The clear up their names from crimes against the Queen Victoria, and to save themselves from the rope, Mr. Jago and Professor Litefoot followed a lead and ended up in Moorsey Manor. Sergeant Quick (who had jeopardized his own career in assisting in their escape) had hinted, that disappeared Private Willis was dwelling in Moorsey. As far as provided gentlemen could manage to talk him into justifying for them in court, their victory could be guaranteed. Willis knew matters supporting their innocence, but the man was overtly scared.
There was a whole host of problems in questioning Willis though – Willis, who posed as a footman, was easily found, but because of their arrest warrants, it was impossible for Jago and Litefoot to act in their own personas. By coincidence, however, guests were expected for some festive occasion, and because of his acting instinct Mr. Jago couldn't resist stealing the identity of long-waited Professor Potter. In the same ordeal Litefoot became Doctor Lithgow.
Litefoot was just about sure, that Mr. Jago enjoyed his upped revaluation. At least he didn't restrain his swank, instead he let his mouth gabble so much, that he almost blew their cover story right in the start. Storytelling knowing no context was too much even Mr. Jago's recounter skills.
They were accidentally attending a Sherlock Holmes -fan club meeting. And it wasn't just any old book club, but an alliance of enthusiasts. The main theme of the whole evening gathering was to held a funeral for the Private Detective, as if he had existed. It popped into Litefoot's mind, that these people sure must have been those folks, whose antics Mr. Doyle, Arthur, had told he had been so fed up with.
But well, a wake is still a wake, regardless if there was a body or not. Litefoot considered, that Jago should better be departing from his lime green tie with grace, if he didn't wish to cry and depart from it. The Professor had learned in his youth to prepare for all festive occasions, that demanded a corrective action in dress. He suggested a trip into his bedroom. Mr. Jago understood the critique towards his fashion sensibilities intentionally flirtatious.
"I'm not so much a follower of fashion as, I think, fashion follows me", said Mr. Jago, and commented something about the Professor's grave digger's aesthetics. Litefoot snorted. Jago was real happy biscuit when Litefoot straightened his collar and cleaned his appearance to suit the occasion. Jago pretended, that he didn't know how to make a regular Windsor knot.
"A Windsor doesn't even fit your face", Litefoot snarked, "Look at this instead."
The Professor's own silk tie twisted around Mr. Jago's neck into a Van Wijk knot, also called as "a garden rosebud". A kiss also tasted as rosy, when he hastily took one in the privacy is the spare bedroom. Jago was all smiles about the fact, that he had manipulated his partner into deeds of love by acting like an inept simpleton.
"By Jove, Doctor Lithgow", Jago said, fitting himself neatly to a role of a good gentleman he had adopted, "You understand you've just yielded into crimes of gross indecency?"
"Professor Potter should tighten up his lips, if he wishes to enjoy the fruits of this crime", Litefoot answered and jerked the tie toward himself. Jago cleared his throat and pressed into an embrace, that was spotted with touches of Litefoot's fingers through his vest buttons and twines.
The fine folk of the Moorsey Manor had waited Professor Potter's arrival the whole evening, and the dinner was already served. Mr. Jago's tummy was grumbling at the sheer thought, as they had eaten more and more oat bread and water after they had had to vanish due to Litefoot wrongly judged trial. He was, among other things, prosecuted for arson! Killing Mr. Jago, out all things! His case was not helped by the simple truth, that Jago had not lost his life. It was an organized setup.
Oh dear, dear indeed. Mr Jago had had the opportunity to carry out the mother of every actor's artistic vision, by getting to declare right in the middle of the verdict reading, that the rumours of his demise have been greatly exaggerated. In any decent theatre production that would have been the climax of the story. But no, no, here they were now, loitering for Willis and his testimony, that he might not be willing to give without negotiations.
