![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
An Uncommon Season, 6/6
While there were many excellent qualities to living in Italy, and he found himself settling in to Jeff's house in the hills above Lago di Como with more ease than anyone might have expected, Jensen could not quite accustom himself to the morning sun. It was clearer than he was used to, sharper and brighter, and while he could properly appreciate how the quality of it offered excellent advantages to those who might paint, he felt it was completely uncivilized to be greeted by such a glare so early in the morning.
Jeff found his reaction particularly amusing, which Jensen supposed was far better than finding it unacceptable, but still did not much aid in the horror of being unable to sleep past a time better suited for farmers to rise. What did aid, Jensen decided on one such morning as a warm mouth brushed lightly over the back of his neck, dropping kisses and not-quite-gentle bites along the way, was having a partner who was fully alert and could thus take on the responsibility of guiding such early-morning lovemaking as might happen.
While Jensen was most happy to take such initiative himself--indeed, the previous evening had found him with Jeff writhing under him, completely at his mercy, a sight that Jensen did not think would ever grow tiresome or the slightest bit stale--he was also perfectly content to allow Jeff to coax him into wakefulness with a lazy mouth and clever hands. In marked contrast to their nights, Jeff was often in no hurry in the mornings. This time being no exception, Jensen was slowly brought to quivering helplessness, then eased back down from it, only to begin the cycle once again.
On the third such circuit, Jensen could take no more, breaking down and gasping, "Jeff, enough."
Jeff laughed softly, his breath striking cool against Jensen's overheated skin, but he shifted so that Jensen knew he had reached for the small vial of oil. "So you are awake," he murmured, teasing Jensen with a single slick finger. "I wanted to be sure."
"You wanted to drive me mad, you mean," Jensen said through gritted teeth. Jeff hummed thoughtfully and continued with his wicked plan, throwing one leg over Jensen to keep him still while he kept up the feather-light touches. "Jeff," Jensen added, not caring that he sounded desperate. "Now."
"You're certain?" Jeff asked, in a silky low whisper that sent shivers down Jensen's spine. The finger traced circles now, pressing just deeper with each circuit, still not hard enough to breach Jensen's entrance, but more than enough to remind him that he had ridden Jeff hard and long the night before. "You want me to take you like this," Jeff breathed, not a question at all but a statement, and one that sent a shudder of anticipation through Jensen.
He was not slick, not really--Jeff had only used the barest amount of oil and had only worked the smallest of that inside Jensen--and he was still sore from the night before. He had thrilled to that rough handling, lost in the heady and excited rush they had spent the night building. The hours since had dulled the discomfort, but if he said yes now, told Jeff to take him as he was, the pleasure Jeff would bring him--and there would be much pleasure--would be laced thoroughly with a reawakening of that pain and more. If Jensen said no, he knew Jeff would not press him, but he would draw out the preparation until Jensen truly did go mad. It was a delicious decision to be presented with, one with no wrong answer but only tempting possibilities.
"Yes," Jensen said. "Yes, please, now."
Jeff did not hesitate, pressing Jensen's thighs further apart and pushing into him immediately, and Jensen turned his face into the pillow to muffle his keen at the burning stretch of his body forced to accept Jeff's, long and thick and inexorable. Jeff pushed him to the edge and held him there with slow, deep thrusts that dragged ever more desperate noises from deep inside him, until Jensen reached to touch himself, frantic for relief, but Jeff caught his wrist and drew it back over his head. Jensen wailed this time, knowing that Jeff wanted him to reach satisfaction with nothing more than he was already receiving. He fought the grip on his wrist for a few, brief seconds, until Jeff tightened his hand and Jensen knew he would carry the marks for days. He was caught, well and truly, and there was nothing to do but let Jeff have him.
