you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

Moriarty Manor Daily Life, Act Four:

"i keep a picture of you (here in my head)"

While William had made it clear that Jameson would be welcome to him any time he liked, it wasn't as if they spent every possible hour together in bed, bodies locked together. Jameson did return to William's room the next night, yes, and then a few nights later on the eve of surgery where there wouldn't be an opportunity to full intercourse for several weeks to follow. It still seemed like an indulgence so far as Jameson was concerned, but it wasn't as if he insisted on abandoning everything else in the meantime for the sake of carnal pleasures. No, there were still chores to help with around the house, still classes for William to attend.

But the trick of going to bed with William and falling asleep beside him was that Jameson got to wake up at his side.

Though the days had been growing longer, Jameson still managed to wake up before the dawn. As such, there wasn't as much light sneaking in through the windows to see William with, but it was enough. Just like every new side of him that Jameson had seen, William was a beautiful creature even in sleep. In fact, it was the one time that Jameson could say the other man was at pure rest, all tension in his brow gone. And unlike every morning he'd ever dreaded waking up to see Stratford, finding William felt just as wonderful as every moment in his embrace did.

Jameson would take whatever encounters with happiness he could receive.

So he let himself enjoy the sight for the stretch of time it took for a little bit of light to work its way in through the windows and William began to stir to awareness.

"Good morning, William," Jameson said, being sure to keep his voice on the softer side. At the very least, he knew he didn't appreciate loud sounds first thing upon waking up, so it seemed just polite to extend the same level of consideration to someone who had already tolerated so much from him.

"Good morning, Jameson." Unlike Jameson, who slept on his side, William had slumbered upon his back, so it took him a moment to roll to face his bed partner, the motion slow and controlled so as not to disturb him in return. "How are you feeling about today?"

"A little nervous, I'll admit, but in a good way." While Jameson had fallen ill a number of times and faced various other…unpleasantries in the past, he'd never had to undergo surgery before. The one he was to experience, at least, was one made for a good sort of occasion, rather than one of emergency necessity. "That being said, I've been thinking…"

William's fingers reached out, and Jameson nodded his assent for the other man to brush some of his hair out of his face. "About?" William asked, genuine curiosity colouring his tone.

"About my next request." The mood still felt comfortable, but Jameson couldn't deny that there was a sort of tension added to the air at those words. "I know that I'll need to recover first, and that will take time. But once I'm well enough, I'd like to be able to hunt down Westmeath." Before, he didn't say, he comes and finds me first.

If it were to be a war, Jameson did not wish to be put on the back foot again. No, he wanted to exact his own vengeance, not just with his own hands, but on his own terms.

William nodded, though he went to pull his hand away. Jameson stopped him, reaching up to keep the sensation of William's palm against his cheek. "Of course. We can start discussing those matters in the coming days. Though I do think it would be best to save such things for after we've celebrated your surgery. I'd assumed you'd want a more positive emotional experience for such a momentous occasion."

"You're not wrong, but…" Jameson bit his lip, taking a moment to piece together his thoughts. "I have no objections to the internal surgery whatsoever. That's something I'd like, no matter what." Considering the number of times that he and William shared a bed, it just seemed to be a practical step—and the possibility of never menstruating again was too tantalizing to ignore, even if he never had sex again. "But when it comes to the chest, I was wondering if it might be best to wait."

William expressing visible confusion was so unusual that Jameson doubted he was reading the expression right. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm afraid I don't quite follow."

Jameson couldn't blame him for that, not whenever it was a conclusion drawn so far off the beaten path that it seemed silly to even consider. "I was thinking of the best way to approach Westmeath." Which might have been overstepping, considering that planning was William's purview, but it would be better to share his thoughts than to let them fester with nowhere to go. "Charleville was…rather receptive to the idea of my advances, though I didn't follow through on them. And based on the fact that Westmeath was looking for me, I assume he would be as well. It just seems like it would be the best strategy to take that approach again. And since he was always interested in me as a woman, I thought that holding off on the second surgery might be for the best."

It made perfect sense to Jameson, but he was also very aware of how that might sound to someone else. But, instead of refuting him right away, William took a long moment before he nodded. "I can see where you're coming from, yes. But do you feel that's a sacrifice that's worth it for one person? I'm more than capable of making a strategy that won't need you to resort to such a thing."

"Be that as that may but…" Jameson bit his lip, no longer able to stand looking at William. "Westmeath isn't the only one I'd like to handle. So I feel waiting until all of them are gone is for the best." Westmeath might have been the one that was most egregious in treating Jameson like a woman—the rest were more so interested in having a compliant body rather than any of the particulars—but it would still be advantageous to use as much as he could. Jameson reached up to his injured shoulder. "I'm not as capable of fighting as the rest of you are. The last incident made that clear. And while I know you'd be willing to train me, that will still take time, so for now, this is…the best weapon I have."

If they wanted to treat him as if he were nothing more than a doll to toy with as they saw fit, then Jameson would use that to destroy them in return.

The words sunk in, and Jameson tried to ignore that he wanted to cry all over again. William brushed his thumb over Jameson's cheek. "Is that what you want to do?" Jameson nodded, and William let out an exhale that was far too soft to be considered a sigh. "Very well. It's not my place to tell you what to do with your own body or how to conduct your revenge. If this is the approach you wish to take, I will assist you to the fullest as a crime consultant."

