Summary: Kennedy pretends; so does Edrington
Category: Drama, angst
Pairing: Archie/Edrington
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Notes
Disclaimer

“Well gentlemen, we shall leave you to your devices."

With those words and a faint rustle of taffeta, the Dowager Countess of Edrington rose from the sofa. Her daughters followed, trailing dutifully behind her as she exited the drawing room. Just before she crossed the threshold, however, Eugenia paused and cast a shy smile over her shoulder at Kennedy who smiled mildly in return.

Kennedy could not have done otherwise; to have ignored the gesture entirely would have been cruel and he was too well brought up and far too kind to cut a young lady so. It did, however, have the unfortunate effect of almost appearing an encouragement. Eugenia´s lashes swept down demurely and her cheeks colored a little before she turned to leave the room. The entire silent exchange had lasted mere moments, but it had not escaped the notice of mama. Very little did. Edrington saw the look of disapproval that his mother flashed towards him and groaned inwardly. Mama was not at all pleased by the attentions her youngest child had shown to Acting Lieutenant Kennedy.

In truth, it did not require keen observational skills to have noticed Eugenia´s interest. His sister had been casting admiring glances in Kennedy´s direction all evening though to little effect. It was, he suspected, a harmless flirtation brought on more by the novelty of a young man´s presence in their home than genuine sentiment, but mama, ever protective of her children, was not likely to view their interaction in such indulgent terms.

The departure of the ladies provoked another reaction from an entirely different quarter.

“Finally!" Cecil cried, flinging himself artfully into a nearby chair. “I had despaired that they would ever depart!"

Edrington gave his brother a mildly reproving look. “Mama has always retired at eleven o´clock, Cecil. Surely you did not expect her to suddenly change her habits to accommodate your whims?"

Cecil gave a haughty sniff, but did not otherwise reply, tacit acknowledgment that his brother was correct. Cecil heaved a great sigh then stood, all nervous energy and exuberance once more. “Well, I am near to dying of boredom. After an evening spent in the bosom of my family, I feel the need for more diverting company. No offense there, Kennedy," Cecil added, belatedly recognizing the implied insult in his words.

“Of course," Kennedy replied wryly.

“You were free to leave at any time, Cecil," Edrington pointed out most reasonably. Cecil´s answering look was so comic in its appalled incredulity that it was only with the greatest of efforts that Edrington refrained from laughing outright. He shook his head.

“Honestly, Cecil, you look as though I proposed that you promenade through Hyde Park wearing nothing but your cravat."

Cecil shot him a dark look. They both knew that it was far more likely that the Honorable Cecil Augustus Chelton would be found strolling the green in a complete state of undress than it would be for him to cross the indomitable Dowager Countess of Edrington. For all his affectations, Cecil was far too sensible to court mama´s wrath, especially over so trivial a thing. Mama had “requested" her younger son´s presence for dinner and nothing short of a bullet from a dueling pistol would have prevented him from doing so. In fact, Edrington mused wryly, he would have come even then, lest his mother learn that he´d been dueling in the first place.

“Well, we are free to do as we please now," Cecil replied, ignoring the previous exchange entirely. “I thought I might head to the Daffy Club. I say, Kennedy, care to come along?"

Kennedy shook his head and smiled faintly. “Thank you, no. I think I shall retire early tonight."

Cecil looked bemused and perhaps even a bit disappointed. “I thought you sailors enjoyed a good kick up?"

“Normally, that´s true. But after three months at sea, I find I am quite looking forward to sleeping the night through in a real bed without fear of being awakened either for watches or by the sound of my shipmates´ snoring. Perhaps another time," he added more to placate Cecil´s sensibilities than by a genuine desire to go off carousing with him.

Kennedy´s assurances had the desired effect. Cecil shrugged elegantly then turned to his brother. “I don´t suppose it would do any good to invite you to come along?"

Edrington gave his brother a cool smile. “Mr. Kennedy is here as my guest, Cecil. I would be a poor host indeed were I to abandon him to pursue my own pleasures."

“Of course," Cecil replied, neither surprised nor offended. “Well, I shall be off then." In an uncanny echo of Eugenia, Cecil paused at the door and looked back at Kennedy. “If Freddy becomes too tiresome, just knock him over the head with a port bottle or some such. I doubt anyone would notice."