If Jeff's laugh was triumphant this time, it was breathless and shaky as well, and for all that it would appear Jeff was controlling everything, Jensen knew Jeff was as helpless in the face of these overwhelming feelings as was Jensen himself. Jensen tested the grip that held him as much for the pleasure he knew would flicker in Jeff's eyes when he caught sight of the bruises he'd left as for his own satisfaction in wearing them; and he knew Jeff roughened his stroke not only for his own gratification, but also because he knew Jensen craved the intensity of having his pleasure laced through with pain.
Jeff could reduce Jensen to sobbing helplessness, but this morning he did not tease, only pressed Jensen into the bed and thrust into him, each stroke edging Jensen closer, every breathless word building on the next, until Jensen knew only Jeff in him and around him, and even as he felt himself be overcome with pleasure, he knew Jeff to be there with him, just as taken over and powerless to resist.
Jeff's life in Italy was simple, so much so that he had been convinced that Jensen would find it dull and uninspiring. He had already begun making plans to shift his base to Rome or Vienna to ensure Jensen's happiness when Jensen pried the whole thing out of him during their first week in residence. Equal parts aghast, irritated, and touched, Jensen had informed him in no uncertain terms--and rather loudly--that while Jensen could see that Jeff had many superior qualities, he was also becoming aware that he was an idiot on some occasions. The villa was far more modest than many on the shores of the lake, but there was a library of books Jensen had yet to read--his Italian was somewhat lacking, but he was learning quickly--and the view was truly magnificent. Jensen could not imagine not wanting to take it in every day.
As often as the weather would permit, they breakfasted on one of the terraces, before Jensen turned his attention to the investments that were beginning to create steady income and Jeff disappeared with oils and canvas. Signora Urso, who ran the house and cooked for them, would bring Jensen his morning coffee, intensely flavored and served in a tiny cup, and some of her sweet breads; and if it was not the tea and toast he had started every morning of his life with, it was a more than worthy substitute. On this morning, the good signora was followed by one of her many grand-nephews, carrying a leather satchel filled with such mail as had been received for the villa at the small postal office in the town of Como.
As Jensen sorted idly through it, he found both a packet from the offices of Messrs. Kripke and Singer and one from Richardson Hall. He set both aside for more detailed reading at a later time. Kripke, having found it was exceedingly convenient--not to mention profitable--to have a pair of trustworthy eyes on the Continent, would undoubtedly have some commission for Jensen to execute, and investments for Jensen's perusal, while Joshua--
As Jensen had explained away the money as the result of several considered wagers--which was not, in the strictest sense of the truth, a lie, as it merely side-stepped the question of the origination of the seed money--Jensen's parting interview with his brother had been contentious, with much shouting on both their sides. Joshua could not comprehend how Jensen could so blithely have followed in the footsteps--as he had phrased it--of the Black Earl, while Jensen felt that at least some of his brother's ill-temper had to do with being indebted to his younger brother. As both points of view held at least some merit, and the brothers were both genuinely fond of each other, they had worked hard to overcome their ire. Josh had swallowed his pride to accept the money and Jensen had done likewise to allow Josh his disapprobation, and their correspondence since had been regular, if strained. The letter would have much to say about the runnings of the estates, a topic about which Jensen still could not bring himself to care, but it would be good to see his brother's hand and hear of the familiar goings-on. He imagined Joshua might feel the same about Jensen's descriptions of his travel.
Far more suited to his current need of light reading to accompany his breakfast, Jensen found letters from Danneel and Margaret and Sophia. Jeff also had a letter from his cousin, who had steadfastly refused to allow their acquaintance to lapse despite Jeff's insistence and demonstration that he was an impossible correspondent. Jensen received letters from her for just this reason, as she said that he could be counted on to at least read what she had written and relay such information as he deemed important. Jensen wondered at times about the propriety of corresponding with the woman he very nearly married, while living in an unconventional arrangement with her cousin, but as no one with the possible exception of Jared had any notion of Jensen and Jeff as anything other than traveling companions, Jensen supposed it was not half as odd to anyone else.
