A Christmas Cotillion

it had taken on some of his own character. There was his own brand of Spartan simplicity in its neatness that he merely considered as functional. Now he wondered if, to someone else, this might seem cold or unwelcoming.
As he got into bed, he heard soft ‘goodnights’ in the corridor as other guests began to make their way to their own rooms. General bedtime was evidently now approaching. The knot of anxiety and excitement tightened in his stomach. He settled beneath the covers, took a sip of brandy to fortify himself, and with determined concentration managed to read an entire chapter of his book before there was a discreet knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said quietly, his voice sounding hoarse and almost not his own. Noiselessly, Nick slipped through the door, closing it behind him. His was smiling but he too seemed on edge. The fact his mood closely matched Jonathan’s made this whole tryst a trifle less nerve-wracking.
He watched Nick approach the bed. He had evidently been to his own room first to disrobe partially and had donned a dressing-gown over his evening breeches. As he removed the garment, Jonathan gazed on his bare torso for the first time. The flickering candle flame turned pale flesh and finely honed muscle to marble.
When Nick stripped off his breeches, Jonathan’s throat tightened. Still wearing his underclothes, Nick moved towards the bed. Jonathan automatically moved over to give him room and threw back the blankets in invitation.
Nick slid in beside him, shivering from the mid-winter cold, despite the smouldering fire in the chamber. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Jonathan to put his arms around him and after a moment’s stillness, Nick’s body started to relax. Their lips met in a kiss. Unlike the wild tussle in the library, this initial embrace was unhurried, not frantic with need or desire, just timelessly leaning each other.
Then Nick’s tongue flicked his and this time it was Jonathan’s turn to shiver. Nick drew back a little, smiling, his hands clasping the cloth covering Jonathan’s body. “I don’t think you need that,” Nick said, and with his help, the nightshirt was pulled over his head.
Nick leaned back on one elbow, shamelessly admiring Jonathan’s body, his hand caressing the broad planes of his chest, rippling over hair and skin. It had not occurred to Jonathan for years that his body was to be desired, the farm-honed muscles of heavy work had merely seemed functional up to this moment.
Now under a lover’s touch, he felt manly, masculine, desired. An Athenian prepared for loving rather than a functional Spartan built for sheer hard labour. He closed his eyes and surrendered to those wonderful wandering hands.
It seemed natural for their lips to touch again. During this unrushed exploration, the touching and caressing gradually became mutual as the kiss became deeper, more sensual. Jonathan slid his hands down Nick’s back and under his smallclothes to firmly grip those taut buttocks.
Breathlessly, Nick broke the kiss again, impatiently pulling down and shrugging off the hindering garment. Then they were back in a deep embrace, body to body, skin to skin, Nick’s smooth chest rubbing against Jonathan’s lightly furred torso.
Jonathan surrendered to the almost forgotten bliss of arousal to arousal, rubbing against each other, urging on their mutual pleasure. Nick started to rock harder against Jonathan, his rhythm suddenly dissonant and uneven. Jonathan felt the tight muscles of Nick’s firm rump flex as he gripped harder for purchase with Nick’s increasing urgency. He felt a sense of profound bliss, as Nick bucked and writhed and spilt his seed all over Jonathan, crying out into the hollow of his neck.
He let go of his firm grip on Nick’s delectable arse, his hands sliding up that smooth back and held him again, not needing his own release quite yet. With a sigh, Nick raised his head and looked at him, serious for once, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Wonderful,” he uttered. “Even more than I imagined, these long nights this week when I’ve stayed over. If only I had known…” he said with a rueful smile.
“We know now,” Jonathan said softly, irresistibly running a hand through that head of thick, dark hair.
“We do,” Nick said. “And I want more.”
With a wicked grin, he rolled over and sat back on Jonathan’s knees, taking the bedclothes with him, exposing Jonathan’s bare torso and hard cock, glistening with Nick’s seed. “Stroke it for me,” Nick said softly. “I want to watch you.”
Jonathan felt amazingly unselfconscious, warmed by the naked desire in Nick’s eyes. He slid his hand down to his ready member, slicking Nick’s juices over himself and started to rub, slowly, even lasciviously for his rapt audience.
Nick watched avidly, his deep blue eyes wide, as his lover pleasured himself in the quiet, dim-lit room. There was no sound but the rhythmical creak of the bed and Jonathan’s increasingly harsh breathing as his climax approached.
Jonathan tried to match that gaze, but his need overcame him, and he closed his eyes, arched his back, and spurted all over his chest. Rather than a lonely act, it felt like a moment of treasured intimacy.
Before he could open his eyes, Nick’s body came down on his, and they kissed passionately. Jonathan felt overwhelmed by the feel of their mutual loving sliding their bodies together, the heady aroma, and the warmth of Nick’s skin on his. For a brief moment, Jonathan thought he could stay in that embrace forever.
They lay silently for a while, recovering, then as Nick lay in the crook of Jonathan’s arm it seemed natural to talk softly together.
“So,” Nick said, stroking Jonathan’s chest with a wicked grin, “I gather there’s not much in the way of sporting for you ordinarily?”
Jonathan laughed, “God, no. It’s been so long, I almost forgot…”
He trailed off and Nick raised his eyebrows, stroking Jonathan’s chest, the physical closeness inviting shared confidences.
“It’s been years,” Jonathan began and gradually told him about his doomed love affair. Falling under Sebastian’s spell, the years