Kennedy´s brows shot up at that provocative remark. Cecil left the room, his laughter echoing in his wake. Kennedy gave Edrington a look that was equal parts amusement and inquiry.

“Please ignore my brother. He delights in shocking new acquaintances, as you no doubt gathered from his performance this evening. He is, for the most part, quite harmless, if a bit too preoccupied with the cut of his jackets. At least he hasn´t been accumulating gambling debts like most of his contemporaries."

Not entirely unfamiliar with the diversions and excesses in which the sons of the nobility indulged, Kennedy nodded. His lips twitched upwards and a mischievous gleam flashed in his eyes. “So, I shouldn´t knock you over the head with a port bottle, then?"

Edrington chuckled. “I think that would be an appalling waste of good liqueur. Speaking of which, as it is still a bit early to retire, would you care for a drink? There should be something in the library."

“An excellent plan, My Lord."

They rose as one and headed towards the library. After the heavy formality of the drawing room, Edrington´s library felt like the sanctuary it was. Howard, well acquainted with his master´s habits, had already lit a fire in the hearth and had placed a tray with several crystal decanters on a nearby table.

“What is your pleasure, Mr. Kennedy? Brandy? Sherry? Port?"

“Port, if you please."

Edrington poured them each a measure of port and carried the glasses to where Kennedy had seated himself before the fire. He handed Kennedy his glass then settled himself in a nearby chair. With Cecil´s departure the house had gone strangely quiet and Edrington found himself reveling in the all too fleeting tranquility. Perhaps Kennedy had sensed his mood; he made no attempt to engage Edrington in conversation, simply sipped his port and cast thoughtful gazes in Edrington´s direction from time to time. And so they sat there, drinking in silence, perfectly content in one another´s company.

Edrington swirled the port slowly about his glass and watched, bemused, as the candlelight kissed the tawny liquid, making it gleam like polished brass. He drank deeply, letting the liqueur slide down his throat, savoring its sweetness.

He leaned back in his chair, adopting an elegant sprawl, keenly aware of the weight of Kennedy´s gaze upon him before he even lowered his glass. He cast a challenging look across its rim and felt a delicious frisson of anticipation wind its way down his spine as the other man met it with a smoldering look of his own. The clock chimed softly on the mantle.

In spite of himself, Edrington found his thoughts returning to the delicate matter of his sister´s seeming infatuation with Kennedy. He told himself it was nothing more than an idle flirtation, but what if it wasn´t? He wasn´t blind, after all. Edrington was all too familiar with Kennedy´s charms; he himself had not been left unaffected by them. Under other circumstances, Edrington might have enjoyed the irony, were it not for the heartbreak his sister would endure were he to let things continue to their inevitable and unhappy conclusion. Nor did he wish to invite his mother´s not inconsiderable displeasure. He was already bracing himself for the unpleasant interview he would be forced to endure with the Dowager Countess on the morrow.

It was hardly Kennedy´s fault. His behavior all evening had been beyond reproach. Kennedy had been polite, solicitous but not overly familiar with either Hortense or Eugenia. He´d also been careful to keep his exuberant and occasionally colorful sense of humor in check. Kennedy was perfectly unexceptionable save for the fact that he was a penniless sailor with neither title nor prospects. No matter what his breeding, mama would never accept such an alliance for her daughter.

Edrington had no concerns on that subject, knowing that Kennedy´s affections were already engaged elsewhere. Of course, there was no way he could ever explain *that* to mama. He would need to find another way to assuage her concerns while gently redirecting Eugenia´s affections before she suffered disappointment.

If such a thing were even possible. How could Edrington possibly hope to disengage his sister´s affections when he—older, wiser and far more experienced—had failed so miserably to extricate his own? And unlike Eugenia, he knew precisely what he was getting himself into.

Edrington shook his head ruefully. He was getting ahead of himself. For all her youth Eugenia was quite levelheaded. She would not continue to pursue Kennedy if she received no encouragement. And there would be none, of that he was absolutely certain. It was simply a matter of time. Before long Kennedy would return to the sea and she would remain in London, surrounded by eligible young bucks vying for her attention and her generous dowry. She would forget Kennedy soon enough. Edrington only wished he was capable of doing the same.