"Th-thank you." Jameson took a long breath to steady himself, some of the disease in his chest easing away, leaving behind just the general anticipation and concern of heading into a surgery left. "I know it sounds irrational, but…"

"Regardless, you're making a choice based on your own free will. After everything, you have more than the right to a bit of irrationality. Besides, this isn't even the most irrational proposal I've heard before." Whenever Jameson peeked at him, William's expression was reassuring. "It doesn't matter how cleanly you plan a situation; you can never underestimate the power of human emotion. Accounting for such things and ensuring you're able to complete the perfect crime is my duty. All you need to do is tell me what you wish to do and how you wish to accomplish it, and I shall handle the rest."

"…Is it wrong to say that's what I'm worried about?" Jameson hadn't meant to say such a thing out loud, but it was too late to take it back, so he decided to press forward. "I know you've given me permission to, and as I said before, I feel I might be relying on you too much. That's why I want to be able to do as much as I can on my own." Even if it was something as simple as using his sexual appeal to catch the regulars off guard before ending their lives, then he would do just that.

If William were bothered by Jameson's saying so, then he did an exceptional job at not showing it. "I understand. The last thing I wish to do is restrict you in any way. No matter what, your choices will always take precedent over anything else. So if there's ever anything you wish, do not hesitate to let me know. Does that help assuage your concerns, dear?"

It did no more than a little, but that was more of Jameson's fault than William's. So he nodded, offering the smile that came to him far too easily for what it was. "It's enough to make me feel ready to face the day ahead, if nothing else." He at last made himself sit up, though he longed to cling the blankets and warmth to him a little longer. "Well, we shouldn't linger too long. Just because it's ill-advised for me to eat breakfast today doesn't mean that I should deny you the pleasure of doing so."

Things had been going so well with Louis, after all. There was no reason to ruin that with something so avoidable.

Dr Burnett didn't make a comment on Jameson's change in plans whenever Jameson voiced it, instead just saying that she'd do as requested before making Jameson comfortable and sending him under. He awoke, groggy and his vision bleary, and he stayed in the doctor's clinic under supervision for a few days to ensure there were no complications before being sent home with orders to rest and do nothing of the sort that could be considered overexertion. Considering the extent to which Jameson's body ached, he had no intention of denying those instructions whatsoever, and the sole reason he didn't collapse upon returning home was that William reminded him that would be bad for his recovery, and would he please allow William to help him into bed?

Whenever faced with such a request, there was no way that Jameson could turn it down, so allow William's help he did before he went back to sleep.

Surgery, Jameson soon came to find, was a tiring experience, though he'd done nothing but lie there unconscious while Dr Burnett did all the hard work. But perhaps that exhaustion was for the better, seeing that otherwise it might have been difficult to believe anything had changed at all. His stomach would be kept in medical dressing for a while, but Jameson had washed up a few times and he could see the leftovers of the incisions, the evidence that someone had rummaged around in his insides and it hadn't been a dream. In a few weeks, whenever his cycle would have commenced, there would be nothing—no blood, no cramps, no reminder of what his biology and society said he should do.

"You were right, Louis," Jameson said as the other man brought over the dishes from breakfast to the sink. Given that he couldn't exert himself much, helping clean up after meals was the least he could do to continue to contribute, even if that small exertion still tended to leave him exhausted. Considering that Jameson's words had come out of nowhere and seemed to have nothing to do with the suds and water he was up to his elbows in, the raised eyebrow was more than a fair response. "It does make you feel lighter, doesn't it?"

That was enough context to make Louis recognize what Jameson was talking about, and he nodded. "That's good to hear that you feel that way. You haven't said anything, so William and Albert were starting to feel concerned."

Jameson withheld his self-depreciating chuckle at the lack of inclusion of a certain person in that assessment. "In my defence, it's rather hard to appreciate such things while your body is adjusting to such a change." The blood in his veins didn't know any better than to think of his womb as anything other than an essential piece of him, nature didn't understand enough to know the pain something as simple as the way he'd been born had caused him. "Considering that the change was all internal, it's taken a little bit to sink in."

"You could have remedied such a thing by choosing to have the external surgery as well." Louis's tone wasn't accusatory, but it was still blunt and to the point. Now that Louis was (somewhat) less distrustful of him, Jameson couldn't say that he minded the effect, so he shrugged before dunking the flatware into the warm water. "Why didn't you?"

"William didn't tell you?" Louis shook his head, and Jameson wasn't that surprised. William seemed to be very good at keeping others' secrets, whether they asked him for a favour or not. Jameson couldn't stop the slight smile that quirked his lips at the thought of such kindness. "Well, you'll know soon enough, so there's no point in keeping it secret. I have more nobles who were of the same sort as my patron and Charleville, so I'd like to kill them as well. I thought that not changing my external appearance might give me an advantage in such matters."

Unlike William, Louis's brow tended to furrow at a much harsher angle in his confusion—or perhaps Jameson was being optimistic, and it was closer to pure agitation. Both options seemed just as probable as the other. It didn't change the fact that the dishes needed to be rinsed free of any traces of soap. "And like before, you wish to handle it yourself."

"Of course I do." The words had come out much sharper than Jameson had intended, but at least he caught himself before he could cause a disaster—like mouthing off further to Louis or breaking the glass in his hand into pieces. Not wanting to look at the youngest Moriarty brother, Jameson kept his gaze down. "I know you all have been handling cases like these since you were young. I'm sure you've come across someone that you wouldn't be able to stand letting live."

"Yes, but that doesn't seem to be the same to me." It was Jameson's turn to frown, but, after everything so far, it didn't seem worth it to argue. After all, William would follow through on Jameson's requests, no matter what Louis's opinion on the matter was. "You know well enough that there is no shortage of people who commit atrocious acts, and I do believe that their deaths are for the best. I've just never felt that I would be the one that needs to do it. Yes, I've wanted to eliminate people like that, and anyone that hurts Brother is someone I'd want to get rid of. But if they befell such a fate without me, I think I'd be just as satisfied. So, no, I can't say I've felt the exact thing that you have."

