Chapter Text
"What are you going to do about my arm?" Granby asked suddenly.
Little looked up from where he was settling his sketchbook on the easel. "What on Earth do you mean?"
"I mean—" Granby hunched over on himself uncomfortably. He was seated on his bed in the Edinburgh covert, bathed in the warm light of the evening sun. His shirt hung open at the collar, revealing a tantalizing shadow of dark hair that Little wanted to run his fingers through; he wore nothing else. Little allowed his gaze to wander down the long lines of Granby's legs until Granby spoke again, and Little's eyes snapped to his face. "I mean, if you do not paint my arm, then surely Tenzing will know that it is me."
"I am fairly certain he will know anyway," said Little, amused. "He can hardly fail to realize that I was the one to paint it, and it is not as though I would make use of any other model for this particular purpose."
"So you will paint it then?" Granby asked. "My other arm."
Little paused; studied Granby for a moment. His lover's voice had taken on a strange tone, the sort that suggested he knew the answer to the question he had just asked, and he did not like it at all. "Would you prefer me not to?"
"Oh, hell, I can hardly say." Granby let out an explosive sigh. "I don't know which is worse— if you do not paint it, then it is hardly suited to Tenzing's taste, is it? Too much me in it. If you do paint it, then— well, it is a bit of a blow to my ego, I will not lie, though it oughtn't be, for who would not prefer to look on a man whole in body? And anyway, you must think me entirely foolish to care so much, when you have said the painting won't even have my features, so it is not really me at all, is it?"
A surprisingly revelatory speech, for all its self-deprecation. Little ran it through his mind until he thought he touched upon one of the salient points. "You are no less desirable for the loss of your arm," he said slowly. "I have never once been disappointed, or thought you any less pleasing to look at."
"I think you are the only man in the world who would say so," Granby muttered, but there was a pleased blush on his cheeks, so Little hoped he was somewhat mollified, at least.
"And besides," continued Little, allowing a bit of a leer to creep into his voice, "from what you have told me about your and Tenzing's past associations, I highly doubt such an image of you in particular would not be to his taste. On the contrary, I think he would very much enjoy it."
"Oh, well," Granby said, coloring further, "he has Will now, so he best not enjoy it too much, I should think, even if Will did not object to the painting on principle."
"You think Laurence would object?"
"We are talking about the same Will Laurence, are we not?" Granby shot him a dubious look. "The perfect starched gentleman who apologized when I told him of my inclinations, who would let his own curiousity eat him alive from the inside rather than ask a personal question and appear impolite?"
A vision came to Little unbidden then of Laurence discovering an image of Granby such as the one he was preparing to create— not just modeled after him, but Granby himself: his features, his blue eyes and freckles, the wild half-grin he wore when he threw himself into danger, his missing arm. In all likelihood, Laurence would set the image down, never to be spoken of, and do his best to put it out of his mind entirely— a gentleman, as Granby had said.
But perhaps Laurence would instead stand transfixed by the sight of his former lieutenant, the image of his body captured in moment of pleasure, his identity unmistakeable. Now that Laurence had awakened to his own desires, would he wonder if he might have had John, in the past? Little had wondered about it himself, often enough. There was no jealousy in it, not anymore: he was sure of John's heart.
But the idea of Laurence discovering an image of Granby painted in such an intimate manner awoke some darkly covetous instinct in Little: possessiveness, perhaps, or pride. It was the way Immortalis beamed at him when his crew was outfitted in freshly-brushed coats and polished boots, when his own captain's bars gleamed in the sun. Granby was no mere possession, of course— he was not a thing for Little to flaunt. And yet he could not help the touch of desire that curled in his belly at the thought.
He wanted Laurence to see what he might have had and know that it was Little who had allowed him to see it. Perhaps Laurence would trace a finger over Granby's painted limbs, thinking instead of touching Granby himself. Little found he liked that idea very much, of Laurence seeing Granby's body in such an intimate moment, intent on pleasure, and being able to touch Granby in image only— the image of him that Little himself had created.
