Chapter Text
Rope. Silk. Leather. Little found himself thinking about the possibilities at inopportune times for the next week. He would be wandering the fabric shops of London in his mind while he was meant to be focusing on drilling his crew; he would imagine knot-work instead of going over supply reports. He might start with an aviator's flying-harness and add some additional straps. It would give the painting an element of provocation— he wondered if Tharkay had ever considered the erotic applications of the harness, had ever explored the possibilities of restraints with Laurence.
It was none of his business, he knew. And yet he felt as though he and Granby had crossed some line, and were now in fact well beyond it. It was improper to speculate on whether Tharkay ever bound Laurence to their bed using a flying-harness: so be it. Everything Little was now doing, everything about the life he had fought for, every fragile scrap of intimacy he had clawed together, was improper.
He discarded the idea after a day of consideration. The thrill of the mundane made erotic was all well and good, but this painting was not just for Tharkay's pleasure. Little could admit it to himself: he wanted to show Granby off, display him to his best advantage, and for that he would need something far finer than workaday leather.
Any taste for finery that Granby may have had must have been utterly wiped out by Iskierka's antics, by now. Little wondered if he could persuade Granby to enjoy silk, at least. And wasn't that a thought— John tied by silk scarves, wearing nothing but jewels. Little could caress his lovely long limbs with the silk and watch him shiver with anticipation, his blue eyes wide, doing his best to hold still. And then when he was immobilized, completely at Little's mercy, Little would bring out the fine golden chains, the necklaces dripping with rubies and emeralds, the sapphire and diamond rings, the long strings of pearls. He would deck Granby with his finery piece by piece, because Granby deserved every beautiful thing, because Granby was more precious to Little than the vastest treasure-hoard Iskierka could ever lust for.
The idea was so delicious that Little lost a full ten minutes thinking about it and did not hear the dinner-bell when it rang. Beautiful, yes, but the image did not quite match what was in Little's mind. Perhaps that would be his next painting.
Rope, he decided that night, would be the way to go. It would have to be special— ship's rope would not do. He wanted something finer, something that would not scrape or hurt Granby at all, something that would be comfortable to wear for hours on end. Something elegant.
And that is how he found himself in his third London tailor of the day, Chenery shifting impatiently from foot to foot next to him, as he browsed the fine ribbons, trims, and other dressmaking fol-de-lols.
"Come now," said Chenery after half an hour, "Immortalis cannot be so particular as all that. Naturally he wants a bit of extra decoration now that we are in peacetime, but with all respect, he is a dragon of fine but not especially distinguishing taste. I do not see why he would not like any of these ribbons perfectly well."
Nettled, Little frowned at him. "I did not say you had to join me. If you would rather go find a public house that is to your liking—"
Chenery heaved a sigh. "No, no, only the opportunities to see you do not come as often as I should like, seeing as you are up in Edinburgh now. I suppose you like it better up there than I would. Dover suits me just fine, thank you, but you must find that the enjoyment of the company outweighs the dreadful weather—"
"Oh, do be quiet, James," Little said, laughing, "or I shall regret coming to visit you in the first place. Do you not want anything for Dulcia? A bit of gold braid, or some of those silk flowers?"
"A dragon with a garland of flowers!" exclaimed Chenery. "I never heard of such a thing, but now that you have put the notion in my mind, I can see it perfectly. I think she would like that very much. Excuse me!" And off he bustled, hopefully to bother the shop assistant instead.
It took only a few more minutes of searching before Little found something that might work for his purposes. It was a cord of dark blue, perhaps meant for trim, but solid enough that it would serve for Little's purposes.
"Are you certain?" said Chenery, eyeing his selection as Little joined him at the counter to pay. "I have always found gold braid to be the surest bet, when trying to please a dragon."
"I am certain. It is just what I need," Little said, and he counted out the change to pay for several lengths of the cord. He would need to figure out some way to attach some of it to Immortalis's harness before he saw Chenery again, or risk rousing the man's suspicion.
He and Chenery trundled back out onto the street, their purses lighter and their arms filled with finery. "Very well," said Chenery, trying hard not to drop any of his paper-wrapped silk flowers, "what inutterably boring shop would you have us visit next?"
Little smiled at him, showing his teeth. "Do you happen to recall Mr Tharkay?"