The touch of a hand upon his shoulder startled Edrington from his reverie. He looked up to see Kennedy standing before him, wearing an enigmatic expression. He reached down and plucked the glass from Edrington´s suddenly nerveless fingers. Holding his gaze the entire time, Kennedy raised the glass to his lips and slowly drained it. Edrington looked on, captivated by the sinuous curve of throat rising above the snowy cravat. When he was finished, Kennedy snared Edrington´s gaze once more before placing the glass upon the table beside him. His eyes were dark and intent but when he smiled, Edrington felt another thrill of arousal. Kennedy´s smile turned knowing.

“It is late, My Lord. I believe I shall retire."

Edrington nodded. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth and at that moment, he did not trust it. He rose as well and exited the library, knowing that Kennedy was following, barely a step behind. Allowing Edrington to maintain the illusion that it was he, and not Archie, who truly led.

They parted at Edrington´s door and exchanged goodnights that neither of them meant. Edrington waited until Kennedy disappeared from view before entering his own room and closing the door behind him. He disrobed hastily, tossing his clothing carelessly upon a nearby chair, heedless of the withering looks he´d receive from his fastidious valet come morning. Only a few minutes were required for his cursory ablutions and then, wrapped in his dressing gown, he settled into a chair near the fire to wait.

He did not have long to wait. There was a faint knock before a figure slipped into the room as light and as quick as a cat. Kennedy had stripped down to shirt and trousers. His shoes were absent as well and he padded across the carpet on stockinged feet, making not a sound as he went.

Edrington rose and met him halfway between bed and hearth. Kennedy´s face was cast in shadow, his expression unreadable, save for his eyes which seemed to spark like Chinese rockets in the darkness. His hair, Edrington noted, was still bound. He reached up and tugged the ribbon free with a swift motion and watched as Kennedy´s hair spilled across his shoulders to frame his face like a ruddy, silken veil. Kennedy´s lips curled upwards into an almost feline smile, carnal and knowing and utterly captivating.

An unexpected wave of possessiveness rose up in Edrington. He wanted to devour that clever mouth until those soft lips were swollen and bruised a deep, deep red. He wanted to draw breathy, needful sounds from deep in his throat and make him whimper and beg. He wanted to take him roughly and smash him into a thousand pieces so that he might gather them up and put them together again with his hands and his alone. He didn´t know where this impulse came from, nor did he wish to examine it too closely, for fear that the knowledge was sharp enough to cut him. Instead he surrendered to it.

With a growl low in his throat, Edrington reached out towards the other man. Hands fisting in the soft, unbound hair, he pulled Kennedy into a sharp, feverish kiss. Kennedy stiffened and his hands clutched helplessly at Edrington´s shoulders. His fingers pressed deeper into flesh and bone and for one dizzying moment, Edrington feared he had risked too much, that Kennedy would push him away, strike him, or worst of all, simply leave. And then Kennedy melted against him, pressing his body urgently against Edrington´s as if wanting nothing more than to climb inside his skin. Edrington´s hands tightened in Kennedy´s hair and he learned to breathe all over again.

Kennedy´s mouth tasted of port. Edrington´s tongue swept across Kennedy´s lips, lapping at the sweet, sticky residue, leaving them slick with spit before he dove back into that hot, welcoming mouth. His tongue plunged deeper, chasing after the echo of sweetness like a pearl diver. Kennedy moaned and Edrington continued to explore until they were both gasping for air. And then they were kissing again, eager and hungry for more.

He desperately wanted to take Kennedy there on the floor near the fire, fucking him hard enough that the carpet would rub the skin of his knees and elbows raw. Thankfully enough common sense still remained to remind him of the necessity of something to ease the passage and the vial of oil he had obtained in anticipation of this encounter was currently sitting on the table beside his bed.

Edrington began to walk an unresisting Kennedy in the direction of the bed. They wended a halting and erratic path, neither willing to release the other long enough to make the short dash to their destination. He continued to ravage Kennedy´s eager mouth while Kennedy´s hands twisted almost convulsively in the thin fabric of his dressing gown. Kennedy began to pull at it, tugging it downwards to expose Edrington´s chest and shoulders, then his hands slipped beneath the billowing fabric to slide across bare skin. Kennedy´s fingers slid across one of his nipples then twisted the nub of flesh hard enough to make Edrington gasp and buck against him. Edrington could almost taste Kennedy´s smug satisfaction and it drove him onwards.