"You are right, of course," he heard himself say. "When you give it to Tenzing, you must be sure to tell him not to show Laurence."
Nothing, he was sure, would make it more certain that Tharkay would show Laurence the image at his first opportunity.
Granby, straightforward as he was, did not suspect his subterfuge. "Of course I shall," he said. "I am not a fool. But that still does not solve the problem of what to do about my arm."
"If you do not wish for me to paint you with your arm missing," Little said gently, "and you also do not wish for me to paint the arm that you lost, then we are at somewhat of an impasse. I cannot do neither, and there is not much middle ground." Inspiration struck him then. "Unless, if it would be amenable to you— If you position yourself just so, I will be able to paint you as you appear, no more and no less, and you will not be able to argue that it is not suited to Tenzing's taste."
Granby bit his lip and hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"Good," said Little, keeping his voice soft and soothing. "Now, we need only find the perfect position. We want to show you off to advantage, of course. Perhaps if you recline on those pillows, with your arms folded behind your head?"
The position made Granby's shirt ride up his thighs, approaching complete immodesty, and Little could not help but abandon his sketchbook to run his hand up Granby's thigh, over his hip. Granby twitched at the gentle touch, ticklish. "Perhaps this might come off now," Little said, toying with the hem of Granby's shirt.
Granby nodded and silently allowed Little to tug the shirt off over his head. Without being told, he relaxed back against the pillows, arms carefully folded to disguise his missing limb.
Lord, but he was beautiful like this, all his pale freckled skin on display, nearly glowing in the golden light of the sunset. He looked so very soft, despite his scars; he looked like a fey prince, the way the light danced in his blue eyes; he looked like light itself, radiance itself, a godling of home and hearth, and Little wanted to burrow himself into the warmth of John's heart and never surface.
He settled for a kiss, a quick press of his lips to the skin on Granby's belly. Granby laughed and twitched again as Little's hair brushed the sensitive skin there. "Do you know, you are very beautiful."
Granby laughed once more at that, less instinctual and more self-conscious. "I almost believe you when you say it like that."
"Believe me," Little all but pleaded. "Or— if you do not believe me now— then at least allow me to show you."
A moment of stillness. Had he gone too far? But then Granby nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head, and Little let out a quiet sigh.
It was a small victory, at least— a decisive skirmish in a years-long battle. Little rejoiced in it even as he withdrew with one more fond pat to Granby's hip.
"Turn toward me just a bit," he instructed, taking up his pencil, "and bend your left knee— perfect— hold there."
These were only preliminary sketches, as he had reminded Granby several times— he expected it would take some amount of trial and error to find the perfect position for his painting. Even so, it was a struggle not to be frustrated when Granby, never one for staying still for more than a few minutes at a time, shifted and wriggled about so that the lines of his body where he came to rest did not quite match up to where he had started, and Little was obliged to take some creative liberties.
"But I am bored," Granby complained, not an hour later, after Little had completed a couple of promising sketches. "And this is not a very comfortable position at all."
He had a fair point there, Little had to admit— his hips were tilted away from Little, but his shoulders were twisted so they lay nearly flat on the mattress. The image presented was an appealing one, offering a view of Granby's arse, the powerful muscles of his back, and the tender curve of his ribs all at once. As lovely as he appeared just then, the position required all of Granby's athleticism to maintain, and Little could see how it was beginning to strain him.
"Oh, very well," said Little with a sigh. "The light is nearly gone anyway."
Granby collapsed onto his back with a nearly indecent noise of relief, and the quiet thrum of arousal that had been gathering in Little's body all evening suddenly burned hot.
He was not, as it turned out, the only one affected— apparently, laying in bed with his lover's eyes on him for the better part of an hour had stoked the fires in Granby as well. "Come here," Granby all but growled, and Little was only too happy to obey.
