Rousseau x Edward The pair meet at a party
1925, England.
He’s done the tour of the house three times in four hours, haunting from room to room until something (or someone) caught his attention long enough to give him pause. He’s been to more of Lyon’s parties than he can remember, and though they’re far from tedious, tonight’s event was quieter than others for one reason or another. So he wanders, dressed simply in a robe and slippers like so many others, and he wanders until he finds the man he’s looking for.
Bousquet is in the refreshment parlour when he finds him. The man is naked, playing with the hair of some pet who’s head is resting in his lap. He inclines his head, Rousseau does the same as he closes the distance.
“Remind me,” The Anatomist chirps as he gives the girl only the most cursory of glances. “What the rules around your staff are?”
Bousquet’s lips quirk back in a smile.
“Why? Which of my staff do you plan on harassing?” The man’s voice is a drawl, his amusement thickened with wine.
“The one in the Play Room,” Bousquet had been looking at him all night, had taken a glass of champagne off of him, had already jerked himself to completion once thinking about him. “With the dark hair and blue eyes.”
Lyon’s brow furrows a moment as he thinks, then he shrugs and waves his colleague away.
“Graves,” He says. “Edward.” His fingers curl in the woman’s hair, gently at first, and then with direction. He relocates her willing mouth to his cock and eases back on the chesterfield with a knowing smirk. “Feel free if he’ll have you. He could do to lose some of the tension in his shoulders.”
Rousseau bobs his head in thanks, turns on his heels, and leaves his host to his pleasure.
*
He enters the Play Room through one of four sets of doors, to the right, unobtrusive and silent. The Play Room is a large room – a study during the day, he thinks, with bookshelves full of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. The high white walls are broken by a few large pieces of art and several large pieces of taxidermy, relics from Lyon’s Grandfather. Most impressive of the lot is a Bengal Tiger, stuffed and set on display upon a marble plinth overlooking the room. Despite its once vibrant fur having been bleached over many long years sat before the immense window behind it, it was still an impressive piece. It was, the Frenchman felt, the reason that this room had drawn the play-actors in. The walls full of horns, antlers, stags, foxes and badgers (and no less the tiger) had drawn a certain crowd from the get-go. It hadn’t taken long for the room’s fixed pieces (including a few stocks and a set of well-worn Crosses) to be also include a hitching post, a few metal crates and a pen of sorts.
A chest to the left of each door contained various pieces of leather tack, crops, collars, and leashes, but he ignored these as he swanned into the room; easy as a summer’s day.
The man he’d been eyeing was still at his post, dressed in his butler’s blacks despite the heat of the room. He held a tray in his gloved hand, kept his back straight and his eyes forward, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, and certainly not on a person.
There were a few in the room, a man and a woman fucking against one of the padded crosses, another man masturbating as he watched, and a pup leashed within one of the heavy crates while his master undressed on the other side.
“Bon soir,” He mimed the lifting of a hat as he came to stand to Graves’ side.
“Good evening, sir,” The focus came back into Edward’s eyes as he turned to address the guest. He’s taller than Rousseau, with lovely dark hair and soft blue eyes framed by a hundred fanning lashes. He’s perhaps ten years Rousseau’s junior.
“Can I offer you a glass? It’s a 14-year-old Chateau de Blingny, and is one of the first bottles they corked on the premises. It’s almost a dessert Champagne, with notes of peach, strawberry and cream.”
“Sounds parfait.” Rousseau flashes the boy a smile and takes a glass, giving it an appreciative sniff before imbibing. It is sweet, and he wonders not for the first time how much on alcohol alone Lyon spends for each of his unorthodox soirees. “It is lovely. Have you tried it?”
“Beg you pardon, sir?” He’s caught Graves off guard, and the shock in his face is genuine. “Me, sir? Oh, no sir, this is for the guests.”
“I seem to recall Lyon allows his staff to have a drink on working nights like this.” Rousseau’s counter seems to frazzle the man, though he keeps his composure well enough.
“Yes, sir, he does, but I don’t feel the need to drink as the others do. I’m perfectly happy without it.”
“Mm.” Rousseau makes a sound of ascent and swaps tactic. In all of the parties he’s attended, Graves has always been present in this room, a fixture as much as the tiger. The other staff moved around from party to party. “Non, non, of course; you’re a good boy.”
A touch of heat rises in the butler’s cheeks as his eyes drop to his well-polished shoes.
“Ah, uh, thank you, sir.”
“Not at all.” Rousseau takes another slow sip from his glass. “Do you spend all evening here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In this room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must get tired, or at least bored.” Rousseau laughs, swirls his drink, and arches a brow at it. “It would drive me madness, standing here watching people fuck all night and not being able to partake.”
The man blushes again. It’s a pretty look that suits his bashful blue eyes.
“Ah, well,” He shifts on his feet, “It’s an honour to serve. I couldn’t, well, I’ve a job to do, sir.”
“But you are allowed to take part, are you not?” He keeps his voice light, conversational. It’s a question, not a pry.
