I posted a rainbow snippet yesterday, and a Sunday snippet quite a few months ago on what happened after, but here is the entire passage from the time Alasdair greets Edgar. It’s a little lengthy, but worth it, I hope:
“Allow me to introduce myself. I can‘t have you staring at me all night without doing something about it, now can I?” he says, bowing slightly from the waist. “I am Alasdair Connery, and you are?”
“Edgar Carstairs, sir. I apologize for staring, but you are a cut above the usual, I must admit.” Edgar bowed himself. “I am at your service.”
“At my service? That sounds intriguing.”
Edgar gives him a hooded look.
“I only stare at things that intrigue me, sir.”
Alasdair smiled. “Please call me Alasdair,” he says. “You look like you belong in the movies, Edgar. You are a singularly attractive young man.”
“Yes, Alasdair, I think I do.” Edgar thinks Young man? He looks but six years older than me, seven at the most.
“And thank you for the compliment.”
Alasdair’s lips are parted, showing his rather prominent eyeteeth, and Edgar blinks, suddenly nervous. Is this what he wants after all?
“Would you like to come upstairs to my suite and talk about it? Perhaps we can be at each other’s service.”
Edgar nods, afraid to speak.
Alasdair takes his elbow and brings him up to his luxury suite. He puts his arm around his waist and walks him over to the edge of the bed, which is covered in sumptuous velvet. Edgar takes off his jacket and Alasdair unbuttons his shirt for him. His eyes drift shut. Neither one of them speaks, there’s no need. He didn’t think he would be enjoying it this much.
He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, then unbuttons Alasdair’s shirt, letting it fall to the ground after he pulls it off. He reaches out his hands, finding Alasdair’s chest. Edgar strokes him up and down with trembling fingers. He opens his eyes, looking at this beautiful man as Alasdair leans over, putting his lips on his chest, smelling him with flaring nostrils. They sit on the edge of the bed and touch their lips together, their tongues meeting, running their hands over each other. Edgar watches Alasdair undressing him, even getting down on one knee to remove his shoes. He watches as Edgar raises his hips, then he gently tugs down Edgar’s trousers. Alasdair reaches to his own slim waist to unfasten his kilt. Edgar helps him, trembling and eager, until they are both totally nude. He tries to hide his small love handles, but Alasdair holds his arms.
“You are beautiful, Edgar. Do not hide that beauty,” Alasdair tells him, his striking eyes sparkling, hypnotic.
He puts his finger on Edgar’s lips, then runs that finger slowly, sensuously across them.
“Shhhhhh. Let me show you how beautiful you are.”
Edgar closes his swimming eyes. Alasdair runs his finger along his cheek, then he feels himself being pushed gently down on the bed. He feels Alasdair’s mouth on his erection, tugging, insistent. He gasps with pleasure, his hips moving, and he is well on his way to a rocking orgasm when he feels a sharp pain on his chest. He looks down, puzzled. Alasdair has moved his lips upward, and he is kissing his left breast while he fondles him. The pain comes again, so much softer, so–pleasurable, he finds himself drowning in the sensation, the sheer excitement of it. His head falls back, feeling Alasdair’s lips against his warm skin, drinking him in. Then, as if he were floating in a red fog, he feels Alasdair rubbing fragrant oil into the cleft of his behind, then entering him, lifting his legs over his shoulders and making them curl around his neck. His heels drum a frantic rhythm onto Alasdair’s back, feeling him moving slowly, then faster as he reads Edgar’s responses. Alasdair’s long, heavy braid is hanging over his shoulder, gently brushing Edgar’s face with every forward rocking thrust he makes into him, into the very core of his being. He hears himself groaning, begging, almost screaming with the sheer pleasure of it, then screaming in truth as his back arches with the most intense climax of his life, his muscles clenching so tightly that the bones in his entire body feel like they are being crushed. He relaxes, shaking with his hitching breath as he feels Alasdair slipping away from him.
He is left empty, hollow.
He raises his head, giving Alasdair a pleading look, and two large droplets slip down his cheeks into the corners of his parted lips. Alasdair stares in his eyes then, holding his tear-streaked face in his strong hands. He looks back at him, trembling.
“I–I love you, Master–please–”
He looks at the small smile on Alasdair’s beautiful face and knows he will follow this man–no, this being-anywhere, do whatever he wants, be whatever Alasdair–Mr. Connery–wants him to be. In return, he will be well taken care of. And he has been.
For almost a hundred years and counting.
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