He had to force his legs to take the few stumbling steps across the room, colt-like: his desire made him clumsy. Or perhaps it was the way he was tearing at the buttons of his trousers as he went, kicking off his boots, flinging aside his waistcoat. Granby sat up as he approached, perching on the edge of the bed, and pushed his trousers the rest of the way down his hips.
As soon as Little had stepped free, Granby's hand was on him, shoving up beneath his shirt over the planes of his stomach. Little gasped and grabbed at Granby's hair, sinking his hands into the soft loose waves the way he knew his lover liked, even as Granby's fingernails scored lines of fire across his back.
Little swore, goosebumps erupting down his arms, nearly dizzy with arousal. "John—" he said through gritted teeth, but Granby was already drawing the fabric of his shirt aside and licking his lips. He looked up at Little, eyes very blue in the fading light. His expression held perhaps a trace of smugness as he placed a messy, open-mouthed kiss on Little's cock. "John," Little said again, flexing his fingers in Granby's hair in warning, and Granby shot him a brilliant smile before opening his mouth again and sinking down on Little's cock.
Oh, Granby's mouth was exquisite, hot and wet as he swallowed around Little. He knew just how to tease with his tongue, he knew how much Little liked it when Granby took him all the way back into his throat and held there, hardly breathing, as Little thrust in and out in tiny motions, dragging his cock over Granby's tongue.
Christ, it was perfect— it wasn't enough. He wanted more contact; he wanted to hold Granby in his arms, feel all that warm skin pressed up against his own. He pulled Granby off his cock and kissed away the puzzled expression on his face.
They tumbled together onto their sides, their mouths parting only to meet again a moment later, hungry for one another. Oh, this was what he had wanted— Granby bare against him, hardly any space between their bodies, their legs tangling together as they clutched at each other. Little smoothed his hand down Granby's back, feeling out the flex of muscle, encouraging Granby to arch against him as he sighed in contentment.
Little would have been happy enough to grind himself to completion against the soft skin at Granby's hip or between his thighs, but Granby had other plans. After another moment of desperate, almost fevered kissing, Granby pulled away. Little opened his mouth to protest and found himself rolled onto his back, his shoulders pressed into the mattress, and Granby a warm weight across his thighs.
"You are too far away," he complained, his voice plaintive to his own ear, but Granby just laughed. Little could hardly have any further cause for complaint, however, as Granby shifted his hips to bring their erections together and gave a tiny thrust.
Little gasped at the sensation of Granby's cock, a hard hot line against his own, and again when Granby took them both in hand and thrust again. He reached up to lay his hand on Granby's thigh, his hip, his arm, anything— he wanted to touch his lover; it mattered not where— but Granby shook his head and batted his hand away with the stump of his arm.
"No," he said, a little breathlessly, "no, I have been made to lie still for an hour while you watched me, only allowed to move when you told me to. I think it is my turn to give the orders, and I say you will lie still now, and you will let me watch you as you watched me."
His words sent a shocking burst of heat blooming in Little's chest. He could only gasp as Granby's hand moved slowly over their cocks together; it was all he could do to hold still and not thrust up into Granby's tight, callused grip. This was not entirely unfamiliar territory, but usually it was Little pinning Granby to the bed, Little atop him and holding him down. Now, though, Little felt entirely helpless, Granby's hot gaze immobilizing him as surely as a hand around his wrists.
"What were you thinking of, when I was watching you?" he managed to gasp out as Granby slowed the motion of his hand, stroking them lazily together. The heat of his cock was maddening; the slide of it against Little made him want to squirm, thrust up into that deliciously tight grip. But Granby had bid him to be still, and so he would do his best to obey.
"Mm, this," Granby said. He was staring down at his hand, encircling them both. "I was thinking of how I wanted you. And—" he hesitated, turning his face away, but he could not hide the blush that suffused his features, his cheeks turning pink even in the fading light.
Too much provocation, that: Little laid his hand on Granby's cheek to bring him back. "You can tell me," he murmured.
"I was thinking about Tenzing," confessed Granby.