“Yes, sir.” Edward’s answer is slow, and again that blush creeps into his face. “The staff are allowed should they wish. There’s an expectation that our, ah, participation is limited. We do have jobs to do.”
“Of course.” Rousseau drains the last of the Champagne from his glass and sets it to one side on a tray. He turns his attention out to the room. The man who’d been watching the couple had joined in, and the pup was now filating his master through the cage bars. He watched them with a passing interest before his eyes flicked back, just in time to catch Edward’s eyes. They flicked away, landed on the pup and his master, and then away again.
“Do you enjoy that?”
“B – beg your pardon, sir?” Edward shuffled again, glanced at Rousseau, and then back at the pair by the cage.
“The man and his dog,” Rousseau explained again. “Do you enjoy watching them?”
“That wouldn’t be proper, sir.” He was fully red in the face now.
“Marin.”
“Sorry?”
“My name,” Rousseau reached out and gently set his hands upon the tray. “Is Marin. Rousseau.”
“You’re Mr Rousseau?” The butler allowed the Frenchman to take the tray from his hands. “Mister Bousquet’s Anatomist friend?”
“You know me?” Rousseau set the tray down upon an end table and shortened the distance between himself and Edward.
“Y – yes, sir.”
“Marin.” Closer.
“Yes, Marin.” Edward’s back was against the wall, but he was looking now. Looking at the pair, his eyes glassy and his lips parted. Rousseau closed the gap, hooked a finger under the butler’s chin to draw his attention and kissed him. Edward made a noise, tensed, and then relaxed entirely. He returned the kiss, clumsily but with fervour, each grappling for the other until Rousseau ended the embrace by stepping back. Edward, dishevelled and panting, took all of a second to catch his breath before his back left the wall and he straightened. He swiftly brushed his hair back into place and smoothed the creases from his sleeves before fixing his tie with a somewhat shaking hand.
“I—”
“Sit.”
“What?”
“Sit.” Rousseau jerked his head towards a chaise lounge sat to their right.
Edward’s lips moved silently, his eyes followed Rousseau’s motion, and then silently he obeyed. He perched himself quickly upon the edge of the seat, his gloved hands digging into his knees, his eyes wide, staring.
Rousseau followed more slowly, pausing only to fish a leather collar and lead from the box by the door. Again, he closed the gap, taking a deep and perverse pleasure in the sight of Edward’s erection, pressed hungrily against the fly of his trousers. The butler watched him close in, and the clouding in his eye furthered as Rousseau’s leg pressed in between his. Edward drew in a sharp breath, his eyes never leaving Rousseau’s. There was expectation there, desire, but fear also; uncertainty.
Slowly, with a practiced flourish, Rousseau flashed the collar and allowed it to unroll. The buckle followed lastly, snapping to a still and dragging Edward’s eyes down. The butler swallowed, licked his lips, and slowly, decisively, extended his neck. Permission granted, Rousseau leaned in and wound the collar around the man’s neck, buckling it.
“Good boy.”
Edward shivered and pressed into his touch.
This close, Rousseau could smell his cologne – applied hours ago and faint, but stubbornly clinging like a veil. Sweet and faintly spiced, a gift no doubt from a wealthy employer. Beneath that, Edward smelled of soap and ever so faintly of sweat. A bath before the main event in the hopes of participation? A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, there and gone again.
Straightening up, Rousseau clipped the lead onto the collar and let it fall. He then made a slow show of unbuttoning Edward’s coat, then his shirt, and then he stepped away to admire Graves’s newfound state of dishevelment.
“Get undressed.”
“Yes.” Breathless, excited now. Rousseau’s cock throbbed in response.
Edward wriggled out of his coat, then his shirt, and then out of his trousers and undergarments. When he began to hastily fold his clothes, Rousseau quirked an amused eyebrow and yanked him down to his knees by the collar. He went willingly, clothes spilling from his grip as he acquiesced. Again, those pale eyes stared up, willing, waiting, and widening when Rousseau removed his robe, revealing his fully naked and aroused form beneath.
Edward licked his lips.
Rousseau smiled, and slowly, began to wind the leash up around his left fist. Tighter and tighter still. When all the slack was gone and Edward’s chin was forced up, his back taught, only then did Rousseau stop. He reached out, ran a hand through Edward’s hair and scratched him gently behind an ear. The butler leaned into his touch, his tongue flicking across his lips.
“You are a good boy, non?” Rousseau purred as he ran his thumb down Edward’s cheek, across his lower lip, and then into his mouth. The butler’s reaction was immediate, leaning in, the flush in his cheeks returning as he sucked at the preferred digit. When pulled away, a line of spittle ran from Edward’s lip and down onto his chest.
“You’ll need training though,” Rousseau’s right hand dropped to his cock where his thumb rubbed a bead of pre-cum into his head. “Vigorous, hands-on training, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Edward groaned, neck straining against the collar. “Please.”
“Bien,” Rousseau pulled the boy’s head closer, keeping him a bare inch from his cock. Edward licked his lips again, and his fingernails dug further into his knees. Their eyes met fully for one electrical moment, and then Rousseau smiled and let the leash go slack. “Open your mouth.”