Jameson couldn't find any fault with that explanation—not that he would've pushed forward with an argument if he had. There was nothing wrong with someone having a different perspective on such matters, and, considering how different their lives had been, it was just a logical outcome. "I see," he said, though that didn't seem like enough. Though he should have moved to dry off the dishes, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. "Are you saying that even if something awful happened to you, you wouldn't feel anywhere near as upset as you would if William were to be hurt, then?"

It had just been a gut feeling, but Louis's immediate, "Yes," made it more than clear how much he was certain of that fact. Jameson wasn't surprised that Louis felt such a way, but it was still strange to hear such conviction on the matter. "Brother means everything to me. Without him, I wouldn't even be here. He's the one that gives my life meaning." And, Jameson inferred, Louis considered himself to be secondary in that equation. "He took care of me, even when I was sick. And Albert helped, too, by making it possible to treat my heart condition when we were younger. So I'd do anything if it meant helping them. Fighting and killing for them has never been a problem. So I suppose…"

The trailing off was uncharacteristic of Louis, and Jameson waited through a moment of silence before prompting, "You suppose?"

"I suppose," Louis said, staring at the wall with such a look that Jameson could recognize well enough to tell he wasn't seeing what was in front of him at all, "I was wondering how it felt to want to do something for yourself so much that you'd be willing to sacrifice your own comfort to accomplish it."

Jameson stared for a minute, unable to put a name to the other emotions stirring alongside the surprise inside him, and even with all that consideration there was but one answer he could give:

"Fire," Jameson said, remembering the smell of smoke and the heat of blood upon his hands. "It feels like fire."

Three and a half weeks from his surgery and Jameson was in a much better position to go about the routine he'd established beforehand. William and Albert seemed to be of the impression that Jameson should rest a bit longer, but Dr Burnett cleared him for regular activity so long as he didn't partake in any more…intimate alternatives, so the matter was settled. Both sex and any training to improve his physical state would have to wait, but he could participate in keeping the house clean and remaining on his feet for any significant amount of time, which Jameson returned to with gusto.

No matter how much company and help he received, Jameson couldn't deny that being stuck in bed for too long was wearing on him, and he had seen enough of his guest bedroom to last him for quite a while.

And so that afternoon, he'd chosen to return to the piano. Even with helping with the chores, there wasn't much more that guaranteed Jameson could keep busy. Managing his assets had even become simple thanks to William's advice. Though there were some things on the list in his journal that would involve traveling outside more often, Jameson would feel much safer doing so whenever he didn't still get the occasional bout of tiredness and whenever Westmeath was dead and gone, another corpse that fell through Jameson's hands. But William had made it clear Jameson would do no such thing until he had achieved a full recovery, and Albert had insisted the same, so there wasn't much to be done about that.

Thus: practicing the piece he and William had chosen in an attempt to become even a fraction worthy of his duet partner.

If nothing else, Jameson was improving. He didn't think he'd memorize the piece with ease, but his fingers had become much more used to the keys now that he'd spent a handful of hours back at them again. The opening was simple enough to manage, and the second movement was passable enough, so Jameson had chosen to focus upon the third section, in which there were a number of rapid glides through eighth and sixteenth notes alongside quick switches of where his hands should be positioned upon the keys.

It might have been satisfying to replay the parts he was satisfactory at, to feel as if he had even a smidgen of skill in the matter, but that wouldn't make him get anywhere, wouldn't make him accomplish anything. And while he spent half the time being frustrated with himself for not being able to pull it off with the ease he imagined in his head, by the time the clock struck upon the next hour, Jameson could at least perform it at a satisfactory level at half the tempo the piece was supposed to be, so that seemed good enough for the day. Push it too far, and you would just end up frustrated. Sure, he would've liked to improve more, but any and all progress was still progress, and he would not deny himself the satisfaction of working on something that he'd chosen to pursue.

That being said, he wasn't so burnt out that he wanted to stop playing, but he did need a break of some sort. For a while, he flipped through the box of scores to see if anything caught his interest, but nothing seemed to quite fit the mood he was in. He hummed a few bars from piece to piece, but in the end the sheets remained in their home, the music rest empty as Jameson plucked at the keys, piecing together a scattered melody. It wasn't a great composition by any means, and he hit wrong key to the note in his mind just as often as he hit the right one, but there was something peaceful about being able to play for himself, with no path set out before him other than the meandering steps he chose to take on his own.

Jameson did not consider himself much of a singer. Yes, he could carry a tune, but that was about as far as his prowess went, though that was in part because his vocal range reached a bit higher than he wished it would. But in that space he was crafting just for himself, he added a few notes to the melody he was plucking out upon the ivory, feeling at ease as his eyes fluttered half shut and his body moved along to the music.

Now that I think about it, Mama used to sing like this.

He knew that there was every chance that his memories were embellished, that he remembered his mother as much more beautiful than any real person could ever end up being. But even if that were the case, Jameson was certain that his recollections captured the feeling of being around her with precise accuracy, the way she made Jameson feel loved and warm and safe, the way her presence alone could make anyone fortunate enough to be in the vicinity just a bit brighter. For a while, just thinking about her had made him bitter for what he'd lost, bitter that he wasn't capable of being her replacement in anything other than appearance.

But now no one expected him to be anyone but himself, and so Jameson could let himself long for and love her all over again, and the feelings rushed through him as if released from a dam. It was almost too much for him to handle, but it was in a good way, the same way that William overwhelmed him with every good and beautiful feeling that he could ever feel.

