Chapter 10 - Wet Shirts
A/N Oh, I've been waiting for a chance to put that as my title...yesss...*g* And thank you Green for giving me the idea for this chapter when my useless brain couldn't think of anything.
It was summer of their second year at Cambridge and both George and Henry, being lightly built athletic young men, were recruited onto the boating team to play against Oxford that year. Henry Darcy excelled in this sport, and so he was appointed Captain, an honour which he secretly delighted in, though his natural modesty dictated he not flaunt it deliberately. George, on the other hand, was like most vain handsome young men - more interested in the delights of the ale-mug and the opposite sex, or not as the case may be. And so Mr Johnson, sports' master at Cambridge, despairing of ever making George realise the great importance the boat-race was to the university's reputation, placed him as an extra in the reserve team, though George had desired to be placed as second rower so as to be able to share an oar and a bench with Henry.
Henry in fact felt highly relieved when Mr Johnson placed George as an extra. Having him sitting next to him, both of them only in their shirtsleeves and breeches and most probably soaking wet with river water, it would be beyond him to remain focused on his rowing performance. In fact his entire studies had been proceeding rather poorly of late due to Wickham's distracting smirks and innuendoes. It seems that our George had decided that enough was enough; his period of abstinence was officially discontinued. And as he was witness to the effect his actions were having on Henry, he felt that a sultry summer night would be the perfect atmosphere for a second seduction. And what better way to celebrate a victory at the boat race than a tastefully arranged plate of cakes, a glass of wine and a soft feather bed?
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At ten o' clock in the morning precisely, the starter's gun was fired and the two opposing teams veritably flew across the water in their boats. Resplendent in his captain's colours was Henry at the front of the Cambridge boat, the muscles in his arms contracting and relaxing with military precision as he pulled his oar back and forth in time with Mr Johnson's shouting 'Pull! Pull! Pull!' Our hero George sits by the river bank watching him with a pair of binoculars he had 'borrowed' from a first year student who was unfortunately lacking in height and confidence.
The splashing water repeatedly drenched the boaters, rendering their shirts to see-through, skin-tight pieces of nothing. Even from this distance George could see Henry's hair plastered to his scalp with water and sweat, and he imagined himself running his fingers through the tangled curls after a vigorous bout of lovemaking.
The end of the match was almost upon them, and so the spectators scuttled down from their seats towards the last length of river. Wickham cheered along for Cambridge with the other students, but in his mind he was cheering for Henry; his beloved innocent Henry, who was so naturally beautiful, yet who repeatedly rejected his advances, the damned puritan. Let's just pray that Cambridge wins this year and that tonight calls for some *merry-making* of a private nature for the couple.
The mischance that Oxford would win of course occurred to George. With a cursory glance he scanned the Oxford boaters, but he halted when he saw the Captain. What sheer stroke of genius among the gods was it that ordained all captains be so...attractive? With curly blond hair and the customary shiny blue eyes, he looked like an angel just waiting to be seduced by the sinful indulgence of lust. And who better to introduce him to such an enterprise than yours truly? It seemed his might tonight would be *pleasant* whatever the outcome of the race.
George stood up straight, ruffled up his hair in a rakish fashion, set his coat more comfortably across his shoulders and strolled towards the finish line at a slow pace, preparing to congratulate the winner.
A/N Oh, I've been waiting for a chance to put that as my title...yesss...*g* And thank you Green for giving me the idea for this chapter when my useless brain couldn't think of anything.
It was summer of their second year at Cambridge and both George and Henry, being lightly built athletic young men, were recruited onto the boating team to play against Oxford that year. Henry Darcy excelled in this sport, and so he was appointed Captain, an honour which he secretly delighted in, though his natural modesty dictated he not flaunt it deliberately. George, on the other hand, was like most vain handsome young men - more interested in the delights of the ale-mug and the opposite sex, or not as the case may be. And so Mr Johnson, sports' master at Cambridge, despairing of ever making George realise the great importance the boat-race was to the university's reputation, placed him as an extra in the reserve team, though George had desired to be placed as second rower so as to be able to share an oar and a bench with Henry.
Henry in fact felt highly relieved when Mr Johnson placed George as an extra. Having him sitting next to him, both of them only in their shirtsleeves and breeches and most probably soaking wet with river water, it would be beyond him to remain focused on his rowing performance. In fact his entire studies had been proceeding rather poorly of late due to Wickham's distracting smirks and innuendoes. It seems that our George had decided that enough was enough; his period of abstinence was officially discontinued. And as he was witness to the effect his actions were having on Henry, he felt that a sultry summer night would be the perfect atmosphere for a second seduction. And what better way to celebrate a victory at the boat race than a tastefully arranged plate of cakes, a glass of wine and a soft feather bed?
**************************************************
At ten o' clock in the morning precisely, the starter's gun was fired and the two opposing teams veritably flew across the water in their boats. Resplendent in his captain's colours was Henry at the front of the Cambridge boat, the muscles in his arms contracting and relaxing with military precision as he pulled his oar back and forth in time with Mr Johnson's shouting 'Pull! Pull! Pull!' Our hero George sits by the river bank watching him with a pair of binoculars he had 'borrowed' from a first year student who was unfortunately lacking in height and confidence.
The splashing water repeatedly drenched the boaters, rendering their shirts to see-through, skin-tight pieces of nothing. Even from this distance George could see Henry's hair plastered to his scalp with water and sweat, and he imagined himself running his fingers through the tangled curls after a vigorous bout of lovemaking.
The end of the match was almost upon them, and so the spectators scuttled down from their seats towards the last length of river. Wickham cheered along for Cambridge with the other students, but in his mind he was cheering for Henry; his beloved innocent Henry, who was so naturally beautiful, yet who repeatedly rejected his advances, the damned puritan. Let's just pray that Cambridge wins this year and that tonight calls for some *merry-making* of a private nature for the couple.
The mischance that Oxford would win of course occurred to George. With a cursory glance he scanned the Oxford boaters, but he halted when he saw the Captain. What sheer stroke of genius among the gods was it that ordained all captains be so...attractive? With curly blond hair and the customary shiny blue eyes, he looked like an angel just waiting to be seduced by the sinful indulgence of lust. And who better to introduce him to such an enterprise than yours truly? It seemed his might tonight would be *pleasant* whatever the outcome of the race.
George stood up straight, ruffled up his hair in a rakish fashion, set his coat more comfortably across his shoulders and strolled towards the finish line at a slow pace, preparing to congratulate the winner.