“I cannot be sure, but I…I think some of the elders knew it was him. They… they let him… two innocent girls…he hurt them, killed them …would have hurt me…I thought perhaps…perhaps one brave soul from the village…”
A strong hand clasped his shoulder as Christophe’s anger threatened to become tears once more. He looked at Lucien, the bigger man’s tight visage and clenched jaw testimony to the restrained anger. It was also apparent in the cold clipped tones, so at odds with the warm voice Christophe had previously heard.
“I am sorry for the loss of those who fell to his hands before but I am glad that you were spared. You were alone when I came across your body.”
“In truth I have been alone since the death of my parents, my lord. They died last year.” Christophe’s voice was soft and sad. “I have almost forgotten what it is like to love and be loved.” He blushed once more at the direction his words had taken. He glanced shyly at Lucien, hoping he had not caused offence. He received an affectionate smile that encouraged a timid one of his own. Then the spell was broken as Christophe’s stomach protested loudly that it had been empty for too long.
“It would seem you need to feed, young one,” Lucien laughed.
Although the sound was pleasant to Christophe’s ears, the young man had a strange feeling it had been a long time since the older man had laughed.
“Lie here and relax. I will have some food prepared and bring it to you.”
“Surely your servants, my lord …?” Christophe began, but stopped at the elegantly raised eyebrow.
“I have a few loyal to me that dwell here,’ Lucien replied. “But I choose to serve you… and my name is Lucien.”
“Yes, my lord…I mean, Lucien.” The look from the silvery eyes seemed to bore into Christophe’s very soul. It took an act of will not to fling the shirt from his body and bare his breast to the penetrating gaze to let Lucien see into his heart. As though reading his thoughts, Lucien smiled once more and then was gone.
Christophe sat and thought in the other man’s absence. He believed he could feel an air of melancholy from the older man. He had mentioned servants, but not family. For all of Lucien’s wealth he might be as lonely as Christophe. Loneliness. At the thought, Christophe brought the loving faces of his parents to mind. They may have been poor, but they had love and if they lacked some material goods, they had each other. Sometimes it was the warmth of their love that had kept the cold at bay. Their loss still weighed heavily on his heart.
“You are crying.” Lucien’s concerned voice broke into his reverie and he dashed at the tears with the knuckle of his hands. Then he was in a strong embrace. Unthinkingly, he clutched desperately at the broad shoulders and luxuriated in simply being held by one who cared and grieved once more for his loss. As he began to recover control of his emotions, he was eased back from the strong body of his comforter. He mourned the loss of warmth and security and gave a watery smile as Lucien’s thumbs wiped away his tears.
“If I were given the opportunity, Christophe, I would ensure you never cried again, nor felt cold or lonely.”
Christophe felt the sincerity behind the words and his smile became a little stronger.
“You have already shown me such kindness, I can never repay you, Lucien,” he said.
“The pleasure of your company for however long you would grant it to me, that is payment enough,” Lucien said. “Now you must eat and drink and recover your strength.” He brought over a tray for Christophe to peruse. “What was it that caused you such sorrow?” he asked as Christophe stared at the food before him.
“The memory of my parents. We might have been poor, but I knew I was loved, that there were those who cared.”
“For what you deem it worth, Christophe,” Lucien said. “I care. You have shown courage and fortitude and I am glad it was I that found you.”
“It means a great deal,” Christophe said sincerely and met the soul-searching stare evenly. It was the truth and he was pleased at the smile he received. His eyes slid to the tray. It contained fresh bread, various meats and cheeses as well as a large glass of water. There were also two glasses of a rich, ruby-red wine.
“I thought you might drink with me once you had some food inside you,” Lucien offered. “If it pleases you.”
“It would please me greatly,” Christophe said sincerely.
His hesitant picking at the food rapidly became a ravenous attack. He cleared the tray, sighing with satisfaction. He accepted the goblet of wine as Lucien removed the tray. He took a small sip. It was strong, robust and warming and it made the younger man more loquacious.
“Tell me of your dreams, Christophe,” Lucien encouraged.
“I really only hoped to emulate my father,” Christophe murmured. The wine made him feel warm and relaxed. He looked down at the coverlet, gripping it tightly. “I hoped to find myself a wife to share my life the way my father said mother was his soul-mate.” Concentrating on the pattern of silk thread, Christophe failed to see the disappointment in Lucien’s eyes. “I thought it would be what I wanted…but now…”
“Now, Christophe?” Lucien asked, leaning closer.
“I am not…I do not…” he sighed his frustration.
“Would it help you to hear that although I have long searched for one to be at my side, I have never sought a wife?” Lucien asked.
“Never…” Christophe repeated. Uncertain cerulean met steady silver. “I do not think it is a wife I now seek,” he said, plunging forward bravely.
A cool hand stroked his cheek and he leant into the caress.
“Tell me what you want. I have to hear it from your own lips,” Lucien encouraged. “Tell me whether you could want me.”
“Yes,” Christophe croaked. “I want you. I have never thought to want a man and I do not understand what I feel, but it is as though your soul calls to me.”
“Do you trust me?” Lucien asked, closing the gap between them so that his breath blew gently against Christophe’s cheek.
“Yes.” As the word left his lips, Lucien’s mouth closed over his. Unknown passion and desire surged as if a spark had ignited dry tinder. Christophe’s hand fastened in hair the colour of midnight as he was lowered onto the bed. The nightshirt slipped, fully exposing one shoulder and a small pink nipple haloed by a rose-pink areola. Christophe cried aloud as sharp teeth nipped the innocent flesh only for a moist tongue to sooth the small hurt. He could barely believe that a touch to his breast would inflame his manhood, but he felt it stiffen as Lucien worshipped his nipples, ripping the shirt to reach the virginal flesh beneath. He moaned wordlessly, his head thrashing, as his breasts ached and throbbed in concert with the hardness between his thighs. A sharp bite to one reddened nub in concert with a tweak to the other and Christophe cried out and shuddered through his climax. He panted softly in the aftermath, trying to speak, to apologise, fearful that his untimely release would cause Lucien to abandon him.
“Beautiful,” Lucien husked. He locked his eyes with Christophe as he brought his fingers to his lips. He smiled at the wide-eyed gaze as he licked at the precious crème. “Sweet.” He offered his fingers to the young man and was pleased to see Christophe suck at them.