Little could not help it— he raised an eyebrow, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch, nearly betraying himself. "How the mind wanders," he said. "The idea of this was not good enough entertainment for you?" He risked a slow thrust of his hips and was rewarded with a quiet gasp from Granby.
"Not like that," Granby protested, his face burning hotter under Little's hand. "I only meant— he is going to be seeing me, like this. Of course it is not really me, I know, but I cannot help but think about— how he will like it."
"That is rather the point of it," said Little. "John, are you getting shy on me?"
"Of course not!" But his expression belied the insistence of his words. "But— what if Will should see?"
Ah, they were at the crux of the matter now, Little sensed. "Do you want him to see?"
Granby's hand was still tight around them both; held together so, Little could feel the way Granby's cock twitched and hardened further.
"Ah," Little said. He could feel a grin, quite uncontrollable, start to take over his face. "I think I see now what troubles you."
"I would not ever wish to leave you," said Granby in a rush. His eyes were wide and pleading, his expression almost painfully earnest. "I pray you believe me when I say that I want only you, and I am so very happy with you. My heart is yours— please tell me you know."
"Hush, my darling." Little pushed his hand into Granby's hair again, letting the soft, slightly mussed locks run through his fingers. "Of course I know."
"I do not mean to—" Granby met his eyes for a moment, then glanced away again. "I do not wish to betray you."
"It is not a betrayal, dear heart." Little gave in to temptation then and reached for Granby with both hands. Granby came along easily enough, tucking his face into the curve of Little's shoulder. "Would it help you to know that a similar thought occurred to me, when I was drawing you?"
Granby stilled at that. "Did it," he said, a bit muffled against Little's neck.
"Oh, yes." Little stroked his hands down Granby's back, feeling the flex of muscle as Granby shivered. "I thought about showing you to Tenzing, to Will— letting them see how very beautiful you are. I know they would appreciate you, for who could not?" He twisted his hand in Granby's hair again and pulled until Granby lifted his head. "They would admire you, darling, because I would permit it— I would allow them to look on your beauty, because you are mine, to show to whom I will—"
"Augustine—" Granby gasped, and they were moving again, grinding together graceless and desperate, every movement sending jolts of sensation rushing up Little's spine. He managed to get a hand between their bodies, and Granby, propping himself up on his one good arm, groaned and thrust into the circle of his fingers.
He loved having Granby like this, close and intimate, his cock hot against Little's own, the sensation driving them both mad with need. Granby was moving atop him; his mouth was on Little's skin, kissing and licking. A gasp escaped his lips as Granby bit down on his neck, and his back arched, pressing them even closer together.
Granby cried out, the motion of his hips erratic; he pressed his face into Little's chest as he came, spilling hot over Little's fingers.
Little was desperate now, pleasure coiling in a tighter and tighter knot in his belly. He worked himself, his grip slick with Granby's spend. Granby had scarcely stopped twitching before Little was following him over the edge.
They lay in a tangle afterward, Little's hand moving gently over Granby's shoulders once more. The sky outside was dark now; only the fire still illuminated the room. They shifted closer as their bodies cooled, until Granby's back was pressed up against Little's chest, and Little could drape one arm about his waist and hold him near.
"You know, something has just occurred to me," Granby said quetly into the warm darkness.
Little could only muster a sleepy murmur in response.
"You know, of course, that in Terra Australis, Tenzing and I—" Granby cut himself off there. Little did know, and he did not begrudge either Granby or Tharkay the comfort that they found in each other. There was nothing more to be said. "We would— talk, sometimes, about what we liked. I told him about you, and some of the things we had done." This, too, was not news to Little, and he had not missed the assessing glances Tharkay had thrown him when the all three were reunited in China, after Tharkay's rescue.
Granby hesitated then, and Little pulled him closer. He thought he understood the direction of Granby's thoughts; he needed only a little help in speaking them aloud. "And did Tenzing tell you anything of particular interest?"