They came to a sudden halt as Kennedy´s legs struck the edge of the bed. Edrington tumbled him over and was not at all surprised when Kennedy´s hands grasped the fabric of his dressing gown to drag Edrington down as well. He collapsed heavily on top of the other man, momentarily breathless and Kennedy, always quick to take the advantage, made good use of his distraction. Hands twisting sharply in the now hopelessly rumpled silk, he pulled Edrington into a fierce, demanding kiss. When Kennedy released Edrington at last and gazed up at him, there could be no mistaking the challenge in his eyes and in the almost pugnacious set of his jaw. Kennedy arched one brow and then his lips stretched into a slow, lazy smile, all but daring Edrington to wipe that smirk from his pretty mouth. Edrington was more than happy to oblige.

With a speed that took them both by surprise, Edrington grabbed Kennedy´s hands and pressed them to the bed on either side of his head. With another low growl, Edrington leaned in close enough that he could almost taste the dregs of port in Kennedy´s mouth, mixing with the more earthy odors of sweat and animal lust. Something flashed in Kennedy´s eyes then, something akin to fear but closer to hunger. Edrington pressed Kennedy´s wrists more deeply into the mattress. Kennedy tried to free his hands, but Edrington´s grip tightened almost convulsively and held him fast. Edrington watched him intently, the sound of Kennedy´s rapid breaths loud in his ears so he saw the precise moment when the challenge flashing in his eyes became silent command.

He kissed Kennedy again, taking his mouth with an almost brutal fervor. There was no kindness, no courtesy in this kiss, just raw, aching need and an undercurrent of bitterness that neither of them ever acknowledged openly. Kennedy was already hard, as was he, the smell of their arousal thick in his nostrils. He groaned as his cock bumped against Kennedy´s where it strained against the thin barrier of his trousers. Kennedy strained against him, bucking and writhing, pressing his body closer, seeking stimulation even as he tried to twist free from the weight that pinned him and the hands that held his own immobile. Edrington´s grip tightened further. Kennedy made a sound that was almost a snarl and thrashed wildly beneath him, like a stallion that fought the bit and refused to be tamed. Edrington did not relent, however. He shifted his body, prizing Kennedy´s legs farther apart and continued to ravage his mouth, awaiting the inevitable moment of surrender.

When it came, it was breathtaking. Kennedy seemed to melt, his body turning soft and pliant beneath his own. Kennedy sighed, his greedy, hungry mouth going slack, yielding itself up fully to Edrington´s plunder. It was the most exquisite sensation imaginable and Edrington let himself sink into that kiss, his own capitulation as complete—and as inevitable--as Kennedy´s had been. The air seemed to shimmer around them, alive with possibilities. For a brief moment, Edrington allowed himself to imagine that this was truly his rather than a polite accommodation fuelled by futile desire and self-deception.

Edrington should have known better than to let his guard down, even for a moment. For all his affability, Kennedy could be surprisingly ruthless. The moment Edrington had relaxed his grip, the other man had surged upwards, all strength and youthful agility, twisting his body until it was Edrington who was pinned breathless to the bed. Kennedy straddled him and trapped Edrington´s wrists to the bed. It was a token gesture; Kennedy applied no real pressure and Edrington offered no resistance. Kennedy smiled smugly down at him. More curious than alarmed, Edrington coolly returned the other man´s gaze without even the faintest hint of disquiet. Kennedy´s smile turned wolfish, his teeth glowing in the dim light as he leaned down and kissed Edrington thoroughly, worrying Edrington´s lower lip between his teeth like a dog with a vole. Kennedy´s hair fell across his face to tickle his skin, its light teasing touch a maddening counterpoint to a clever, demanding tongue.

