A/N- Happy Valentines day! I know I'm a bit late, but it's still the 14th in my time zone so whatever. This is just a little gift for all my readers whom I adore. The story has nothing to do with valentines day but it does have have pretty regency boys...
Warning: Mild Slash, and a creepy old guy
This oneshot is dedicated to all my reviewers, you all inspire me to keep on writing. Thank you.
I detest cravats. They are nothing but an itchy suffocating nuisance. I wish I could simply rip it off and have a moment's rest, but of course that would be scandalous. I have yet to understand how exposing my neck would be considered scandalous, but would.
It's not an unsightly neck, I don't think. Nothing that would make the ladies of the court faint in horror. Yet, should I indeed rid myself of my odious cravat, Mother surely hear of it and would quickly and ruthlessly pass judgment upon me. Her preferred method of torture? More cravat obligatory court parties of course. So I satisfy myself with merely tugging at it incessantly.
"Would you like me to loosen that for you, my dear Lord Balfrey?" a voice whispers in my ear.
I shiver, and not one of those delicious titillating type of shivers. No, this is a shiver of repulsion. I do not in fact have any desire for old, fetid Duke Wellstone to loosen anything for me. Thank you very much.
Of course I can't very well say that to my host as he is a very obnoxiously important person. That would be another one of those scandal producing things I am not allowed to do. So I just smile tensely, trying to ignore his blatant advances.
Oh, dear lord…I think he just sniffed my hair.
That was completely uncalled for. I'm sure my hair smells better than he does, but then that's not saying much. I lean as far away as I possibly can, without getting too scandalously close to Lady Hershwire who is sitting on the other side of me.
Curse you Mother.
This is entirely her fault. It was she who had accepted Duke Wellstone's invitation on my behalf, blatantly ignoring my protests. I, as well as every other young noble man under 18 years old, knows about Duke Wellstone's penchant for young boys. At 17, I had thought myself finally safe from his constant ogling.
I was gravely mistaken. As he has set his cataract stricken eyes on me. From constantly trying to corner me into dark niches at court parties, to my new position of honored guest at his right at the dinning table. It is becoming clear that I am to be his new conquest.
Of course, I am prepared to go down clawing and screaming in a splendidly scandalous fashion, before becoming one of his conquests.
The duke is momentarily distracted by another guest and I take this precious moment to look around me frantically in search of help. Surely someone has noticed the way Wellstone is basically humping my chair.
I am not overly surprised to notice everybody discretely avoiding my gaze. We all know why I'm here, but it would be scandalous to acknowledge it.
I nearly jump out of my chair as I feel a bony, arthritic hand slide up my leg.
This is absurd.
I refuse to sit here while a perverted old geezer feels me up. Mother will just have to deal with her scandalous son, because I'm about loose my composure.
I look around one last time; before I scream bloody murder at the most important man in the court, save for the prince regent. The hand is about an inch from my crotch when I open my mouth. It is at this moment that a pair of eyes catches my own.
They're such a pretty shade of gray, they distract me from my current predicament. I take in the owner of the strangely sympathetic eyes. It is a young noble man, perhaps a few years my senior. He has black curling hair and sharp angled features. I instantly wish he was the one with his hand on my thigh.
He must have just arrived to court, for I don't recognize his face. While I rake my brain, trying to place him, he smiles conspiringly at me. I wonder what he's planning. I close my mouth and try to squirm away from Wellstone's disgusting grip.
"Lord Balfrey, I fear you do not look well." The mysterious grey eyed noble tells me.
His voice is deep, with the required aloof, court drawl to it. His eyes however, twinkle scandalously, urging me to play along.
"Thank you for your concern, my lord. I indeed feel a bit unwell at the moment." I answer politely.
"Some fresh air might do you well. I might accompany you, if you please."
Yes! I'll go anywhere with you, just get me out of here.
Lord Wellington's grip tightens on my leg as he turns to my grey eyed stranger.
"Dear Kelley, surely you do not intend to take Lord Balfrey out into the freezing cold in his condition."
Conversations all around us die off as everyone strains to look blasé while blatantly eavesdropping. Wellington and "Kelley", my savior, have a silent confrontation. I wonder about the use of his familiar name by the duke. How well do they know each other? I look back and forth between them, silently cheering Kelley on.
"Yes, I do intend to do just that." Kelley replies.
With that, he pushes back his chair and signals for me to follow. I waste no time in flying out of my chair and out of Wellington's grip. I notice the disgruntled look on his face, but he says nothing as we excuse ourselves from the table.
Once we make our way out of the dinning hall and into the dark winter garden, I let out a sigh of relief. I hear a chuckle behind me and turn to look up at my savior. He is an inch or two taller than me, but his countenance is anything but intimidating. So I don't mind when he steps closer.
He is now scandalously close, but I can't seem to care.
"I feel I must apologize for my grandfather's indiscretions." He says, that wicked glint back in his eyes.
I'm flabbergasted. His grandfather? How could this beautiful man be related to dirty old Wellstone?
"Thankfully he was never too keen on incest," he continues, getting ever closer.
"Well, thank you very much for your help Lord…"
I hear Mother's voice telling me to step back, but I ignore it, instead taking a step forward.
"Lord Delant, but Kelley will do fine." His face is so close to mine, I can feel his breath. He smells nice, I note absentmindedly, like oranges.
"Thomas." I whisper, offering my name in response. Our noses touch and I feel his hands on my waist.
It crosses my mind that Kelley seems to be as forward as his grandfather. However, while Wellstone's advances only made my skin crawl, Kelley's set me on fire. The good kind of fire, mind you. The kind of fire where I no longer mind my fettering cravat.
"Would it be too scandalous, you think," he asks against my lips, "for me to kiss you?"
I think about it for a moment, before smiling.
"I like scandalous."
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