wonderful what a glass or two of ale could do!
But Charles didn’t want to take advantage of Robbie’s drunken state. He would hate regrets to arise the next morning and possibly ruin their friendship. Charles took Robbie by the shoulders and gently pushed him back.
“Do you know what you’re doing? Are you sure?” He looked into lust-glazed eyes that glittered in the moonlight.
“Yes.” Robbie exhaled the word on a sigh. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. I’m not that inebriated. I know what I want.”
Charles assessed Robbie’s commitment and level of tipsiness before nodding. “All right, then. Why don’t you pull this cart onto some quiet lane off the main road where there’s no chance of anyone passing by.”
“And then we can kiss some more?”
Charles smiled. “Then we can kiss and more.”
Chapter Eight
Only a few splotches of moonlight penetrated the dark grove Robbie chose. He tied the pony to a sapling, then climbed back up to Charles and more kisses. Their hats ended up in the cart. Their ties and collars soon joined the hats. The cob dozed in its traces.
No boundaries lay between Robbie and astounding pleasure.
Beautiful night, beautiful kisses, beautiful man in his arms. Euphoria bubbled over inside him as Charles pressed his beautiful soft lips against Robbie’s. Oh, so this was how it was done. Charles slid his lips softly, lightly over Robbie’s. He nibbled. He teased. He coaxed Robbie to open his lips and then, oh! His warm, wet tongue slid inside.
Robbie whimpered with sharp longing. Everything in his past, lascivious, guilty daydreams were nothing compared to this yearning. He had to get closer, touch as much of Charles as he could.
The large hands cupping his head held him steady, but as he moved closer, wrapping his arms around Charles, the dratted fingers grasped his shoulders and pushed him away. He opened his eyes and, in the pale shaft of moonlight, realized Charles regarded him steadily, without the usual smile he aimed at Robbie.
“Robbie. Now I’m remembering too much. Those things you said just yesterday in the library.”
Robbie’s lips felt chilled without the intoxicating heat of Charles against them. His mind whirled as if he’d drunk a dozen pints of ale. Why in God’s name was Charles talking when they should be kissing? Words abandoned him. He gave a small noise, a mix of protest and confusion, instead. “Hrm?”
Charles explained, “When I informed you that we would eventually come together, you appealed to my better self. You pointed out that you respect Phillip.”
“I do.” Robbie nodded.
“That respect meant following his rules under his roof,” Charles said.
A loophole. “We aren’t under his roof.”
“Is it that simple? I like you, Robbie, don’t forget. I won’t have you blaming yourself or me if you should end up with a wagonload of guilt. It has to be more than the beer speaking.”
“More than the beer speaking?” he repeated. Was that an expression he knew?
Charles said, “Ah, perhaps I’ve had a bit too much to drink as well. When alcohol is running through one’s system, it can make one abandon long-held principles.”
Robbie felt the rise and fall of Charles’s chest. A sigh. He went on, speaking slowly as if feeling his way through a novel thought. Robbie knew that sensation. He’d experienced it frequently since Charles had come to the hall—bombshells of emotion and beliefs, new and frightening and burning through his old notions.
He’d been blown up by his new friend. Now he needed Charles to put Robbie back together—more of those kisses and embraces would do the trick nicely. Less thinking. More action.
But Charles was still speaking, and he must pay attention. “If you avoided me after…after we indulged, I would be extremely—I would be bereft. Losing you as a friend would make me sadder than missing the chance for some embraces.” He sounded astounded by his own thinking.
“Ha! We are good friends,
But Charles didn’t want to take advantage of Robbie’s drunken state. He would hate regrets to arise the next morning and possibly ruin their friendship. Charles took Robbie by the shoulders and gently pushed him back.
“Do you know what you’re doing? Are you sure?” He looked into lust-glazed eyes that glittered in the moonlight.
“Yes.” Robbie exhaled the word on a sigh. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. I’m not that inebriated. I know what I want.”
Charles assessed Robbie’s commitment and level of tipsiness before nodding. “All right, then. Why don’t you pull this cart onto some quiet lane off the main road where there’s no chance of anyone passing by.”
“And then we can kiss some more?”
Charles smiled. “Then we can kiss and more.”
Chapter Eight
Only a few splotches of moonlight penetrated the dark grove Robbie chose. He tied the pony to a sapling, then climbed back up to Charles and more kisses. Their hats ended up in the cart. Their ties and collars soon joined the hats. The cob dozed in its traces.
No boundaries lay between Robbie and astounding pleasure.
Beautiful night, beautiful kisses, beautiful man in his arms. Euphoria bubbled over inside him as Charles pressed his beautiful soft lips against Robbie’s. Oh, so this was how it was done. Charles slid his lips softly, lightly over Robbie’s. He nibbled. He teased. He coaxed Robbie to open his lips and then, oh! His warm, wet tongue slid inside.
Robbie whimpered with sharp longing. Everything in his past, lascivious, guilty daydreams were nothing compared to this yearning. He had to get closer, touch as much of Charles as he could.
The large hands cupping his head held him steady, but as he moved closer, wrapping his arms around Charles, the dratted fingers grasped his shoulders and pushed him away. He opened his eyes and, in the pale shaft of moonlight, realized Charles regarded him steadily, without the usual smile he aimed at Robbie.
“Robbie. Now I’m remembering too much. Those things you said just yesterday in the library.”
Robbie’s lips felt chilled without the intoxicating heat of Charles against them. His mind whirled as if he’d drunk a dozen pints of ale. Why in God’s name was Charles talking when they should be kissing? Words abandoned him. He gave a small noise, a mix of protest and confusion, instead. “Hrm?”
Charles explained, “When I informed you that we would eventually come together, you appealed to my better self. You pointed out that you respect Phillip.”
“I do.” Robbie nodded.
“That respect meant following his rules under his roof,” Charles said.
A loophole. “We aren’t under his roof.”
“Is it that simple? I like you, Robbie, don’t forget. I won’t have you blaming yourself or me if you should end up with a wagonload of guilt. It has to be more than the beer speaking.”
“More than the beer speaking?” he repeated. Was that an expression he knew?
Charles said, “Ah, perhaps I’ve had a bit too much to drink as well. When alcohol is running through one’s system, it can make one abandon long-held principles.”
Robbie felt the rise and fall of Charles’s chest. A sigh. He went on, speaking slowly as if feeling his way through a novel thought. Robbie knew that sensation. He’d experienced it frequently since Charles had come to the hall—bombshells of emotion and beliefs, new and frightening and burning through his old notions.
He’d been blown up by his new friend. Now he needed Charles to put Robbie back together—more of those kisses and embraces would do the trick nicely. Less thinking. More action.
But Charles was still speaking, and he must pay attention. “If you avoided me after…after we indulged, I would be extremely—I would be bereft. Losing you as a friend would make me sadder than missing the chance for some embraces.” He sounded astounded by his own thinking.
“Ha! We are good friends,
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