Despite this encouragement, Granby was quiet for a moment. Little kneaded the muscle of his shoulder and let him gather his thoughts. "He told me that he had a particular fascination for— for rope," Granby said eventually. "Or silk scarves, or sometimes leather. The material did not matter as much as— he said he likes to bind his partner, to see them restrained. A rope around their wrists, he said, to tie them to the bed, or to bind their wrists to their ankles, to leave them open to his attentions."
Little could not help but picture it then, Granby on his back, a rope running from his wrist to the post of his bed, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. He shivered and pressed closer to Granby, his cock making a valiant effort to rise again.
"You like that idea," said Granby, amused, the little minx— he was pressing himself back against Little and had surely felt his stirring excitement.
"Yes, I like that idea," Little nearly growled in his ear. "I could keep you tied to the bed, just where I want you. I would keep you safe in my bed, where you belong, so I might come find you at any time and put you to your true purpose."
Granby laughed delightedly and squirmed against Little. "And what purpose would that be, pray?"
Little gathered himself, and in a rush of motion, he rolled Granby over onto his front and grabbed both of his arms, pinning them to the pillow above his head. It was his turn to straddle Granby's thighs, now. He ground his hips down and groaned as his cock slid obscenely over Granby’s arse.
“You ought to be kept here,” he said breathlessly in Granby’s ear, “so that I can use you at any time— I will keep you wet and open, so I might need only to spread your legs before I push inside—”
Granby’s hips bucked beneath him, nearly knocking him off balance. "Please," he panted, "Augustine, please!"
"Not tonight," said Little, not without regret. "Impatient thing, you have made me spend already, when if only you had waited, you might have had this." He gave another thrust; despite his best efforts, his cock remained half-hard only.
Granby turned his head enough to throw a glance back at Little. The half of his expression that Little could see was smug. "You are decided, then? You will tie me up, for Tenzing?"
Little leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his cheek, his shoulder. "I will tie you up," he said, "and I will paint you, and I will graciously allow Tenzing to see the painting, because you deserve to be admired by all of us who care most about you."
A spark of mischief lit up in Granby's eye. "You realize, my dear, that you must include Iskierka in that number, despite her— oh!" For Little had given him a sharp slap on the rump for his cheek.
"You are not showing Iskierka," said Little as severely as he could manage.
"Of course not," Granby agreed. "She would not care, because I would not be wearing enough gold, and—" he wheezed as Little let go of his arms and instead dug his hands into the sides of Granby's ribs, where he knew his lover was ticklish "—and because— Augustine!— because it would surely be too small— stop that— too small for her to see the details anyway—"
Little finally relented, because Granby was squirming fair to throw him off now, and because he was tired and very content and wished only to hold Granby in his arms again. He settled down on his side once more, and Granby tucked himself close to his chest.
The fire burned low; rain had started up outside, thrumming rhythmically on the window. Little felt himself sliding downward into sleep. He was more than halfway there when Granby shifted, just a bit, and asked in a very small voice, "and if Will should see?"
"Then he ought to be grateful that I am generous enough to share what he never had the courage to take for himself," said Little without thinking, then winced.
"He never would have had me." Little made no response to this, only kissed the back of Granby's head where it lay on the pillow in front of him. "And I would never wish to be with him, instead of with you." Granby grabbed for Little's hand and guided it up to press it against his own skin, over his heart.
Little tightened his arms around his lover. "I know, my darling, and that is why I say that if Laurence should see, then let him see. He may enjoy the painting— he ought to, if he has any lick of sense or taste in him— but it makes no difference. You are mine, as surely as I am yours. And if you want him to see, well, perhaps we ought to tell Iskierka after all, for we will finally have found a way to persuade you to show off—"
"Do not even start with that," said Granby, and he cut Little off with a kiss.
The worst of Granby's worries seemed to be assuaged at least, for after spending some time trading lazy kisses, he was content to drop off to sleep in Little's arms. Dangerous, even now, for Little to stay, but the door was locked and wedged, and he would no sooner let go of Granby than walk off a cliff, just then. It took only minutes before he was following Granby into sleep.