"That gentleman with the estate? Laurence's—" a delicate pause "—acquaintance?"
"The very same. Well, he has shown great hospitality to myself and John from time to time, so I thought I might like to give a gift to show my appreciation. A snuffbox, I think, would be just the thing."
---
The next problem to solve was, of course, where Little might paint Granby. It would need to be quite, quite private— moreso even than their usual assignations called for. Anywhere at the covert itself would be far too risky: too great a chance of being interrupted, discovered. So too would a room at a public house, or a lodging-house. Little did not think he could put John in such a vulnerable position unless they were somewhere he felt completely safe.
He briefly considered writing to his uncle and asking to stay for a few days, but no— his mother would soon hear of his visit and bring his flock of busybody sisters around as well. He loved them all dearly, but he did not think he would be able to dissemble well enough in the face of their prying questions to hide his relationship with Granby. No, that would not do either.
There was only one place Little could think of in which he and Granby would feel completely assured of their privacy, utterly safe, at home. He wrote to Tharkay that evening, begging once again for his hospitality a few weeks hence. Tharkay accepted, and Little began to plan.
---
They were terrible guests. Little could not bring himself to care. He warned Tharkay during supper that they might miss breakfast the next day, and possibly lunch. They might be expected to make an appearance around the middle of the afternoon, certainly in time for some of those dangerous cock-tails. Tharkay only laughed and said that he and Will might miss breakfast as well, which made Laurence blush a brilliant red and Granby choke on his roasted potatoes.
No matter. Let Tharkay and Laurence have their merriment, while only a few doors down the hall, Little would be creating a work of art for them.
---
John was so, so beautiful in the midmorning light. Little told him so, but he only laughed and shrugged.
"Then I will show you," Little promised.
He took off Granby's jacket first, folded it in half, draped it over the back of the chair. He wanted to take his time with this. He wanted to unbutton Granby slowly; he wanted to bare his lover's skin inch by inch, kissing him as he went.
That lasted for all of half a minute, until Little got his hands on Granby's waist, his skin warm through the fabric of the shirt. And then it was frantic half-gasped words, the scrape of teeth against skin, Little's hands working quickly over buttons as Granby did his best to help. The waistcoat followed the jacket with much less care, and the trousers a moment later with nearly none, and then Granby was left looking oddly vulnerable in only his shirt and stockings.
Little eased the hook apparatus off with great care, contrary to his earlier haste. Buckle by buckle, strap by strap, he pried it gently off Granby's body, while Granby held himself very still and watched him with wide eyes. He hardly moved until the last buckle of the shoulder-strap was undone and he had to duck slightly to allow Little to lift it off over his head. The motion mussed his hair slightly, and Little pet it back into place, unable to stop his fond smile from spreading.
"Have you." Granby's voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he continued. "Have you decided what you want to do with me?"
"I want to do a great many things with you." Little leaned in close, set his lips against the skin of Granby's neck, just below the collar of his shirt. His hands found Granby's thighs, slipping beneath the shirt's hem.
Granby let out a shocked little laugh at that. Oh, Little loved shocking him. It was surprisingly easy to make John blush and stammer like a young maiden in a certain type of novel. He was bold enough in bed, once he had been seduced, but he seemed to enjoy the dance of seduction all the same, even after all this time. And oh, Little was happy to seduce him.
He trailed his fingers up to Granby's hips, took firm hold of them. (He had put on weight since the end of the war; Little's fingertips sank into his flesh in a way they had not done, before.) "I have thought of little else, Admiral, other than how I shall tie you and pose you." Granby shivered at that, to Little's delight, and his cheeks flushed a bright, charming pink. "Oh, does it please you to hear your title in our bedchamber? You little tart! What would Harcourt or Roland think, during your very important command meetings, if they knew how you spread your legs for me? If they knew what you are going to let me do to you?"
"Well, and what are you going to do to me?" Granby retorted. "All I have seen so far is a lot of talk and nothing to back it up." He grinned wildly. "Not unlike some Admiralty meetings I have had the misfortune of attending—"
Bold words for a man stripped to his shirt and stockings! Little pinched his arse, relished the yelp it earned him. "Am I not moving fast enough for you, darling?" he asked, honey-sweet. "You must have patience. Rome was not built in a day, and I will take my time as well. Go sit on the bed, and take your stockings off."
