DISCLAIMER ==========
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2004 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:
- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.
And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002
Tea and scones were clearly an understatement. No one could ever accuse Mark F. Darcy of doing anything halfheartedly. As I eyed the amazing smorgasbord of dishes arranged on the checkered picnic cloth, I wondered whether anyone could ever finish it all. Even looking at the veritable mountains of food was making me full.
As I picked up a scone with clotted cream and bit into it, I closed my eyes and sighed. It was the perfect setting, the perfect idyllic English glade under a gorgeous oak tree, the perfect charmingly accented Brit hunk, even the perfect scone. Like the man himself, the delicious lil piece of English pastry tasted every bit as good as it looked. Smiling to myself, I wondered what Mark would think being compared to a fluffy scone but figured with his quirky sense of humour, he'd probably be amused. "You never told me you were going to drag me halfway round the country."
His reply was a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. "Hardly halfway, it's only into Kent," he corrected me with a quick wink.
"And this isn't your home."
"Not my townhouse, no," Mark replied with a shake of his head. Gesturing to the manor a mile or two away on the near horizon, he said, with a hint of pride in his voice. "But it is nonetheless mine. My endlessly matchmaking mother lives here and she would certainly have been here to welcome you - a prospective in-law - if one of my crotchety aunts up in Scotland hadn't fallen and dislocated a hip."
I chose to disregard the sly reference to the in-law comment and focused instead on his collection of houcses. His answer was telling enough and had me silently wondering just how many 'houses' the man actually had. Some men collected stamps, some collected antique coins. Like a crazed, controlling Monopoly player, Darcy seemed to enjoy collecting houses. And I would hardly call the palatial manor we just left a mere house. The large, beautifully furnished salon he'd ushered me in to wait while he collected our tea and scones was roughly the size of the apartment I had when I was a med student back home. And Mark had called that the breakfast salon. Was the dinner salon the size of a tennis court?
Moments later as I'd sat waiting patiently on the sofa, he'd returned to the salon from somewhere in the depths of the manor with a large picnic basket filled to the brim. There was a strange smile on his handsome face but he refused to explain the reasons behind it.
"And you changed your cars.."
That accusation had him looking down with a faint flush at his cheeks and I wondered whether I'd embarassed him. "Well, I hoped that the Vanquish would impress you enough that you'd ... gimme some of your sweet lovin'." Flicking his glance back to me, he grinned in a wicked way that had me wondering whether he was really joking.
Looking back at the gleaming automobile parked beneath the shade of a thicket close by, I shook my head. It was really strange. For a man who mapped out his schedules with the thoroughness of a king planning out a military expedition - and already had a planned itinerary for the day, undoubtedly disrupted by a certain Englishman - this was totally unprecedented. No one knew where I was, no one knew who I was with and I was miles away from nowhere with someone I barely knew. A tiny part of my mind was screaming get out of there, he's a crazy axe murderer but I suppressed that crazy impulse. Giving him a slightly nervous look, I said softly. "I feel like one of those virginal brides kidnapped from their bower by a dastardly lord."
"You've got part of that right." Instead of trying to chop and dice me into bloody litle pieces, Mark seemed more intent on rifling through the contents of the picnic basket. Easing his hand into the basket, Mark slipped out a scone and bit into it. "And ye'll be deflowered soon enough, winsome young lad."
Licking the bit of cream across his sensuous lip, he gave me a lewd wink. The man was a study of anachronisms. In his dapper English suit, sipping lager with scones. The hunky blue-blood with the sexy fuck-me body and that bad-boy smile. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Tea and scones. The best in England," he enthused, waving the remains of his scone. "My mother's cook makes the best."
It certainly wasn't an empty boast. Hard to argue with that claim when my mouth was watering for more. "That's all."
His interest in the scones forgotten, Mark leaned forward slightly, his deep blue eyes darkening. "Well, you want the meatier portion I mentioned earlier right now?"
"Mark."
