Days drifted along in much the same vein as they had done, though now with the presence of a pinhead of anticipation growing larger at the passage of each night. Philip drew his crowd about him as much as he could when not otherwise engaged, cleansing himself any traces left of the monotonous dances and dinners. Interesting women were either engaged or as badly off as he, but there seemed to be no shortage of wealthy idiots being shoved in his direction with their hand readily extended. He'd spent the majority of his week playing nice with them while imagining the days of large-hooped skirts and their propensity for knocking over candles.
Assuming the visions of fire never lit up his eyes, he was absolutely unimpeachable in behaviour. A woman he knew to have been a friend of his mother's had even once drawn up to him and said How pleasant it was to see that he'd made such an improvement of himself since the last Season. Unspoken words had swelled his tongue, but he had smiled at her graciously, silently, until she milled away.
He had also been quite pleased at how firmly he had been keeping to his vow of silence regarding Thomas, but before long he eventually had absolutely no choice but to break it in self defence. Philip had found himself stranded across an emptied table from a friend-of-a-friend and the man continuously pressed him on how his luck in men and women alike could be so poor without his inviting it. Annoyed, and hoping the man was drunk or uninterested enough to not remember the confession on the morrow, he had spilled the poetry of his find like a tipped glass. The words came out in sudden rush and then abated quickly, ending with the thought that had grown to obsess him since he'd first seen their object:
"He looks like Jokanaan."
The other man's permanently cocked brow raised even further towards his hairline and he snorted. "So it can only end happily for you," was the amused response.
Philip realised with alarming clarity that that particular titbit would be repeated to all of their mutual acquaintances. He didn't disguise the disdain that dappled his gaze as bit out, "How is that you'd go about improving my lot, since you're apparently so well-versed in it?"
"There's no need to work yourself into a lather; I'm sure your friend is lovely. Though, really, what you need," he said, punctuating himself with a drink, "is a Lesbian heiress with an Italian villa." The man shrugged, as though this were some easily-attained fix which Philip had been absurdly remiss to overlook.
"Indeed," Philip said, rising to take his leave before he was made to feel even more of an ass by someone who wore the prize ribbon. "Well, perhaps I'll run into one on my way home. Good night."
***
Despite the bad impression which he was inevitably going to be making by doing so, Philip had excused his man for the day when Thomas was expected. Godfrey was not unfamiliar with such requests, but had never made any sign of recognition towards their end. Indeed, he always showed a reserved pleasure at being given unexpected time to wile away in London. It left Philip feeling rather generous despite the ulterior motives.
Having returned from luncheon, Philip spent his brief time wrapped around a book, letting himself become lost in the grass-and-heart paths hewn by Shelley. He was never much for most poets, but there was a fondness of feeling which left him hopelessly cleaved to Shelley during the summer months.
- and Wisdom had unrolled
The clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe,-
To few can she that warning vision show-
For I loved all things with intense devotion;
So that when Hope's deep source in fullest flow,
Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean
Of human thoughts-mine shook beneath the wide emotion-
A brass knock just echoing from from down the hall led him quickly back to the world in which he resided. Moving a tad slowly, Philip made his way to the door, hesitant lest he open it to anyone unexpected. No such ill fortune.
In the sunlight, Thomas's colouring exposed the beauty of its true simplicity - very white, black, red, blue. Nothing was allotted in half-measures and he was shockingly lovely, even standing as he was in a wordless sea of surprise. Philip paused for a moment, unthinking, before he stepped aside and let the man in.
"Yes, I know, " Philip said in response to the inquisitive look he was being given, "but I'm the only one here. My man's half-day was the same as yours, if you would believe."
Thomas's eyes stuck at various points on the rather oppressively decorated walls and bounced along frames until he finally came to a stop at Philip, who had been watching in amusement. "Hullo."
"Your suit's nicer than I would have expected," Philip said, wondering why as he did. It wasn't nice, though it fit well and wasn't some garish colour or awful tweed, but the subject seemed an altogether safer a beginning than 'you'd not believe the sort of things you've gotten up to in my dreams'.
"I think that's called 'damning with faint praise'," was the response, said through a trace of a frown.
"I didn't intend to." He took Thomas's hat from atop his head and put it on the table behind him, then slipped his fingers into the 'v' of his vest and tugged him into a kiss. "Will you forgive me?"
"You've an awful lot of making up to do, what with this and last time."
"I suppose I have. But I'm awfully forgiveable." Philip pressed Thomas into the wall, haloing him with a landscape sketch, and went to bring their mouths together again before an absurd question came to mind, one he simply couldn't do away with. "First, you have to answer me something," he said, voice light.