There was the sweet acquiescence that Little so loved. Granby, wide-eyed, obeyed, and Little turned to the desk and picked up the package he had brought from London. He could not wish for a more riveted audience: Granby was frozen, one foot bare and in the midst of stripping off his other stocking. His mouth had fallen slightly open, and his eyes were fixed on the brown paper-wrapped package in Little's hands.
"I've brought you a gift," said Little.
Granby's eyes found his. "Are you really—" He swallowed. "It is hard to believe we are— that is to say— you mean to do this. What we discussed."
"Oh, yes," said Little. "Yes, my darling, and I shall enjoy it immensely. I hope you do as well, but if you do not, you need only say so, and I shall stop at once."
Granby nodded, pulled off his other stocking, cast it aside. "And my shirt?" he asked.
"That may as well go. You will not need it for some time, I'd say." Little turned the package over in his hands. "Would you like to open your present?"
Any nervousness Granby might have been feeling was quickly cast aside, along with his shirt, at the offer. Little handed him the package, then stood back to let him unwrap it.
It was not a surprise, of course, but Granby still wore an expression of astonishment as he tore into the package, casting aside the brown paper and the twine that enclosed it. The coils of dark blue cord spilled out over his hand, over his lap. It was just as Little had suspected— the color looked beautiful against his pale, freckled skin.
"Oh," he said softly, holding up a coil of rope in his good hand, "oh, Augustine. It is perfect." He looked up at Little with wide eyes. "However can I repay you?"
The sincerety in his tone, coupled with his nakedness, almost made Augustine laugh aloud. He stifled his mirth before it could materialize and make John shy away, instead turning away to set up his paints. "I rather think you will repay me by allowing me to tie you and paint you," he said. He was entirely unable to keep the smile off his face as he looked up at Granby. "What a precious gift you will be giving me."
Granby bit his lip and smiled the private, secret smile that he held just for Little. "I am ready to give you your gift, now," he said archly, and Little did laugh at that, and leaned in close to kiss him.
Little had practiced this in the long evenings in the covert when he and Granby were forced to be apart, looping the rope around his own arms and legs and torso, experimenting with configurations and knots, until some ideas began to take shape. He had some knowledge of rope— perhaps more than aviators tend to have, owing to the several long sea-voyages he had undertaken in his career, but certainly not as much as a sailor. Not as much as Laurence. (He wondered idly if Tharkay's artistry with rope had benefited from Laurence's instruction, then put the thought out of his mind.)
At the first brush of rope across his skin, Granby's mouth fell open with a gasp. Amused and more than a little charmed, Little gathered a loop of rope and let it drag across Granby's shoulders. That earned him a pleased little shiver, a soft moan. Little couldn't help himself: he just had to lean in and steal a kiss.
"Shift up on the bed for me, darling," he said. "Just there, that is perfect. You are perfect, John. Let me tie you."
John nodded, and Little set himself to his task.
The knots were simple, the pattern inelegant. It didn't matter. Little had Granby entirely within his power from the first loop around his torso. He built up a harness over Granby's chest, not entirely unlike a flying-harness. Bands of rope wrapped around Granby's ribs, not so tight that they dug into his skin or chafed, but enough that he would be constricted.
Granby fell almost into a trance, it seemed, as he worked. If Granby were a cat, he'd be purring. It reminded Little of how he would get when Little rubbed his back or stroked his fingers through Granby's hair, a sort of sleepy, half-aware contentment— save for one part of him, which was very aware.
"How is that, my dear?" Little murmured in his ear, pulling a knot tight.
Granby swayed with the motion. "Mmm," he said, and when he blinked up at Little, his eyes were very dark, his pupils huge. "Mmmmyes. Feels nice." He shifted his shoulders, and a loopy sort of grin spread across his face. Little had to kiss him again for that.
Once the harness across his chest and shoulders was done, Little arranged Granby on his back. He settled into the pillows with a soft sigh, wrigging slightly to get comfortable. "Is that all?" he asked.
Little almost laughed at the little pout forming on his lips. "No, darling," he said, settling on the bed near his hip, "I am not quite finished yet. Bend your knee, now, just like that. That's very nice." Little took ahold of Granby's ankle, the bones delicate beneath the skin, and pushed it up the bed so Granby's knee was bent. "I am going to tie you like this, now."