My cool comment only had him throwing his head back in a laugh. Seeing that I was staring at him without a trace of amusement, he pulled my hand and drew me closer. Resistance seemed to be futile, what with the man outweighing and outmuscling me, and I allowed myself to be drawn to him. "I would have thought that it's simple enough. I want to be alone with a man I find eminently attractive. That a good enough reason for you?"
It was almost scary how well the man knew me despite getting to know me at my drunken worst. Far more effective than a string of easy, charming phrases, the simple direct words had butterflies carwheeling in my stomach. "You can't really be serious, you've only known me for two days. And one of those days I was not myself - and drunk to boot. I could be.. some kinda monster."
"So you're going to pull out my still bleeding heart from my chest and eat it?" Mark mimed being attacked and fell to the ground moaning in distress.
Despite the disgusting images that ran through my head, I tried to smile. "That sounds gross. And how do you know I won't do it?"
Peeking up at me through his thickly lashed, curled black lashes, he grinned at me defiantly. "You don't scare me, doc. And anyway, that won't stop me from going after what I want." His smile was engaging and irreverent, his blue eyes twinkling with humour but there was a trace of steel in the tone of his deep, velvety-smooth voice that I recognized. "When I see what I want, I go for it, and right now that seems to be you. There was chemistry between us that night and even you can't deny that."
There was an earnestness in his voice that belied the laughter in his eyes and I found myself puzzling over it. Mark seemed so sure, so determined to engage in the pursuit of a man who was essentially a stranger to him. Falling down beside him on the picnic cloth, I propped my head on my palm and stared at him. "Riddle me this. What the hell do you find so attractive in me that you'd want to go out with me again?"
Mark moved his hand across the cloth and slowly trailed up my arm, running lightly across my cheek. "Must you go through every single detail and analyze it? Can't you just enjoy the moment?" Taking my silence for what it was, he sighed. Slowly tracing a design on my cheek - and leaving a warm tingle, he paused to ponder a point. "Well, I find it very hard to actually pinpoint a single quality..."
Seeing the beginnings of a laugh in his eyes, I nudged his hand away. "Forget I asked."
"I'll give you an answer." His answer was rapid-fire even as he caught my hand in his own, entwining his fingers with mine. "The absolutely mind-blowing, back and bed-breaking sex."
Colour rushed into my cheeks as he'd probably intended. There had to be no reply to that comment except for one. "Bollocks."
He looked at me in some surprise, his straight dark brows lifting smoothly. I've always envied that ability in some people. "Well, that too. Nice accent by the way."
"Asshole." I laughed. "Stop making me laugh."
"Well, I don't know how exactly to phrase this but... mate, you're easy."
Since I allegedly leapt on him like a ravenous sex-crazed animal, I don't think I could refute that. According to Mark's undoubtedly exaggerated recollection, I'd walked into a gay bar, spotted the hottest stud in there - namely him - and then, I'd stuck my tongue into his desirable mouth. Not bad for a first-timer. I still had doubts on the truth of his recollection but since my own far from reliable memories were blurred out by alcohol, I had to go with his description of me as the undoubted slut from hell. "I'd love to punch you in the face for that but don't think I can argue with that."
He laughed again. "Not to worry, I like guys who are easy too. But you gotta make damned sure that's your last time cause I'm a jealous kinda bloke. No going around grabbing some guy's arse anymore for you, no matter how cute they are."
The easy, confident laugh only made him all the more better-looking and damn if he didn't know it. Mark Darcy was a fucking beautiful man and no doubt half the barhoppers in gay London would agree with my assessment. It was hard not to notice his particular brand of radiant good looks and charisma when I'd noticed that passersby strained their necks just to look back at him. Definitely a Close To You kinda guy. "Look, Mark, I'm an average guy. The guy everyone describes as witty, interesting with a pleasant personality. While you're... well, you know what you are.."
Finally piqued, Mark moved forward with seeming interest, his extremely mobile mouth turning up in an increasingly smug smile. "Yes? Devilishly handsome? Dead sexy? Impossibly charming in a rakish, debonair manner?"