Just like his mother had been, William was becoming someone that Jameson equated with light and happiness and peace. And while he couldn't replace her—no one could ever replace her; Jameson knew because he'd tried—William did remind Jameson of the good things in the world. He hadn't been lying whenever he'd told William he didn't know he could feel so good, that he could still be happy, even if it was for just a while.

His hands still wandering about the keys, Jameson's thoughts took another turn as he pictured William in his mind, the melody taking a slower turn that he didn't know where he was taking it. The difference, Jameson supposed, was that William was that brilliant and beautiful in reality, so much so to the point he thought it might not be possible to embellish him further in the imagination—though such an opinion was no doubt biased. Even so, Jameson focused on the image in his mind, the softness and fragile-looking strands of William's fine hair, the subtle curve of his smile and the way it enchanted him, the deep and enrapturing colour of those scarlet eyes—

And at last Jameson was aware of the gentle pad of footsteps across the floor, and he glanced over his shoulder to find William there, halfway across the room from him. "I don't mean to interrupt," he said, his voice all softness and slight apology. "I thought I might offer to practice with you since I heard it earlier, but then you seemed to be in your own world, so I thought it might be better not to distract you."

Jameson shook his head, folding his hands into his lap. "You weren't interrupting anything serious. I was just playing whatever I felt like." Whatever he felt like while thinking of William, no less. The thought stirred the beginnings of a blush to his cheeks, but that was easy enough to pass off as general embarrassment as being found getting off task, so he didn't bother to concoct an excuse. Sometimes, the best lie was to not say anything at all. "I don't fancy myself a composer by any means, but I couldn't find anything else that I felt like playing, so I just did what I like. I'm sure the result wasn't anywhere near as impressive as my mind thought it was."

"I think the fact that you're willing to try such things is impressive enough as it is. I wouldn't be able to do such a thing." Jameson didn't even bother to hide the disbelief from his expression, and William chuckled as he stepped closer to the bench, but not enough to invade Jameson's personal space more than their agreed upon limit. "You seem to have some idea that I'm capable of anything, but I am far better at things that have set rules for proficiency. If I'm playing a piece someone else has already written, then that is but a clear set of instructions." He reached out, piecing together a few notes of their duet with one hand but not committing to the full melody line. "But that technical skill falls short whenever it comes to feeling the emotions and the life of the piece. I believe you are much more skilled in that area than I will ever be able to become."

"I-I see." At least the praise provided an even better excuse for the heat in his face. "I suppose I've been remembering that music is connected to some special memories for me. I'd…forgotten after everything I'd been through."

Remembering that there had once been good in his world had been too painful, had done nothing but remind him of everything he'd lost.

William's fingers slipped away from the keys, the tips grazing over the edge of the bench, close enough to make Jameson aware of his presence but far away enough to not even include a hint of seduction—and yet. Jameson hadn't been thinking about it beforehand, but now that William was in such an immediate vicinity, it was a reminder of what he hadn't been able to taste during his recovery. He'd been too tired to even think of such a thing beforehand, but three weeks without intercourse was almost unheard of for him, and some part of his body and mind seemed to be responding to that absence.

"William," Jameson said, voice trembling as he reached up to catch onto the corner of William's jacket while his heart began to race quick enough to make it feel as if his chest was about to collapse in on itself, "remind me that I don't have to do anything I don't want to."

"Jameson Liam Verity, you never need to do anything you don't wish to do from the bottom of your heart." Jameson swallowed, nodding but not feeling confident enough to let go just yet. William was careful not to move more than necessary. "You will only ever need to do what you wish, and I shall never force anything upon you. By your request and your approval alone will I ever do anything in any capacity to you. You have my word."

The panic in him began to abate, though there was still an unpleasant prickling in his skin and lingering over his arms. At the very least he could breathe again, could assess the feelings inside them and sort them out. That one was a compulsion, a lingering effect of all he'd been through, while that one was a desire he didn't mind having, and those were near impossible to tell apart.

"Would it be better," William asked, his voice still caring and patient, "if I left you alone for a while? Or would you rather have the company?"

"I want you to stay." That question required no thought whatsoever. No, it was instead the question of what came next that was so difficult to pick apart. "I think I also want you to kiss me."

He'd avoided any such things since the surgery, not wanting to rile himself up into a position that he wouldn't be able to do anything about, and also not wanting to promise William something that they both knew he wouldn't be able to deliver on. No matter which way you looked at it, no matter how their relationship was developing into more than just mere strangers, their intimacy was just physical, scratching no deeper than that, and Jameson had no disillusions about it ever going farther, not whenever William deserved someone much better than a broken whore. No, the kindness he'd received was more than enough in that regard, and he would take the more carnal pieces of their relationship for what they were while he was still blessed with the privilege to receive them.

"You think?" William echoed, and Jameson nodded, already feeling self-conscious about how presumptuous he was being. "You know I'd be happy to do such a thing, but it would make me feel better if you were certain about it."

"I…" Jameson couldn't refute that. William had agreed to trust his judgement if he were sure, but there was still an uncertainty, and that was fair game to question it. Jameson hung his head, trying not to be distracted by the sight and possibility of William before him. But there wasn't a bed nearby, there weren't servants who would ignore what was going on around them, and there was a reminder that going too far wouldn't even be possible in the first place without incurring Dr Burnett's wrath, so it should be fine.

It would be fine, and Jameson would keep going until he was proven otherwise.

"Please kiss me," he whispered, and William's fingers cupped Jameson's cheeks to tilt his head back into the perfect angle to take a sweet, chaste kiss. Considering that Jameson didn't feel like retching, that was a good sign overall, enough so that when their lips parted, Jameson murmured, "Again," without any hesitation.