"What?" Thomas ran a hand down Philip's back.
"How many of Lady Mary's suitors have you been to bed with? I have to know."
Thomas gave a sharp, genuine laugh and a grin transformed his features. "Less than you think if you're asking that."
"More's the pity for those poor fools."
He kissed into Thomas's smile until it faded around his tongue. For a time they remained, palms pressed under coats, over arses, against jaws, or into hair without haste, leisurely cataloguing the feel and the flavour of the lover against them.
Philip stepped away, breaking their mouths apart at the last possible moment. He slipped his hand into Thomas's and led him out of the hall, heading towards the bedroom.
In introducing someone new around his flat, he was always given a strange, new sense of its impact. What had faded into something of a pleasant nest to him did have a tendency to make people feel put upon by the weight of activity which hung from the walls. He'd been informed that it felt vaguely threatening, like you'd shared Alice's cake and everything seemed a bit too small.
"I have an idea this isn't what you were expecting," he said suddenly, turning around to Thomas. "This isn't the House. Well, I mean, obviously this isn't the House. This is just my flat. So I've a bit more freedom to do as I like without feeling as though anyone were watching." Naturally, it was also substantially less money than opening up the entire House and letting loose its menagerie of servants.
"It's a bit...there's a lot, isn't there?" Thomas gestured vaguely around him.
"I like to have things to look at. And it helps conversation if I'm stuck with a stranger."
"All right. Who's that, then?" He pointed to a small painting of a rather delicate-looking woman.
"I didn't mean you. But that's, er," he paused for a moment. Some of the portraits were family, but some were just people whose look had struck his fancy and he had never been invested enough to remember the difference off-handedly. "Some Duchess or other, I suppose." He smiled a little apologetically. "Usually I just make something up if someone asks."
"Do I not warrant a story?"
"I didn't think you'd care if I couldn't remember, but I can tell you a story."
"Go on."
Philip came up behind him and wrapped his arms tightly about the other's waist, resting their heads together so they both looked at the painting. "A very distant cousin. She was Marie Antoinette's lover and only just escaped France with her head intact. She landed in England and stayed here, swearing off all things working class or French. She dined on curries and hired great ladies for maids. Many years later, the ladies had quite enough of her peculiarities and they drew lots for one to stab her while she bathed."
Thomas turned his head so that they looked at one another and raised his eyebrows. "That's almost unbelievable," he said, smiling.
"My family history could fill far more interesting volumes than Debrett's," Philip agreed. He kissed his temple, then straightened and loosed his hands from about Thomas's waist. "Come on. I have a lot of forgiveness to find, haven't I?
"You do, yes."
With this, they continued the few steps to the bedroom, all the while Philip was amusedly removing the both of their coats and undoing his own tie. Once in, he tossed the clothing onto the dresser and moved to rushedly loose any securing features of Thomas's clothes.
"Fancy, being valeted by a Duke."
"I'm not valeting you," Philip said, catching his eyes with a smile. "I'm unwrapping you."
"Is that very different?" Thomas brushed his fingers through the hair at the other's temple, not bothering to offer assistance.
"The intention's usually different."
Everything unfastened, Philip moved away from him and lowered himself to the armchair at the corner of the room.
Thomas eyed him. "Are you not going to undress?"
"Not now. You finish." Philip watched with growing interest as a slight flush bloomed high on Thomas's cheekbones and he didn't respond, either in movement or word, for a moment. "Consider this fair play for how you left me last time." Thomas smiled slightly and continued.
Watching him undress himself, Philip was once more driven to fancies that he'd been gifted the revelation of Pygmalion watching his beloved statue turn to flesh before his eyes as more was revealed. He couldn't help himself from wrapping Thomas so tightly in all of history; the man seemed so inherently a part of it that he must have existed for long enough to have been written about by all those who doted upon beauty.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever and - "You're the most beautiful thing I've seen. God's sake, come here."
When Thomas reached him, Philip stayed as he was and pressed a hand up Thomas's stomach, running the hair in the wrong direction and watching the skin prickle beneath. His fingertips met as they slid around to the small of Thomas's back and pulled him closer still. He curved his hands around his hipbones, thumbs pressing into the skin along their edges.
Philip looked up at him and saw his eyes awash in black and the flush creeping down his neck. The grip of Philip's left hand tightened at the hip bone and he brought the other around the base of Thomas's half-erect penis. He pulsed his hand slowly, caressing the underside of the growing length with his thumb, and could hear the breath above him slow to an unsteady pace. Thomas rested his hand on Philip's shoulder and leaned further into the touch.