"Looks like your head's bloated enough," I replied dryly.
"It's still nice to get a rave review now and then." Mark shrugged easily. Reaching down with his hand, he gave his butt a quick, satisfying pat. "Don't forget, we have already established that you like my superior arse."
There was that delicious twinkle in his blue eyes that I'd started associating with him and I broke into a smile despite myself. "You're trying to make me laugh again."
"There. That's such a lovely sound. It's nice to hear you laugh. Somehow I don't think you do it often enough."
I stared at him curiously. "You don't know that."
"I don't?" He grinned with some satisfaction. "I'll tell you what. It's the watermelon thing."
Picturing the fruit didn't seem at all complimentary and I laughed as I turned back to the scones. His cook had even laid out some ham and fried chicken. Digging out a wing, I bit into it. "That's why you like me? I don't know whether to be insulted."
"It's a compliment, I assure you." His gaze faltered before mine for a moment and he glanced down briefly at the checkered cloth before continuing. "Seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed as much with anyone else."
It was surprisingly frank and just the right thing to say. "You're a smooth one, aren't you?"
He cocked his head to look at me. "You say that like it's a bad thing." As he spoke, his hand lifted to brush lightly against my cheek. It was obvious that affectionate gestures came easily to him and I wondered why it prompted me to flinch instead. Love and affection were shown in far more subtle ways in the conservative Chen family. Just spontaneously reaching out to touch someone just wasn't in me and it didn't come to me as easily as it obviously did to Mark.
I looked away. How could I explain? My one and only fling years ago.. it was pathetic.. It couldn't even be called love or even a relationship since it barely lasted a week. Call it a reckless, childish infatuation for a handsome face and a smooth style. Flushed with puppy love, I'd returned to the dance floor searching for the same guy and I inadvertently heard his scathing review of my performance. It was emphatically both thumbs down, both for my looks and my technique. Since then however, I'd polished up my looks but since that first disastrous outing, I hadn't had the opportunity to practise my moves. And it galled me to note that Delicious Darcy had that guy beat hands down in terms of looks and style.
Interrupting my reverie, Mark drew my attention back to him. "River? Cat got your tongue?"
"No, it's.." It was at the tip of my tongue to confess my woeful tale but I remained silent. There was hardly any cause to burden him with the story of a careless heartbreaker who'd literally stomped on my heart and pride - and the worst of it all, I doubt the man in question had any recollection of what he'd done. The painful but thankfully maturing experience didn't leave me with a blind, unswerving hatred of all men ala Miss Havisham but it certainly left me with a certain guarded watchfulness when it came to certain smooth, handsome charmers. They were not to be trusted. A pity Darcy fit that description almost to a T.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he repeated, tapping me on the shoulder with a drumstick.
"I think that's enough cliches from you for now." It was obviously the wrong moment to bring up such an issue. And it certainly didn't concern him at all. I was on holiday with a perfectly wonderful man and I needed to forget my problems. Determined to enjoy the moment, I tried for a lighthearted smile. "So, the watermelon thing, huh."
Not fooled by my quick change of subject, he looked at me closely, a concerned look on his handsome face. "Look, River, you know you can tell me anything."
From what he'd told me of our first night, I seemed to have told him a little too much.
"It's nothing. Just thinking about the watermelon." I lied glibly.
"That's not it but I'll let it pass for now." Although I shook my head in emphasis, he still didn't look convinced but he hesitated to pursue the topic. Deciding to let it go, Mark returned to the earlier subject. "It's not only the watermelon. Any man who can quote me Edward Nygma has got to be worth something."
"You read comics?" I said with some amazement. The stereotypical image of a comic reader was that of a bespectacled nerdy teenage boy and Mark Darcy definitely didn't fit into that square peg. The six-footer more closely fit my notion of the big bully who kicked sand in the nerd's face.
Glancing around carefully, Mark hushed me. His blue eyes flashed with amusement. "Shh.. Don't tell anyone but yes. Utterly obsessed. My mother cowers with shame each time she sees a first edition Dickens sharing space with the Bat in my father's library."