William followed through on that request without any hesitation as well, though it was clear he was still being cautious. That was fine; Jameson wasn't in the mood for any overwhelming bouts of passion. He just wanted the close warmth and the comfort of someone safe, a reminder that the world he was going to help create was a place where he didn't have to worry about such things getting taken from him. William's hands slipped down, massaging against the tension in Jameson's neck and shoulders, his thumb pressing into taut lines of muscle with the precise pressure to draw a satisfied gasp from Jameson's lips.

That should not be a cause for arousal in any way shape or form! he chided himself, but the rest of his senses didn't care for any such hasty attempts at logic. Why shouldn't it be enough to keep the steady warmth inside him active, how was it any different from being touched against the skin with the intent of driving him to ecstasy? With how long it had been since they'd shared anything but contact for the sake of ensuring Jameson didn't strain his health too much, even the sensation of William's hands through Jameson's careful layers of clothes was enough to ease the thirst inside him—but nowhere near enough to satiate.

William had already stopped kissing Jameson, but he had remained close, and his gaze was intent on Jameson's face, studying his reaction to ensure he hadn't gone too far. Funny, considering that, as far as Jameson was concerned, William hadn't gone far enough. He didn't think he wished for full intercourse, but the happy medium of William's hands across his body sounded just right, and he tried and failed to swallow down the stutter he could feel threatening to trip up his sentences.

"M-more," he said, not quite caring that it sounded like he was already begging after so little contact. Right, what had William advised him to do? Speak what he didn't want in addition to what he did. Both still felt like foreign concepts, but he worked to piece together the words anyways. "I don't…wish to be undressed, but I do want to feel you." He considered his next words, trying to discover just what it was he wanted to convey. "I think if I go too long without such contact, I'll forget that it's possible to be touched with kindness."

If he didn't have new memories to replace it with, then the barrage of the old ones would break though his boundaries, and Jameson wouldn't be able to stand it.

There was that look on William's face again, the one that Jameson hadn't the slightest clue of how to interpret. But whatever was passing through William's mind didn't stop his hands from working out the tension in Jameson's neck, the sensation of his thumbs up against the thin stripe of exposed skin between the top of his collar and hairline just enough to cement Jameson's resolve to go forward, though he couldn't stop himself from squirming a bit as William's palms slid down his arms.

His arms, for Christ's sake!

It seemed that every day was to be a discovery of something new about himself, something that Jameson didn't know he could enjoy to such levels of intensity. But it was alright, wasn't it, to find something good in the world? William and Albert had assured him of that much, hadn't they? Besides, Jameson tried to reason with himself, he was just being so sensitive because it had been a while without being touched in such a manner, and there was nothing to be ashamed about in that context, such an occurrence happening once did not need to become a full-blown predilection.

"Considering you've been in bed rest for quite a while, I'd hoped that you would be less tense," William said, his knuckles pressing the perfect amount of pressure into the ridges of Jameson's shoulder blades.

"I believe it's because I've been confined to bedrest that I'm so tense," Jameson said, rather impressed that his fresh desperation wasn't bleeding into his voice. "You've managed to make sure I haven't pushed myself too far, and the result is that I haven't been moving around anywhere close enough to keep my body limber. That I passed much of that time craning my head down at books didn't help matters, I'm sure."

"Well, I'd very much rather you recover in full than cause any complications. Considering that we hope to call upon the doctor's services again in the future, I think it's for the best that we manage to stay in her good graces." That amount of logic didn't stop William's deft kneading over Jameson's spine, though, which was heaven in itself. Even so, the reminder was enough for one of Jameson's hands to wander up to his chest, the prospect of being free of his breasts just as liberating as he was feeling in that moment. "If you'd like, I could help you restore any mobility once this was over."

"Hmm. Considering options for proving my flexibility, now are you?" The little bit of flirtation earned Jameson a smile, and he allowed his eyes to slide shut so as to preserve the image in his memory for later. Well, in part at least. There was something about the way that looking at William's beauty in close vicinity was a bit too overwhelming when paired with the hands sliding over Jameson's body. "Well, I'm certain that any training we do will have me fit in no time as well, so I suppose I can assent to resting a bit longer."

"I'm more than glad to hear it, dear." William's breath tickled against Jameson's ear, and he tilted his head towards the sensation to receive a light kiss upon the same spot. "Now, about your request to be touched…"

His hands had made it all the way down to Jameson's stomach, though the touch soon flitted to the tops of Jameson's thighs, the motion gentle and non-insistent. It was a moment of pause, enough for Jameson to consider the full extent of the situation he was in and how he wished to proceed. The fact that he didn't wish to be undressed remained, as did the fact that even if he were to be, any sort of penetration shouldn't occur, but it was a struggle to keep his legs from falling apart then and there. Before, he would have provided no resistance, no matter who was touching him, and it wasn't that he wanted William to stop—

Jameson just wanted to prove to himself that he could stop, that he did have the choice. That was all.

But he'd already made the choice, hadn't he, and his decision hadn't changed at all. William's touch was alluring, stirring up the pleasant pressure inside him, and—even if full intercourse wasn't possible—Jameson still wanted to enjoy what he could.

So he let his legs part, glancing up at William to nod his assent. "If you'd be so kind," Jameson whispered, wondering why such a thing would make him blush whenever he'd been convinced he had no modesty left to give.