He coiled several loops of rope around Granby's thigh and shin in a spiral, taking care not to pull too tight. This, at least, had been easier to practice on himself. He knew how tightly he could pull to restrict Granby's movements but not cause undue pain to the muscles of his leg. "I believe Tharkay will appreciate this especially," he said as he worked. "You said he likes to have his partner open and vulnerable to his attentions, did you not?"
Granby whimpered at that, and Little could not miss how his cock twitched.
"How very vulnerable you are now," Little told him. He worked his way back down the coiled loops, hitching them together between Granby's thigh and shin, so the rope formed almost a ladder of hitches down the middle. He finished with a knot around Granby's ankle, securing the rope. "I believe if he saw you, he would not be able to resist lavishing his attentions on you. And you would not be able to do anything, would you, but lay there and take it?"
"Augustine!" Granby whimpered. He did not say anything further but bit his lip and shook his head once, and his expression was the slightest bit distressed. Ah— perhaps Little had flown too close to the sun. Another tack, then.
He stretched himself out next to Granby on the pillows, working one arm beneath Granby's head and letting the other hand trail over the harness on Granby's chest. "Nor can you resist me," he murmured in Granby's ear, and was gratified to see some of Granby's good humor returning.
"That has always been true," Granby retorted, and he leaned up for a kiss.
Little indulged him for a time, holding him close and stroking his cheek, his hip, his thigh as they kissed. But he did not want to lose the light, nor did he want to stay locked in this room for their entire visit— he would not have Tharkay thinking that he and John were unaccountably poor guests. He pulled away before too long and took up his last piece of rope.
"Just one more, darling, then the real work shall begin," he told Granby.
This was something he had pondered often in the weeks leading up to this moment— how best to tie Granby's arms? Should he keep them folded behind John's back? Perhaps tie one to the bedpost, as he had imagined before, and hide the stump behind a strategically-placed pillow? He had landed on a compromise, of sorts, that would allow even more rope to be on display, which ought to satisfy Tharkay.
He swung one of his legs over Granby's hip and settled astride, stradding him. Granby's prick was a hot, hard line against Little's thigh. He couldn't help grinding down on him, rubbing himself against that heat, and Granby moaned, gazing up at Little with a shocked expression.
"Arms above your head," Little told him sweetly, and he obeyed without question.
Little employed a similar technique here as he had with Granby's leg— loops of rope secured by a ladder of hitches down the middle. The ropes ran from shoulder to elbow, holding Granby's arms together. His one good hand clasped the elbow of the opposite arm. He had to work quickly: John was squirming beneath him, desperate little thrusts of his hips, rubbing his cock against Little's thigh. He thought he could very gladly allow Granby to bring himself to completion, just like that, but he had something better in mind.
It would have to wait, though. His work finished, he clambered off Granby, pressing one last kiss to his pouting lips as he retreated. "Peace, John," he said, "the faster I finish this painting, the faster I can get your prick in my mouth."
"Promises, promises," said Granby, but he was smiling again. He shifted his arms at Little's murmured instruction, folding his unbound forearms behind his head. It took a few adjustments and a carefully-placed pillow, but just as Little had suspected, the stump of his arm was hidden entirely behind his head. Little could paint Granby just as he was, bare and vulnerable and bound, omitting nothing and lying about nothing.
Little leaned down to press one more long, lingering kiss to Granby's lips. It made his heart clench oddly in his chest to feel Granby arch up against him, straining to be close to him. He could not blame Granby for the impulse: so much of their time was spent apart, carefully guarding their shared secret, accounting for every expression, every little reaction so as not to give anything away. Every scrap of intimacy they might claw out for themselves was soaked in danger, the fear of discovery. It felt so good to be allowed this, the privilege of indulging in one another without fear.
Little planned to allow them both to indulge themselves until satisfied— but not yet. First, he had a painting to complete.
He was glad he had set his paints up already. He would not have wanted to take the time to do so now, with John bound and radiating a plaintive need. The portrait itself was going to be minuscule, a test of Little's steady hand.