Kennedy tore his mouth away, gasping, but it was only a momentary reprieve. He tugged his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor, before he dove in for another feverish kiss. Edrington could feel Kennedy´s hands sliding along his body, rough, insistent caresses that demanded his body´s compliance. His own hands took advantage of Kennedy´s newly exposed skin as palms dragged across his sides and nails raked down his back making Kennedy shudder and moan and clutch more greedily at Edrington´s body. Edrington´s hands slid down to fumble at the buttons of Kennedy´s trousers. Kennedy made no protest, too preoccupied with his own ministrations.  

The buttons undone at last, Kennedy´s prick all but sprung free from the fabric that had been confining it. Edrington´s hand grasped it, reveling in the heat and hardness of Kennedy´s prick nestled in his hand, but his pleasure was short-lived. Kennedy batted his hand away then stretched out above him to shimmy his way free of his clothes, undulating like a dolphin until the trousers were wadded about his ankles. He kicked them aside and rose up to straddle Edrington once again, their pricks smashed together between their bodies.

A low moan escaped Edrington´s lips and Kennedy swooped in to swallow the sound. By the time they broke the kiss, Edrington had decided he´d had enough of games. His arm flailed about at his side as his fingers tried to grasp the small bottle of oil that remained tantalizingly out of reach. It didn´t help matters that Kennedy was busy suckling his neck in what could only be a patent attempt to drive him to madness.

Frustration and need got the better of him at last. “Oil," he grated out, the word ending in a low hiss as Kennedy bit down sharply on his collar bone before lathing it with his tongue. With a soft sound of disappointment, Kennedy tore himself away from his explorations and retrieved the glass vial from the bedside table. He dangled it between them, his expression thoughtful, before he unstoppered the bottle and spilled a generous amount of the liquid across his fingers.

Edrington squirmed as a few errant drops landed on his belly and he gazed up at Kennedy wondering what the other man´s pleasure might be. By this point in the proceedings, Edrington didn´t care what Kennedy had in mind, just so long as one of them was fucked beyond the point of coherency. *That* at least had never been an issue between them.

Kennedy rose up on his knees and slid his hand behind him, blocking it from Edrington´s view. He snared Edrington´s gaze and then slid downwards, a slow hissed breath escaping from between clenched teeth as he breached his own body. He raised himself up again then pressed down, and then again, the motion gaining speed and force with each repetition. With a faint shudder, Kennedy removed his fingers from his body. More oil was poured over them and then he grasped Edrington´s cock. Edrington bit down sharply against the moan that threatened to explode from his lips as Kennedy´s hand wrapped around his hardened flesh. A few quick pulls to coat it and then Kennedy´s hand was gone.

Edrington felt bereft, but the absence was fleeting as hands were replaced by a sheath of flesh. This time Edrington did groan, low and deep in his throat, as Kennedy slowly lowered his body and took Edrington fully inside of him. Kennedy shuddered again, the tremor traveling from his body to Edrington´s as he held himself still.

Kennedy gazed down at him. The fall of his hair veiled his face and cast his features into shadow, except for his eyes that seemed to burn with a fire of their own. Kennedy began to move above him, hips rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that soon gave way to a faster and more urgent pace. Edrington´s hands grasped Kennedy´s hips as Kennedy ground against him, back arched, seeking sharper pleasure. His fingers dug more deeply into Kennedy´s hips as he tried to anchor himself against the onslaught of sensation. And all the while Edrington´s gaze never left Kennedy´s face, flushed and eager and beautiful in its dissipation.

Kennedy´s head fell back, pale throat bared and enticing in its vulnerability. His mouth slackened as a low keening moan was torn from him and he began to writhe on top of Edrington with even greater urgency. Edrington´s control suddenly shattered and all pretense of civility was stripped away as they bucked and twisted and rutted like animals, heedless of caution or propriety. Nothing mattered beyond their quest for fugitive pleasure. His hand wrapped itself around Kennedy´s prick and jerked sharply at the heated flesh, wanting to bring him to completion.

Edrington arched up from the bed again and again. The force of his thrusts was nearly powerful enough to dislodge the other man were it not for the hands that gripped and held him firmly in place. Kennedy´s body gleamed in the firelight, damp with sweat that had began to pool in the hollow of his collarbone to trail down his sternum before trickling on to Edrington´s body to mingle with his own. Edrington bucked up sharply again with a soft cry. He could feel the heat gathering in his belly, coiled tight and sweet, awaiting release. It wouldn´t be long now.