I suddenly had an image of the sexy, stylish Londoner huddling in the dark depths of his study, hiding from his retainers, trying to read the latest issue of the Bat. The odd picture had me smiling in spite of myself and I blurted out impulsively, "I think we should get married." Even as I said it, I winced. My tongue was evidently even looser than my inhibitions around him.
His blue eyes gleamed. "I see you've been reading my mind. Should I get the priest?"
"That's not what I.."
"You're not welshing on me, are you?" Pleased with himself, Mark Darcy looked like the cat who'd gotten the cream. He leaned back on his haunches and wrapped his arms protectively around himself like a wronged virgin. "Oh, how could you? I feel so.. so.. used."
"Ha ha."
A quick, disarming grin split his handsome face. "God knows you shouldn't take advantage of me.. I'm just a poor simple English farmboy with my heart on my.."
It wasn't the first time he'd spoken of his feelings for me and I doubt it would be the last. A dangerous part of me didn't want him to stop. Seeing him rattle off in that lighthearted vein had me laughing again and I gave him a quick shove that had him sprawled on the ground. "Shut up."
Easing up on his powerful arms, he continued smiling easily even as he spoke to me. "I like the fact that I rattle you, River. Nice to know I'm apparently irresistible."
With the almost-hypnotic quality of his sky-blue eyes, I found it hard that anyone could even hold a decent conversation with him. It was hard not to focus on that amazingly beautiful face and forget all about what he said. The glow of those perfect, vividly blue eyes, the thick, lush, dark lashes, the perfection of his sculpted, aristocratic nose, those sot, sensuous lips that could so easily quirk up into a devastating smile.
Startled by my close scrutiny, Mark asked curiously. "What? Do I have cream on my face?"
"You're too damn good-looking." And it was true. Some guys looked great but there was always one small flaw. A mouth too wide, a nose just slightly off-center, a barely noticeable squint in one eye. Damnably, Mark had none of those, just one of those flawlessly handsome faces I associated with comic-book heroes. The heroic, lantern-shaped jaw, the blue-black tint of his hair, the marvellous width of his shoulders.
"That's just the pretty wrapping. It's not all I am," he answered simply.
There were no fervent denials, no embarassed posturings, no vain, self-conceited preenings. There was just plain acceptance of the fact and I found I liked him the more for it. "I think you underestimate yourself. Somehow I think you're beautiful inside too."
My honest reply had him moving closer to me with a gusty sigh. "Doc, are you trying to drive me crazy?" Reluctantly, Mark finally smiled - a 1000 watt smile that would have knocked me over if I was standing. Even on the ground, I felt my arms give way. "Damn you. You're not really helping much with keeping my libido in check."
I grinned. "You're the sex maniac."
"Says the man who couldn't get quite enough last night. Crying out for more, more, more."
"Don't remind me." I chuckled weakly, shaking my head. My memories of that night were scanty to be sure but with each lurid comment he made, I regained a small recollection and the accumulation of memories made me blush. Had I really done all those things he hinted at? Was I the same man who'd accosted him in the club and dragged him to the hotel room with me? Such a wild, crazy notion seemed almost foreign to me right now in the light of day and reason. And yet looking at Delicious Darcy lazing on the picnic cloth before me, I could see how anyone could lose their heads when he was around.
Taking a drink of Perrier, Mark swallowed deeply before speaking again. His deep voice was tinged with something approaching awe. "I don't think I'm likely to forget being tied up and ordered to perform."
I stared at him. His blue eyes looked innocent.
"It's true. You want to see your bitemarks on my arse?"
As he reached for his waistband, I caught his hand. It was a tempting thought but I resisted. Another look at the perfection of his taut bubble-butt and I might fall on him like a ravenous beast - even without the alcohol.
He eased his hand away and caught my hand in his. Giving me a look at the edge of his eyes, he said primly. "Oh, sorry, I forgot all about the strict embargo on the sex talk."