"By your leave, Jameson," came William's answer, in time with his touch descending into the now available area. Even so, he didn't rush to it, instead choosing to feel over Jameson's inner thighs, and he squirmed in response. William had stepped closer to give himself a better reach, and, though he was hunched over a bit, his chest still pressed into Jameson's back in a comforting presence. Centimetre by centimetre, those fingers traced delicate patterns that moved higher and higher up Jameson's inseam.

It shouldn't have felt as good as it did, but Jameson couldn't deny the half-moaned sounds slipping out of his mouth, couldn't deny the way his insides squeezed tight, desperate for any other piece of stimulation he could find, but William was warm and wonderful, and whenever those fingers at last pressed through the fabric and into his crotch—

The discordant sound of the piano notes jostled Jameson to awareness, soon finding that he'd been the cause in his attempt for something to keep him steady throughout his orgasm. Perhaps it was for the best, considering the call of William's name that spilled out of his mouth was stiff competition whenever it came to volume, and, even as the disjointed chord died down, William didn't stop his ministrations, pulling out an impressive amount of pleasure for his limited circumstances, and a few more whimpered calls from Jameson's mouth for good measure.

The aftermath made Jameson shiver, even as William pulled him close into a hug from behind. "Deep breaths, Jameson," William murmured, and Jameson did his best to comply. "This was supposed to help ease your tension, not increase it, after all."

"I…I know." Jameson was just attempting to process the fact that he'd managed to achieve release with so little stimulation, and the heat on his face was all the more overwhelming for it. "I just…didn't realise I was capable of…" It shouldn't have flustered him to such an extent, and yet his emotions had decided otherwise.

William let out an understanding hum. "Well, I believe you now understand that such a thing is possible." Jameson very much did, and leave it to William to unveil that capability in him. "Is it something you don't enjoy, then?"

"I didn't say that." He'd managed to achieve orgasm after all, and that was a pleasure he didn't wish to deny himself. "I was just caught off guard." And there was that amused smile of William's, which just made Jameson blush all the more. One day, Jameson swore, he'd try to return the favour; William couldn't remain so composed all the time. Jameson had seen some of that already, the look on his face as Jameson had pulled that pleasure out of him. "This is…just a lot to process. Give me a moment, please."

"That won't be an issue." Jameson hummed his thanks, and it took him a few moments to catch his breath. With that done, it was much easier to still his mind. It wasn't as if he regretted the exchange, after all. William was observant enough to recognize that, and continued. "No rush if you haven't thought this far, but I will confess to wishing to know how you want to continue."

Knowing where they were going from there was important, as it would impact both of their plans for the remainder of the day. William didn't do any more than hold Jameson in the embrace he was already in, which made it easier to consider the options without any sort of pressure. For starters, penetration was still out (though he couldn't help but already look forward to a few weeks from that moment, when that restriction would be lifted), but Jameson was content enough with that. Aside from his own release, he didn't think he would've had the motivation to go further regardless. He felt good enough to be touched, but it was one of those days where touching someone else seemed that it would invite nothing unwanted memories, no matter what methods Jameson could think to offer.

So that meant he wouldn't be able to return the favour to William that day, and Jameson squelched down the stirrings of guilt that realisation gave him. That said, it wasn't as if Jameson were the sole person capable of bringing William to release; a fantasy crossed his mind, calling back to William sprawled upon the couch before, but instead it was his own hand instead of Jameson's…

There's no way I can ask him for something like that! No matter William's interests in bed, even he had to have limits, and that could very well be one of them. But the image wouldn't leave Jameson's mind, so he forced himself to say, "I'd like to stop here," before the truth of his thoughts came out. William, as promised, didn't argue, but Jameson rushed forward to conjure an excuse: "I mean, if things are quiet for so long after the piano made such a sound, don't you think one of your brothers might come to check that things are alright?" They'd already discussed as much, but when asked about what sort of boundaries he wanted to place up, he'd known for certain that he didn't wish for his sexual escapades to be put on display for anyone else ever again.

"Very well," William said, giving Jameson's shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. Jameson regretted the loss of the warmth, but he couldn't argue considering he'd been the one to make the suggestion, nor did he have any intent to change his mind. "In which case, perhaps continuing to practice is in order. Shall we play together, dear?"

That was something that Jameson was more than capable of handling, so he scooted over upon the bench, making room for William beside him.

In the moment and the immediate aftermath of his and William's quick encounter at the piano, Jameson hadn't had any regrets. He'd enjoyed himself, both when it came to his orgasm and the time playing together afterwards, the sensation of peace furthered by the fact that Jameson's practice had not been for naught. Sure, it would take some time still before he pulled himself back to what he considered an acceptable performance for public standards (not that he intended to play in public, but the point still stood), but he'd kept up with William with much more ease than before, the compliment that he had some skill at connecting to the emotion of the peace inspiring further confidence still. In fact, Jameson had been so motivated that they'd played the rest of the afternoon, stopping upon summons to help set up the dinner table.

That had been where the regrets had begun, because Jameson had become very much aware of the leftover mess remaining in his undershorts. It wasn't as if he was a complete stranger to his body making its desire known, and William's careful foreplay had pulled plenty of slick from him. It was just that such messes had tended to end up on the sheets instead of in Jameson's own clothes, and even the quick trip to the restroom could do nothing to clean up the mess that had already sunk into his undershorts with nowhere near enough time to change before the meal without bringing suspicion upon him.

To think, for all he'd used his own body as an offering to others, he'd never had to deal with such a scenario before.

He'd endured through the meal, though; that had been simple enough. Perhaps the Moriarty brothers had noticed the way he'd put on his forced smile to not let his true feelings onto his face, but none of them pushed the matter, and Jameson offered to help clean up the dishes to maintain appearances. The chore was a reminder, though, that the manors Moriarty and Aldborough couldn't have been more different in one key aspect:

There were no servants to handle the laundry.