Kennedy rode him relentlessly, his eyes were wild and unfocused, as his movements became ever more erratic. And then Kennedy´s body stiffened, his eyes going wide as he spilled across Edrington´s hand. His entire body trembled, frozen in a perfect moment of abandonment before he collapsed on top of Edrington to muffle his cries of release against the sweat slicked skin of his neck.

Kennedy´s release was the catalyst that pushed Edrington over the edge. He bucked up twice and then climax swept through him leaving his breathless and gasping and dizzy with satiation. He was only dimly aware of Kennedy slipping from his body to collapse beside him, the sound of his raspy breaths uncommonly loud in the sudden quiet of the room.

Edrington gazed down at the other man. Kennedy was even more beautiful in the aftermath, his features blurred with drowsy contentment. When Edrington reached for him, Kennedy came willingly, his body a comforting weight curled against Edrington´s side. There was a rare softness in Kennedy´s eyes as he gazed back at Edrington and Edrington gave in to the impulse let his fingertips trail down the curve of Kennedy´s cheek. Kennedy´s eyes fluttered closed and he turned into Edrington´s caress with a sigh, a small, contented smile tracing his lips. Edrington could almost pretend that it was he that Kennedy was thinking of, just as he could almost believe that the name Kennedy had whispered into the curve of his neck as he came had been his own.

Self-delusion had never been a skill that Edrington had wanted or needed to cultivate, but it was becoming second nature to him now and he resented it bitterly. But not enough to give this up.

They lay there tangled together for a time. He thought that perhaps Kennedy had dozed off until Edrington felt him shift beside him. Kennedy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back towards Edrington.

“I should go," Kennedy said without turning around. “It wouldn´t do for me to be caught in Your Lordship´s room."

“Of course not."

He rolled over on to his side and watched as Kennedy rose and began to retrieve his scattered clothing. It was only when he stood once more that Edrington saw them: five bruises that stretched across the curve of Kennedy´s hip, the size, shape and placement of which could only have come from fingers gouging deeply into soft flesh. Edrington studied them with a kind of sick fascination until Kennedy slipped his shirt over his head and the thin fabric slid down his body to hide them from view.

They might be hidden from view for the moment, but they would not vanish quite so easily.  They were darkening already and would turn an ugly purple-black in short order. Such bruises would linger for days; they would mar the pale, smooth skin long after Kennedy had left London, long after he´d returned to the Indefatigable and Hornblower´s company. Edrington knew he should feel guilt, some degree of shame even, but he did not. Instead he felt an odd sense of satisfaction, bitter and twisted though it might be, that he had managed to mark Kennedy as his own in this fashion and that he would carry the signs of Edrington´s possession openly upon his person. It was only fair; Kennedy had marked him long ago though his marks would not fade quite so easily.

Edrington wondered what would happen when Hornblower saw them, or if he ever would. Naïve he might be, but even Hornblower was not so innocent that he would not recognize the nature of the bruises that marked his friend, not what they implied. Would he be outraged? Appalled? Or jealous that another had already laid claim to that which he considered his, even though he´d never actually dared to take it for himself. More the fool he. If he didn´t want Kennedy, there were others who did.

If only Kennedy didn´t want Hornblower.

Kennedy had finished buttoning his trousers and had seated himself on the edge of Edrington´s bed once more. His gaze was hooded when he looked at Edrington. For the second time that night, Edrington reached out and cradled Kennedy´s cheek. Kennedy nuzzled his palm, a bittersweet smile tracing his lips.

“I should go," he repeated. Before he could move away, Edrington pulled him into a last lingering kiss. This time when they parted it was not port he tasted on his tongue but bitter ash.

“I shall see you on the morrow?"

“Of course," Edrington assured him. “Goodnight, Archie."

“Goodnight, Frederick."

Edrington watched as Kennedy slipped from his chamber, closing the door behind him. He lay there staring at the space where Kennedy had been for a long time before he rolled over and closed his eyes.

Dawn was a long time coming.

Finis

Notes:  I started playing around with some ideas I´ve been toying with for a longer fic. This is the result. It´s more meditation than actual story. Thanks to elke tanzer for the beta.