaze on him and gave into the urge to preen under it as he tugged them on. He ignored the rest of his outfit, choosing instead to wrap himself in his dressing gown. He would change before heading to the gardens, perhaps bathe if he had the time.

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"Did I ever claim to be a poet?" Willoughby tittered, rolling his eyes at himself, "Ah! perhaps I did! An ode to your brow..."

 

A part of him wanted to run from the room and start all over again, he was all topsy turvy, and shambles. This development, whatever it was, was entirely unexpected and sent his imagined course for the season spinning.

 

"Then I am thankful of that." he uttered as Charles forgave, claiming himself unable to take things seriously. "For I ought not be taken so, for surely I'd prove to be a choking hazard. Flip me over, and you shall read 'keep out of the reach of toddlers'" gah, he was doing it again! That was ludicrous! The dandy tipped back his head, hand upon forehead and sighed.

 

"Well... actually I'm one of the unlucky ones." he was sensibly spoken upon the subject of wife. "Granted, she is not boring as you fear, still, I should enjoy a little less colour from her." He pulled on his own breeches, nimble and well manicured fingers messing about with the fastenings. "I expect I shall be a father again next year no doubt, and through no effort of my own."

 

There. Fastened he approached Charles and took charge of tying the sash about his robe, looking into the others eye and feeling that strangely alluring singularity of focus thereby. It was a taste he was delighting in acquiring.

 

"I'll not bring her to Chatham of course, little minx would spoil everything. I saw her name scratched into one of the guest room beds, more specifically it read 'Meg Tressider is a bitch*'. A cousin wrote it apparently. That about says it all." the man snickered, and then pressed a kiss to Charles nose.

 

"So, I'll see you at the party?" he placed hand upon his jacket. Farewells.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Indulge me as I fondly recall the title of the NPC's creation thread!

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"Then 'tis just as well that I'm no toddler," Charles said lightly, perhaps proving his earlier words, "For I rather think I would resent you being kept from my reach."

 

(He had considered a joke about choking hazards, but discarded it as too obvious. He had standards in comedy, if in nothing else.)

 

"Well, do remember that I've never been married. My tune may change when I am locked in matrimonial bonds."

 

For all that, Charles knew for a certainty that he would not bear his hypothetical spouse's hypothetical indiscretions with Jonathan's apparent equanimity. (And it was the lack of discretion that would irritate him more than anything else. He tried to avoid hypocrisy of that sort.)

 

He smiled in thanks as Jonathan took over knotting his sash. He took the other's hands and brought them up to press kisses to the fingertips.

 

"Oh of course not. The poor dear would just be bored by our manly talk of hounds and how much lead one needs to give a grouse." He snickered along with Jonathan. "But yes, from the sounds of it, the cousin was entirely correct."

 

Charles smiled and kissed Jonathan lightly.

 

"Indeed you will, and it cannot come soon enough. If I hear anything from Cleveland, I will let you know."

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And so with fond jabs and affection they parted. "Yes, do that!" Willoughby pleased to have discovered a partner in court mischeif and more.

 

In the very least Lady Kedishalls part was getting more and more interesting.

 

 

& Fin!

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