It was not to say that Jameson wouldn't have been mortified to hand over his garments were there servants to handle it—but the thought of Louis, who often took care of the chore, finding it was all the worse. Volunteering to trade the chore would just seem suspicious as well.

Thus: Jameson slipping into the washroom come evening to handle the matter himself.

Perhaps he was overreacting. After all, it wasn't as if there were a pressing stain to erase or anything. But at that point, it felt as if it were the principle of the matter, and the lingering mortification of having to rely on William to clean up his bloody bedsheets had yet to fade, even with his surgery complete. The least he could do was clean up after himself in these circumstances; no one else needed to clean up the aftereffects of Jameson's own lust.

So of course it was as he was holding up his undershorts to check for any remaining traces of his slick that the door to the washroom opened.

Jameson did not yelp in surprise, but he did dunk the garment back into the rise bin, splashing water down his front. He couldn't stop the groan that drew from him—because he just had to make the scenario worse—and then he wasn't quite sure what to feel as he recognised that it was Albert who'd entered the room.

To see Albert in anything aside from his day-to-day wear was odd. Sure, when it came to mealtimes, Jameson had seen him set his jacket aside and roll up his sleeves, more than surreal enough for a noble to do, much less the head of his house. To cross paths with him while it was clear he was in his nightwear, a deep green robe slung over his shoulders and his hair somewhat falling into his face out of the grips of his usual careful styling…

Jameson swallowed, his mouth having gone dry and his mind unable to come up with a proper excuse for what he was doing thanks to the shock of it all.

"Oh, Jameson," Albert said, registering the other man's presence in the room. "It's a bit late to be doing some washing, don't you think?"

The assumption that Jameson had come to the washroom to take care of some late-night chores wouldn't hold up against any sort of scrutiny whatsoever, but it wasn't as if he had to outright deny it. Instead, he could change the subject and hope that provided him some sort of clever workaround in the process. "I believe I could offer you the same response," Jameson said, at last catching sight of the bundle of fabric in Albert's hands. "Did something happen?"

The smile on Albert's face was almost sheepish. "I'm afraid I managed to spill some wine on myself. I wouldn't think much of it, but this is my favourite robe, so I was hoping to not let it settle… Ah, perhaps that sounds a bit petty?"

"No, not at all." Jameson was the one who was trying hard to salvage a piece of clothing that he could've just thrown out after all, if he were so concerned about it. That it had been a gift in the first place perhaps leant to that, or maybe he was trying to justify his own behaviour. "Just because we have the means to replace our possessions doesn't mean we shouldn't salvage the ones that we have, yes?"

"I couldn't agree more." Albert set the robe upon the wash table, setting about rolling up his sleeves out of the way. "Since we're of the same mind, I assume that you won't object to my sharing the water with you?"

There wasn't any way to refute that without being suspicious, so Jameson nodded his approval. "I was just about done anyways," he said, twisting his undershorts into a tight ball to hopefully obfuscate their shape before pulling them out and wringing them as best he could. Having hummed his thanks, Albert was preoccupied with his own job, inspecting the wine spillage once more. "Though since I'm already up to my elbows in it, I could take care of that for you…"

"I appreciate it, but this is my mess. Besides, you already do enough around the house; I wouldn't dare foist this off on you when I'm more than capable of handling it myself." Jameson had suspected Albert would answer in such a way, but it had been worth it to at least try. Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't about to chase Albert out any time soon, Jameson gave his laundry one last squeeze before heading to the clothesline. His initial plan had been to take it back to his room, but he couldn't very well do that with a witness now could he? If he was having such trouble with just a small plan, how many more variables did William have to consider when developing one of his perfect crimes? "Jameson? Is something the matter?"

Jameson's first reaction was to play it off, as if there was nothing to be concerned about whatsoever—but what good would that do, when it was clear that Albert already had an inkling? Was he going to do nothing but repay the kindness of those who had helped him with lies? Resigned but not yet wanting to admit to the particulars, Jameson sighed. "What gave it away?"

"You're much more tense than usual." The moment it was said, Jameson became aware how bunched up his shoulders were, and he released them as best he could, though it was a bit too late for it to have any effect. "Did something happen that you got hurt? Are you still having complications from your surgery?" A natural result of having a piece of your insides taken out was that there had been some residual discharge his body had processed, though Jameson had stopped experiencing such symptoms the week prior.

And here I am worrying him about my wellbeing to the point that Albert thinks I'm hiding it so as not to concern them all. Furthermore, Albert's assessment was part right; Jameson's natural inclination would be to keep such a thing secret. But while he didn't have any right to argue about that element, he did at least have a responsibility to correct Albert's assumption before it turned into an unnecessary misunderstanding.

"It's nothing so serious," Jameson said, though he was still reluctant to turn to face Albert. "I haven't had any visible side effects like that, and Dr Burnett says, other than not straining myself for the next week, I should be on track to a full recovery." He was rather looking forward to it, especially since it meant that he could begin training to improve his physical state, along with the impending execution of Westmeath as well. "This is…rather I…"

"Would this happen to have to do with the note from the piano earlier this afternoon?" Jameson groaned; of course Albert had noticed, and, if he hadn't already been convinced of what had happened, then he must've been with all the evidence at hand. "Now, now," Albert said, his tone just a tad too in jest to be reassuring in full, "I already told you that I have no reason to judge you for such things. Though I do believe that part of your recovery prohibited…"

"We didn't go that far!" Jameson whirled around as he protested, finding himself face to face with Albert's amused smile that suited him far too well. Feeling the slightest bit as if he'd been tricked, Jameson huffed, not even the chill to the room able to dampen the heat forming in his face. "I have no intentions of making myself bedridden again." Not whenever the world was at his fingertips for the first time, not whenever there was still vengeance for him to seek.

