Page 4 of Molly Boys
“No, you’re right, he wouldn’t,” Ev murmured as he took another long pull on the pipe. He leaned back against the sofa, but rather than purposefully exhaling, he opened his mouth and allowed the smoke to coil languidly from his lips, slithering into the air like a winding ribbon. His eyes were heavily hooded and his gaze unfocused as he studied his best friend. “If my brother or my father found out about me, I’d be shipped off to the remotest monastery they could find and left there to rot.”
“I’d never let that happen.” Francis climbed to his feet and curled himself onto the sofa beside Everett. “We’d run away together.” He smiled as he reached up and stroked Everett’s blonde hair, smoothing back the errant lock which had fallen forward across his forehead.
“We would?” Ev smiled back in amusement, his words slightly slurred. “And where would we go?”
“The Indies, of course,” Francis giggled. “We’ll buy a ship and become pirates, pillaging heathens, living by our own rules.”
“Aren’t we doing that already?”
“It’s an illusion, love. Within these walls we may think we’re free but make no mistake, it’s still a cage. A very pretty one filled with other lost songbirds with bright, finely coloured plumage, but a cage nonetheless. One we will never be free of.”
“What am I going to do, Francis?” Ev murmured. “I don’t want to belong to the church. At least out here I have the illusion of freedom. If they have their way… if I walk the path they have laid out for me, I’ll wither away and everything I am will slowly fade into nothingness.”
“We still have time.” Francis stroked his jaw tenderly. “We’ll find a solution.”
“You promise?” Ev looked up at Francis, his large blue eyes filled with defeat.
“I promise,” he whispered. “Haven’t I always taken care of you, love?”
It was true. Everett wasn’t sure how he would have survived a public school education if it hadn’t been for Francis. He’d been sent to Eton at thirteen with his mother barely cold in her grave, still grieving her loss and far too small for his age, and with the added disadvantage of only being a second-born son, not an heir, he’d made an easy target for the older boys.
The violence and assaults he’d suffered at their hands would have broken him if it hadn’t been for Francis taking him under his protection. Only a year older than him, Francis had quickly become his best friend and confidant. They’d been inseparable all through Eton and then later Cambridge.
He’d stood at his friend’s side during his last year of school after the deaths of Francis’ parents. Francis lost his mother from influenza first, then his father not six months after the ink had dried on his mother’s death certificate. His father’s heart had given out on him, which had been something of a surprise for Francis, who was firmly of the opinion that his father didn’t have a heart to begin with. After, Francis’ elevation to Marquess had certainly changed things at school… well, for Francis at least.
“What are you thinking about, love?” Francis crooned as he continued to soothe Everett’s restlessness.
“Nothing…” Ev closed his eyes as the room spun slightly. “Everything.” He inhaled slowly as a blissful languidness stole over him, and when he opened his eyes the world felt hazy and distant. “Francis?”
“Yes,” he replied, his own voice deep and slurred as a lazy smile stole across his lips.
“Make me forget,” he whispered. “I don’t want to think anymore.”
Francis smiled slowly, his fingertips catching Everett’s chin and turning his face to his own. He leaned in, the soft bristles of his moustache brushing against the underside of the tip of Everett’s nose as Francis pressed his lips to his.
His hand skimmed down Ev’s throat, the gentle scratch of his blunt nails causing Everett’s skin to pebble. Francis’ hand continued down and slid into the unbuttoned section of his shirt. Skimming across his smooth chest, Francis curled his fingers and scraped across Ev’s sensitive nipples.
Ev felt his cock harden as Francis pinched his nipples. The cloud of opium his mind was wrapped in made everything so much more intense but at the same time cast a dreamy surreal kind of lassitude over every sensation.
He opened his mouth as Francis’ tongue slid silkily inside. He tasted of the rouge he’d painted on his soft, plump lips and of whiskey and smoke. It was heady and the room spun as he felt Francis’ hand unbutton the front of his trousers and slip inside, pushing inside his smalls and gripping his cock firmly as he stroked.
Ev moaned into Francis’ mouth. He could feel his friend’s eager cock pressed up against his thigh through the thin robe.
Dimly, Ev registered the sound of the bedroom door opening, the creak of the hinges alerting him to the fact they were no longer alone.
Francis lazily pulled back, giving Ev’s lips one last teasing swipe of his tongue before turning his attention to the intruder. He continued to fist Ev’s cock as his swollen lips curved into a slow, sinuous smile.
“It seems we have a visitor, Ev,” he said with a knowing smile.
Everett glanced over to see Richard Lowcroft standing in the doorway, his gaze riveted on both Francis and Everett.
“My apologies, my lord,” he stammered as he turned to Francis. “I was unaware Lord Stanley was visiting with you. Shall I give you some privacy?” He canted his body toward the door, hesitating as his gaze was drawn back to the slow, rhythmic stroke of Francis’ fist.
“Well if it isn’t Darling Dickie.” Francis’ mouth curved. “Tell me, were you hoping for another go of my cock in that delectably tight hole of yours?”
Dickie swallowed, licking his lips as his lusty gaze dropped once again to Francis’ working hand, and he nodded, almost unconsciously.
Everett stared at the beautiful young man in the doorway watching avidly as Francis worked his cock. The ruddy length of his slim prick peeked out of Francis’ fist on each downstroke, the slick sound lewd in the silence of the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the collective sound of their heavy breaths. Arousal and dark invitation hung on the air.