He began with a very quick sketch, the basic shapes of Granby's body: his arms behind his head, his long torso decorated in fine rope, his leg with his knee bent to the ceiling. The sunlight fell across Granby's face, and he closed his eyes. He seemed to settle once more into that trance as Little continued his work.
Bit by bit, he built up the angles and planes and curves of Granby's body. The background he kept in suggestion only— the swirl of blanket, the swell of pillow. It was not at all his usual style, but he had always been talented at portraiture. He made do.
Unlike before, when he constantly had to remind Granby to stop moving, Granby lay perfectly still, utterly compliant. The only motion was the steady rise and fall of his chest, and occasionally a wide smile that would spread across his face before he remembered himself and schooled his expression back into serene calmness. The rest of the world gradually fell away, leaving just them together in the sun-drenched room. Hours might have passed, or days— there was no way of knowing. It was as though a spell had fallen over them, sending them drifting, unanchored by the passage of time.
Little hardly spoke as he worked; he too was under the spell. At times he would forget himself, forget what he was meant to be doing, and just gaze at Granby, drinking in the sight of him bound and needy in bed. And Granby would gaze back, full of desire and longing, but he would not rise from the bed, for Little had bound him there, bid him to stay. The power of it was a heady thing. Little felt almost like a dragon gazing upon his hoard of treasure, knowing it to be priceless, incomparable. This was the greatest treasure he would ever possess, and he would cherish it forever.
Despite his distraction, the painting came together quickly. It was tiny, only a few inches tall and not much wider, perfect to affix to the secret lid of the snuff-box. Even as he painted the final few details, Little almost could not believe it was finished. The spell still lay upon them, the same trance still had hold of them. The light had changed slightly; Little noticed, in some distant way, that he was hungry.
He set his brush down, blinked a few times. "Well, I am happy with that," he heard himself say. Granby let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Augustine," he said desperately. "Please."
At that, Little was powerless to do anything but cast his brush and paints aside and rush across the room to Granby. He had wanted to take his time with this; he had wanted to tease Granby with his hands and his mouth for ages before finally giving him what he needed. All his plans fell by the wayside the moment he had Granby underneath him again. Nothing mattered but the burning desire to possess him, to be inside him.
He'd hidden their stock of oil here earlier— where had he put it? He fumbled with the pillows for a moment before his fingers closed around it. Granby was squirming again, arching up underneath him, desperate for contact. He whined as Little settled himself in between his legs, pushing his bound knee up so Granby was left utterly at his mercy.
Granby moaned and arched again as Little slicked him, then himself. He had no patience to take more care with it. Ordinarily, he would take his time— a luxury they shared more often these days than they had in the past, and one that he treasured. Now, though, only the thought of accidentally hurting Granby in his haste gave him pause enough to slow down, stretch Granby for more than a moment.
"Please, please," Granby panted as Augustine worked his fingers in and out. "Augustine, I need you."
The last of Little's control snapped. He tore off his trousers, cast his shirt aside, and then he was as bare as Granby. He took hold of Granby's bound leg once again, pushing it up toward his chest, as he lined himself up and sank in.
Granby threw his head back on the pillows and nearly shouted to the ceiling. "God, John," Little panted, pulling out and pushing himself in even deeper. Granby was hot and slick inside, tight but yielding to the intrusion of Little's cock. It was maddening. "Look at you. So pretty, all tied up for me. I ought to keep you like this— keep you in my bed, wet and open and ready for my cock."
"Augustine," Granby moaned, his eyes wide. "Augustine, please. Tell me— tell me—" he shivered all over and clenched down on Little's cock.
"Tell you what, darling? How gorgeous you are? How perfect you are, letting me have you like this?" The rush of power was nearly intoxicating; Little's head was spinning as he gazed down at Granby beneath him. "How does it feel, to be bound?"
"Oh, oh!" Granby was whimpering with every thrust that Little gave him. He seemed to have some difficulty speaking. "Oh, I cannot— it is as though you are holding me, and you are the only thing that matters." He squirmed beneath Little, thrusting his hips up as best as he could.
Desperate as he was, Little could feel his crisis fast approaching. He was not going to last long, this time. It was Granby that did it to him, that drove him so mad with desire he had to sate his hunger in Granby's body. He took Granby's cock in his hand, stroked him fast and hard as Granby writhed against him, tensing and curing in on himself.