Albert's laughter was a loud thing, but it was so overflowing with joy that Jameson couldn't fault him for it. "Apologies, I meant it out of pure concern for your health…and perhaps a bit of curiosity, I must admit." It seemed that Jameson would just have to get used to Albert's nonchalant attitude about the matter. Maybe, if he could have the same relaxed approach, he would have a much easier time in the day to day. "I'm just happy for you. If you're enjoying yourself, then that's a good thing."

To receive such unfettered support was almost painful, but Jameson supposed that was something he needed to get used to as well. And Albert was right, wasn't he? That Jameson's happiness was a good thing? It still didn't feel like he deserved it, but he wanted it, and he wasn't hurting anyone else, so that was plenty of reason to continue as he had been, right?

Even so…

"Do you think Louis noticed as well?" Though Albert already understood the gist of the situation, Jameson still had his undershorts in his hands, and he twisted them further in his grip. If Louis did notice, Jameson didn't think that he'd react in the same manner as his eldest brother. After all, if Louis cared enough for William that he would see those plans through no matter what, what was to stop him from feeling more distrust in Jameson for his continued behaviour? "I don't…want to make things more difficult between us. He's…" Jameson struggled to find the right words, but Albert just continued to scrub at his robe and waited. "…He's the first person like me that I've met, and I'd…like to be able to have a good relationship with him."

He knew he shouldn't, but Jameson was starting to feel just a bit like he wanted to belong there, so he didn't want to disturb that fragile peace. But at the same time, he wanted William, and it was starting to turn into a mess of conflicting desires, where he wouldn't be able to achieve them all.

I'm going to do my best to try, though.

"Ah, I see," Albert said, at last satisfied enough with his work to shake what water he could from the fabric. "I can't say for certain if he noticed, but I don't think it will change much one way or another." Jameson tilted his head, and Albert walked over to join him, though he did begin to pin up his robe to dry. "Like I mentioned before, Louis values Will's opinions over all else. If you make William happy, whyever would he object?"

"I…don't know if I'd go that far." For Jameson's part, he was enamoured with William with no possibility of turning back in sight. But the idea of William finding happiness in him, someone so dirty and used? No, Jameson knew very well such a future wasn't in store for him, and he hadn't ever expected it, even with the possibility of freedom now before him. But that was fine, because what he had now was more than he'd ever believed he'd be able to receive, and he'd hold onto this as long as he could. "I did mean it when I said that I wanted to help you all achieve your ambition. I don't need to do anything more beyond that, so if it's too much…"

"I thought you didn't want to force yourself to please other people anymore." The words were enough for Jameson to freeze. Was that what he'd been doing the whole time? Dancing around others, as if his own feelings didn't matter? Of course he was, because that was what he'd always done, and it wasn't as if that habit of his would go away just because two men were dead and a manor was burned to the ground. "I'm not saying the situation is as simple as not worrying about it. But I am saying that this isn't something you should let stop you. Even if Louis doesn't appreciate it, what happens between you and Will is a decision for the two of you to make." He gestured to the bundle of fabric in Jameson's hands. "Though if you want to take that back to your room instead of leaving it here, I promise not to mention to Louis that I saw you tonight."

The reassurance was enough for Jameson to give a smile in return, though his was much smaller. "That would be appreciated." So long as he was making a decision with William, then it didn't matter what happened? Jameson wasn't sure he believed that, but so long as he could have everything he did now, why wouldn't he do everything he could to hold onto it. "I can't guarantee that I won't worry about it, but I do appreciate your assuring me. Ah, but if Louis mentions anything to you…"

"I can let you know, yes." Having at last dried off his hands, Albert gave a reassuring pat to Jameson's shoulder. "You are a part of us now, Jameson. You don't have to worry as if we're enemies, alright?"

"…Thank you." To be considered an ally felt too much for him, but he didn't want to turn down the offer, either, so he'd do his best to be worthy of that trust. "Well, I don't want to keep you up any longer than necessary, so I'll be going now. Good night, Albert."

"Good night, Jameson. Rest well."

It was a bit of a walk back to his room from the washroom, but Jameson was able to navigate the halls without even needing to think about it, familiarity guiding him. He was starting to get used to the life he had, just a little, and so long as the others would allow him to stay, Jameson would accept that kindness, and he'd do his best to repay that in full, whatever way he could.

And the next thing to do is to help change the world, starting with Westmeath.

The thought of that moment alone was motivation enough, and Jameson allowed himself to rest, the fire resolve burning comfortable and warm in his chest.

[Author's Notes]

I will fully admit that this chapter was here for me to get my self-indulgent piano scenario out of my head, but also important surgery events and some time skipping to get Jameson back into fighting shape to go and ready for some murder, because it's time for that part of the season, baby!

This week I just finished my semester and finally have time all to myself whilst I'm on vacation, thank goodness. My plans are to binge video games, work on [Twelve Shots of Summer] project (and hopefully more time on season three of this), and aggressively read books and watch anime that have been on my list for ages. Anyways, I've been burnt out hard this past semester, so drop me your thoughts in a comment to help rejuvenate me, please and thank.

Since last time, I've drawn some silly Jamie and William chibis. You can see them on my deviantArt (Aviantei) and my Instagram (aviplotbunny).

Title of the chapter is from Bastille's "Hope for the Future."

Next time: His Second Bow. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[05.12.2023]