"Danneel writes that she has convinced my brother to allow Margaret to visit her next spring for such small entertainments as can be arranged before Meg is officially presented," Jensen said, pretending not to notice Jeff prying the seal from Sophia's letter. "Good God, she says that after their visit to Harris Grange and Meg's near-constant presence, Ross has become quite fond of her and has insisted that they can easily sponsor her the year after."
"If Ross is taking on your sister, I think we can confidently infer he is still completely besotted by his wife, " Jeff said, without looking up from whatever Sophia had written. Jensen murmured an agreement--he, too, could assign no other explanation to Lord Ross willingly taking on an unrelated girl for the Season than to please Danneel--and discreetly unfolded his own note from Sophia. He did not smile, but it was with great satisfaction that he read of Lady Graham causing quite a flurry of speculation in giving Sir Robert Phillip the cut direct at a reception hosted by Lord Castlereagh. Of course, she does not ever explain herself, Sophia wrote, "but I am convinced it has everything to do with my cousin. Jensen found himself wishing he could have witnessed the event; he was more than certain Lady Graham could administer the cut direct like no other. It would have been most gratifying to have seen it for himself.
Jensen tucked the letter back into his pile and was back perusing Danneel's missive by the time Jeff looked up. Jeff would tell him in due time--though that might mean months--though he would know Jensen already knew; until then, it would be more than sufficient to know that another small bit of the isolation Jeff carried was washed away. Signora Urso came back to refresh their coffees and bring a little fruit to finish their meal; Jensen practiced his Italian on her and she very kindly did not laugh at him as she corrected his pronunciation, though her eyes danced. Jeff did his best to smother a chuckle--Jensen did not want to think what he might have actually said--and she shot him a quelling look before asking, very slowly so Jensen could follow, when they would need the horses this day. Jensen managed to answer properly, if not entirely in top grammatical form, to judge from Jeff's smile, and she left, promising that yet another grand-nephew would have everything in order for them.
Because they were leaving later in the morning to pay a welcoming visit to Jared and Genevieve at their newly rented villa, their normal schedules were necessarily reordered for the day. Jensen had set aside several books from the library and was finally successful in convincing Jeff to begin reading them aloud, so the morning passed in a most pleasant fashion. The villa Jensen had helped Jeff find for Jared and Genevieve was a little north along the lake: an easy, twenty-minute ride along the well-maintained roads. It was much more grand than Jeff's home, but for all that they beheld such sights as the Villa d'Este, where the Princess of Wales was in residence, Jensen could not say the views from the terraces were any more magnificent than the ones he saw every day.
He had not been sure of Jeff's reaction to the news that Jared understood about them, but Jeff had received the information with no small measure of relief, as it had apparently been weighing on him greatly to think Jensen in the position of concealing his life from everyone. "Having even one person who knows is a full measure better than none," he'd said, and Jensen deferred to his knowledge on the subject of separate lives.
"Oh, Mr. Morgan, thank God you are come," Genevieve said, as a footman showed Jeff and Jensen into the villa. She ran lightly down the grand staircase, Jared following close behind her. "Oh, and you, as well, Jensen," she added, clasping both their hands and blushing a little at her rudeness. "It is lovely to see you both, but it would seem my Italian is far less advanced than my governesses had been letting on, and I have no idea what it is I just ordered for our dinner. If Mr. Morgan would be so kind as to step into my kitchens and sort things out I should be quite, quite grateful."
Jeff allowed himself to be led off, telling stories of Jensen's complete lack of anything resembling fluency the entire way, and Jared murmured, "Thank God, indeed. I am not sure what it was we were served to break our fast, but it was quite unexpected." He did not look too put out about it, though, and he shook Jensen's hand with the greatest of enthusiasm. "Do you not approve of my wedding trip?" he asked, throwing his arms wide to encompass the admittedly elegant hall, and Jensen could not help but laugh with him. They made their way into one of the many rooms overlooking the waters, and as they took in the view, Jared said quietly, "While we have some small privacy: I am glad to see you did not allow the money to stand between you and Jeff."