Nevertheless, now that they had started fooling around with identities, they could have done better by being in the hall, sitting at the dinner table. But prolonged runnings in the gauntlet had stirred up another type of hunger… Professor Litefoot kicked a chair in front of the door, blocking the entrance. He planted Jago there. If a maid wanted inside, she would have needed to push through with an intent and force. Litefoot made sure he didn't mess his freshly tied collar.
"L-l-Litefoot...", Jago whimpered sluggishly.
"Lithgow. Doctor Lithgow… a surgeon", Litefoot corrected, throwing himself into the game. As a young student, he had once dreamed of a career of a top class surgeon, and he strove towards that goal… but a pathologist he had become instead. But if one was to play, one should go bottoms up! Let see what the old Impresario had been eating… let's squeeze a calf, then a thigh. Let's nibble the bellybutton under the vest, let's make the fat tussle by tickles!
Without a notice Jago has stopped breathing and was currently turning blue. Litefoot had learned to read that as a sign of a successful coquetry – in the other case Jago would already be stuffing his stomach with Beef Wellington, Game pie and beer. Though, it might be, that they served only wine in book clubs.
"Get a crack-a-lacking, Doctor, before someone gets in their head to check if you've tie-hanged me to the chandelier, or what pish posh is dragging us behind."
"Hush now, my dumb man", said Litefoot. He pressed his hand between his friends lush legs. That's why Jago let out a squeal, somewhat similar, if you had squeezed a tummy of a Pekingese. Scratching with teeth through the fabric, without a doubt, made Jago's blood pressure spiked.
Litefoot kneeled in front of him to the floor – not before he had laid out a handkerchief on top of the carpeting, to protect his trousers. He was playing it safe, rather than not at all!
Jago hit the back of his head to the door panels and bit his tongue when the Professor pinched open his double-buttons to suck his cock. He clicked the shaft from it base between his thumb and index finger as so, that blood engorged to the tip. Good men have been lost for far less! After he tightened the cock-head to his palate, the Master of Ceremonies was close to asphyxiating himself from not breathing so long – after he panted like a lungfish in a puddle of mud.
"Lithgow!" Jago cried and grabbed the Professor by the shoulders. From an experience Litefoot knew how to handle his poor actor, so Mr. Jago didn't last long before getting off. You didn't need more that a crush and a squish, and voilá! Jago's muscles flexed and pushed him forward, making him penetrate deep into the Professor's throat. Litefoot applauded in favour if the fine erection. Last drops dripped from the pulsing tip of the softening prick.
A surgeon or a pathologist, Professor Litefoot sure knew the secrets of dissection, regardless if you talked about in concrete or in metaphors. Mr. Jago was outstretched all over because of his orgasm, but his rosebud knot wasn't.
"Get a hold of yourself, Professor Potter! Our attendance is undoubtedly missed in parlour", said Litefoot negligently, as if he hadn't just swallowed, as an appetizer, a healthy spoonful of liquid, that wasn't a White Russian, for example. Jago huffed.
"If we miss the first course, because of you, I promise I'll make you suffer a sorry scathes of spanking! Now, borrow your moustache comb. My sideburns are in a state of silly crimp", he said, and of course Litefoot handed him his comb. Who would have thought, that a lifestyle of an outlaw could lead into lecherous behaviour in a Sherlock Holmes -fan club meeting?
"Hrmh. We shall have to be less conspicuous for the remainder of our visit", Litefoot stated. If it was in Mr. Jago's wishes to argue, that the Professor had only complicated things himself, he didn't say it out loud. He was possibly thinking saggy dinner table with all of its offerings, and wasn't in the mood to prolong the wait any longer. Who knows, maybe they'll have the change to talk with Private Willis somewhere secure from malevolent listeners, and all this knotted business could still be unbound.
But until then, gentlemen Lithgow and Potter attended the gathering – and nobody wondered about anything else than Professor Potter's Van Wijk-knot, that was almost as striking, as the last one was for its colour.
FIN