Little sat back on his legs, his hips slowing until he was doing little more than grinding himself deep itno Granby. He worked one hand beneath the bands of rope around Granby's chest and pulled, lifting Granby's torso a few inches off the pillow. "Fuck! Augustine!" Granby gasped, looking shocked, and suddenly he was coming over Little's hand, clenching on Augustine's cock.
Oh, it wouldn't be much longer for Little now. He dropped Granby back onto the pillows with a quiet oof and leaned over him, bracing his hands on either side of Granby's head. Granby blinked up at him, still trembling, and Little thrust wildly into him, chasing his own end with abandon. "Beautiful," he panted in Granby's ear, "my darling John. So perfect— taking me so well—"
He buried his face in Granby's neck as he came, muffling his groan in Granby's hair. He trembled for a long moment as the waves of pleasure crashed over him, and then he lifted his head to claim a kiss from Granby's lips.
One kiss turned into several more, Little's mouth moving over the skin of Granby's neck and chest, sheened with sweat, then back up the pale column of his throat, touching briefly at his temples, his cheeks, before returning to his lips once more. He spent a long time kissing Granby, drinking his fill of him, before pulling back with a sigh.
"I don't suppose you would like to see the painting?" he asked. His voice came out rough.
Granby nodded. "Yes, I suppose I'd better. You finished it?"
Little thought he could hear a note of trepidation in Granby's tone. "I am quite satisfied with it," he said, "though of course it must meet with your approval." He laid his hand on Granby's cheek. "I think you will like it, my darling, and I am certain Tharkay will as well." He leaned down again for a moment, pressed a kiss to Granby's cheek. "And so will Laurence."
Granby squawked in protest as Little withdrew, rolling off him and sitting up. "Laurence isn't meant to see it," he hissed.
"We shall see if that lasts," said Little cheerfully. "I am not at all confident that it will, though you may certainly ask Tharkay if he might keep it secret. Sit up, now, let me undo those ropes."
Granby was very still as Little worked the ropes off him. His brow was furrowed; he seemed to be lost in thought, though he groaned with appreciation as Little unbent his leg, massaged the muscles of his thigh and calf. "You do not mind?" he said some minutes later, as Little coiled the rope.
"I might have, once," said Little. He shifted so that he sat next to Granby on the bed and tilted his head to rest against Granby's shoulder. "I did not like to think of the two of you together on your long voyages. A man gets lonely. You and he could not be blamed for wanting companionship."
"He never wanted me," whispered Granby.
Little might have believed that to be true, once, but now he was not nearly so certain. No matter. He took Granby's hand in his. "You are mine, John, heart and soul. I know it, just as you know that I am yours. That is all that matters. If you do not want Laurence to see the painting, that is one thing. But if you do not mind— or even if you want him to see it— you are still mine. Nothing will change that, unless you should decide to jilt me." He poked Granby in the side. "Which I cannot recommend. Immortalis might not be able to breathe fire, but he can express his displeasure in a number of other ways, none of which would be particularly pleasant, I should think."
That managed to get a smile out of Granby. "I would never," he said fervently. "I could not risk Immortalis's wrath. You are stuck with me, I am afraid."
"I would not have it any other way." Little turned his head, pressed a kiss to Granby's shoulder. "Now come, let me show you the painting." He stood, took Granby's hand, drew him to his feet. "You must tell me honestly what you think. If you do not like it— if there is anything you object to—" he realized suddenly he was unaccountably nervous, and he took a deep breath. There was nothing to be nervous about. "Well. Please be honest, that is all I ask."
"I am sure I will be in awe once again at your talents," said Granby as he stepped toward the easel.
Little followed after him, his heart in his throat. There was a long moment of silence as Granby stared at the painting. For want of anything better, Little fidgeted with his own hands. "Well?" he asked at last, unable to hold himself back any longer. "What do you think?"
Granby cleared his throat. "I think Tharkay will like it very much," he said hoarsely.
The rush of relief that washed over Little was so strong it rocked him back on his heels. "And you— you like it," he said. He could breathe again. Stepping closer to Granby, he wrapped his arm around Granby's waist.
"I like it," whispered Granby He could not seem to look away from the painting. "Augustine, you wonderful creature. It is— I am—"
"Beautiful," Little murmured in his ear, and for once, Granby seemed to believe him.