Favourite Fruit
(William Compton/Thomas Tallis)
"Do you like pears, Tom?" Sprawled on the grass in the king's orchard, Compton weighed the amber-green fruit in one hand, smiling.
The young musician shrugged, setting aside his lute and sheets of music. "I have no particular opinion about pears, my lord."
Compton raised an eyebrow. "Really? I love them."
Tallis smiled, not quite understanding the undertones in the older man's voice. He watched as Compton lifted the fruit to his mouth, eyes smiling at him still, and bit into the ripe flesh. Clear juice ran over his lips and down his chin.
Tallis' sharp breath was audible, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the lord's mouth, his darting pink tongue, his lips wet with the sweet sap of the pear. Compton raised a finger to his mouth and sucked the juice from it, slowly, all the while keeping his gaze on the young musician.
Tallis could feel the blush rise across his cheeks. He turned away. "Don't tease me."
Compton put down the pear and wiped his mouth. "Tom," he said gently, leaning towards him. Taking the musician's hand in his, he brought it to his lips, kissing the tips of his slim fingers. "Is this teasing?" he murmured.
Tallis looked up, blue eyes shining. Compton rose to his knees, pulling the young man closer with a firm arm around his waist. Looking into those eyes, he closed his mouth over the young man's cold fingers, sucking gently, his tongue weaving suggestive patterns. Tallis sighed, lids fluttering down over his beautiful eyes. "My lord…"
His eyes opened, inches away from Compton's, and he gently disengaged his fingers, bringing his hand round to cup the older man's cheek. Recognising the gesture as permission, Compton leaned down and kissed him. Tallis relaxed into it, allowing himself to be pressed backwards onto the soft grass, his other arm slipping around Compton's waist.
The half-eaten pear lay forgotten on the grass – but from that day on, pears were Thomas Tallis' favourite fruit.