Warning: language
Resisting
There were times he couldn't control himself and just had to touch the younger boy, as if to make sure he was really there. Most of the time it was nothing serious-it went unnoticed and never raised suspicion.
He could only hope to avoid trouble this time… because there was no resisting the urge now.
As they lay together on the couch, where they had collapsed after a hard day's work, Bard felt the blood pulse through his own arm, as it lay still draped across Finny's slim legs. Both of them had been breathing quickly from a lighthearted chase up the stairs from the basement kitchen, where Finny regularly kept the cook company during the final moments of his shift, and then up the main staircase to the servants' quarters.
He never got tired of looking at Finny. The light flush that invaded the young boy's cheeks was diminishing, but Bard could still envision the rosy tinge on his porcelain-smooth skin, a thin film of sweat making it glimmer in the afternoon light that streamed in through the tall glass window. Bard admired the curve of his ever-graceful neck, only now noticing the gentle jut of his Adam's apple, as it was only visible when he threw his head back like that. If he'd been closer, Bard would have continued trying to memorize the ghost-blue lines of the veins beneath the skin of his young friend's eyelids, as he made it a habit to do when he watched him sleep.
A calloused hand moved toward the small, silent boy's ankle, drawn to touch the skin as if by some invisible attractive force.
He could not resist the urge this time. And he was not sure that it would go unnoticed.
But he didn't care.
Finny was here, within his grasp. Fuck the consequences; he wanted him, and he'd take what he could get.