"Hold still," Philip said, quietly. He ran his circled fingers to the end of Thomas's prick, pulled back its foreskin as he ran the hand backward once more, then pressed the flat of his tongue against the exposed tip. Thomas gasped a sound of surprise and bent over him, bracing his hands on the chair's back.
Philip sucked the head into his mouth as his hand continued its tantalisingly slow ministrations along the shaft. His own cock began to lament its constriction beneath his trousers and he moaned, increasing the pace and intensity of his movements so that his mouth and hand met in quick succession. Thomas's hips jerked forward and the tip of his cock bumped against Philip's throat, catching him off-guard, and he choked as he tightened his fingers further over Thomas's hip, hard enough to hold him, to bruise.
Thomas's hands dropped from the chair and groped into the back of Philip's vest, strangled sounds overwhelming his breathing. When he came, Philip enjoyed the feel of the bursts of sticky warmth against his throat, so timed with the louder sobs above him. After a moment, Thomas stilled and quieted until all either of them could hear was the hammering of his heart.
After having placed a kiss at the base of the now-softened cock, Philip pushed Thomas away a step. "I hope all is forgiven," he said, the lightness of his tone vibrating over the lust of its timbre.
"What?"
"Not only forgiven, but forgotten," he said with a shaky laugh. He shifted to undo his trousers and freed his erection from its pained restraint. "Would you do that to me?" Thomas still looked a little dazed, though not discomfited at the idea of reciprocating.
"I've never - "
"It really doesn't matter," Philip immediately interrupted. "I just want your mouth on me." He couldn't bear the thought of it not being.
"Yes, fine."
Thomas stepped as close as he had been, then moved onto his knees between Philip's legs and began to mimic the earlier movements performed upon him. Philip ran his fingers through Thomas's hair, careful to not tighten his hold. The sight of Thomas's eyes latched to his own as he tentatively stroked his tongue along his prick was very nearly enough; his cock had been leaking in sympathy since Thomas had come into him. Thomas wrapped his lips around Philip's head, and watching his cheeks hollow through to the red of his lips was exactly enough.
"Jesus Christ" and re-covering himself was all Philip could manage for a few minutes after. Thomas had, apparently, gone to his pile of crumpled clothes and begun dressing, nearing completion when Philip came to.
"Do you know when your next half-day is?" Philip asked, now fully cognizant. His head lolled against the back of the chair in Thomas's direction. Philip's heart gave a silly little skip as he watched Thomas return to his statue, anything delicious and vulgar hidden smartly beneath his suit.
Thomas shook his head, brushing his hair back into place with his fingers. "Not yet."
"Would you see me again?"
"You need to ask after all that?" He asked, incredulity buoying the words. "Yes. Obviously."
Philip smiled to himself and ran his nails absently along the arms of the chair. "There's scotch there," he said suddenly, pointing in its direction. "You should have some before you go."
Thomas nodded, finishing the final buttons of his dressing before he went to pour himself a glass. Philip walked over to him, once he stood before the decanter, and put his arms about his waist once more as Thomas took a drink. Thomas turned around, not breaking the grip surrounding him, and gave Philip a scotch-flavoured kiss.
"I'm sure I taste obscene," Philip said, taking the glass from Thomas's hand and taking a swallow. He placed it on the table behind Thomas and kissed him again. "You'll have to write to tell me."
"Tell you how obscene you taste? I think I could manage that, if you'd like."
"No, that's the sort of thing I want to hear you say," Philip laughed, pressing a soft bite against Thomas's neck. "Write about your half-day." He pulled away and they stilled beneath one another's gaze. Philip found Thomas observing his expression with rapt interest before he allowed it to creep over his own face. "What wonderful luck I've had in finding you," Philip said, enraptured at Thomas's mimicry, "You really are so beautiful."
Thomas's face took on an entirely unique expression. "What's your name?"
"Philip."
"May I call you that?"
"I don't think that's the thing likely to knock the world off its axis, do you?" Philip reached for the glass and took another drink, placing it back into Thomas's hand.
"You never know," he responded from behind the drink, shrugging. He set the glass behind him.
"Try it and see if we survive."
Thomas laughed low in his throat, then said, "I like that you taste like my cock, Philip."
Philip's mouth opened flounderingly lost for words. "Well," he finally managed, tilting his head in amused surprise, "if anything were going to end the world, that would have been it. Yet here we are."
"What wonderful luck."