Jensen laughed again, and at Jared's inquiring look said, "It is both more simple and more complicated than that--the money does not stand between us because I took the money he gave me and dangled it in front of a half-dozen of the less-intelligent young gentlemen at Watier's the night before you and Diablo defended the honor of the Third Hussars and proved Morecomb to be as much of a dolt as we all had suspected."
Jared gaped at Jensen, a dawning horror in his eyes. "How much?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"All of it," Jensen admitted.
"All of it," Jared repeated, throwing himself onto an ornately embroidered and carved chair, one with delicate legs that Jensen was not sure might bear the sudden weight. The wood creaked but held, and Jared dropped his head into his hands. "On me," he added, his voice muffled.
"And Diablo," Jensen added. "I secured the final wager that morning, just before he appeared." When Jared still did not move, Jensen continued, "It is not so very much more than the wagers you covered personally."
"It is hardly the same!" Jared lifted his head to glare at Jensen. "That was everything you had, Jen."
"It was worth it," Jensen said quietly. "To have gained what I have now, it was most assuredly worth the risk, Jared."
"Thank God you did not tell me," Jared said, after a few seconds. He shook his head. "I would have spent the entire day casting nightmare scenarios, which would have done nothing for my peace of mind, and that always sends Diablo into a frenzy. He took exception to everything that day as it was; if I had been in a mood, he would have tried murder on anyone in his path."
"I am glad to tell you now," Jensen said. "And I am more than glad you will be here this winter."
"We are glad to be here as well," Jared said simply. "It is a most beautiful place, though I must tell you Genevieve's enthusiasm is in very great part because she wishes to travel on to see the ruins at Pompeii."
"Pompeii!" Jensen exclaimed. He had been fascinated by the reports in recent years of the ruins there, but had hardly expected such an interest from Genevieve. Jeff could barely be persuaded to take notice, though Jensen thought he might succeed in tempting Jeff's interest with some of the mosaics and murals that were being uncovered.
"Indeed," Genevieve said, entering the room with Jeff on her heels. "Is it not fascinating to think of life so long ago?"
Before she and Jensen could properly explore the subject, though--and to Jared and Jeff's very great relief, Jensen was sure--they were interrupted by the arrival of several bottles of chilled Prosecco, delivered by the very impressive majordomo who ran the house. The wine was light and crisp, its bubbles foaming over the delicate glasses, a quite excellent choice to celebrate the afternoon.
Plans were laid for excursions to the many small towns along the lake's winding banks, and a discussion begun to plan more substantial journeys south to Florence and Venice and Rome to explore the many diversions of those cities. Pompeii was proposed; and to balance out Jensen and Genevieve's ardor for classical antiquities, the more modern and civilized destination of Vienna was mentioned.
Jensen almost could not conceive that his life had expanded to include such possibilities. He fumbled badly in trying to explain as much to Jeff on their trip back to their home, and though Jeff smiled at his enthusiasm, he seemed as eager as Jensen to see where this new life might take them.
Epilogue
Notes: I thank one or the other (or both!) of them every time I post something, but this one is really indebted to them:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
withdiamonds who loves Regencies even more than I do, and who listened to me babble insanely on g-chat one weekend in January about this crazy idea and who then kept waving and cheerleading and letting me work out ideas on her; and without_me, who read the whole thing a ridiculous number of times, and caught all my grammar issues and character inconsistencies and who tried her best to settle my out-of-control style in this one. The adverb abuse is so not her fault, and seriously, any grammatical error is because I changed something after she'd already gone through. I would not have finished this without the two of them.Thank you also to
buff_iroh, who did not run screaming to the mods at the state of my rough draft but drew my guys for me! And tremendous thanks to wendy and thehighwaywoman, who mod a crazy-big Big Bang with clarity and coherency and organization, and make it so we just have to write, not fuss about any details.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 3