I laughed as he knew I would. "You're funny."
"You bring that wicked side out in me." He smiled.
"I always wanted a boyfriend with a keen sense of humour."
His dark brow flew up in surprise. "Flirting with me, Doctor Chen?"
"Would it be so wrong?"
He grinned.
As I munched my way through foie gras, fried chicken and scones, we talked about everything except the growing attraction between us. Even so, I could hardly keep my eyes on the food when my gaze kept on straying to the man himself. Delicious Darcy, so much more stimulating than English scones. Every move he made brought into motion the stunning musculature of his body, drawing my ogling eye even as I tried to concentrate on his words.
Sitting crosslegged on the ground, Mark told me about some of the attractions in London that I shouldn't miss while my bewitched eyes were hopelessly fixed to the attractions of his crotch. The tight, spray-painted dark blue 501s he wore did nothing to hide the nicely abundant package at the apex of his well-muscled thighs. I tried to deny my feelings but I couldn't deny the feelings stirring in my dick. Trying to avoid drooling over his crotch, I shifted my attention back to food. "These scones are the best."
"I like the taste of you even more," Mark said quietly.
The sudden change of topic again shocked me and I paused in the act of biting into a cracker. "You said you wouldn't talk about sex."
"I lied. You make me hot." Breaking the embargo, Mark only grinned unabashedly. He then proceeded to point out the obvious. "And you're not helping any - staring at my crotch and licking your lips."
His words brought my gaze back to what I'd been trying to avoid. If my estimations were correct, something large was stirring inside Darcy's pants. "I don't think I can help myself too."
"I've been wanting to fuck that sweet arse all morning."
There was nothing to do after those words but to fall into his arms. What can I say? I was obviously just as easy as he'd said. The man moved exceedingly fast and he caught me in his strong arms, his fast hands running down my back even as his lips met mine in a passionate kiss. Eagerly joining in the kiss, I worked my tongue ino his mouth as I followed his example and ran my hand down to grope his expanding crotch. His taste, his smell, his warmth, they flooded my senses and I regained a sense of what had happened that night.
The sudden surge of memory, followed by the emotions, emboldened me and I nudged him backward onto the ground. As I ran my hands down his arms, I found that Darcy certainly lived up to my expectations. His biceps and delts were just as I imagined they would be, hard, thick and strong. And as I tore open the top buttons of his shirt, the smooth, practically hairless chest was broad and powerful, the solid, perfect mounds of his pectorals sporting a pair of eraser-hard nipples that begged for my kisses.
For a moment, he tugged away, his blue eyes no longer cool but ablaze with an inner fire. "Motherfucker. You're really trying to drive me slowly insane."
It was then that I heard it the slow, insistent throb of Kylie's Slow, an apt song considering the situation. It was like a quick splash of water to the senses as my heartbeat started slowing down to the beat of the song. "I-It's your phone."
His large hand reached for me again. "Fuck the phone."
"It could be your mother," I warned him, my voice not quite steady. Banking on the hunch that Mark would be too afraid to blow me while his mother was ringing, I shoved away from him and landed on my haunches.
"Sod it," he fumed as he reached behind to retrieve his cellphone from his back pocket. Kylie's music continued to fill the air and he cursed fluently which made me smile in spite of my frustration. One glance down at the cellphone confirmed the identity of the caller and Mark cursed again. Then he pulled away, muttering a command to me with a familiar gesture. "Stay. I'm not finished here."
He stepped away to answer his call and I took the time to piece together my tattered clothes. As he released me, I realized that there should be a warning tacked onto Mark Darcy's overly desirable form. The man was obviously a menace to civilized society. One look at him and I metamorphosed into an insane, sex-crazed mindless creature without higher mental function, my one desire to fuck and be fucked by him.
Mark had gone around the oak tree to mutter incessantly into his cellphone and I heard him mumbling a few curses. Shutting off his cellphone and tossing it into the basket, he came back to me. "So where were we?"
"We are.. I mean.."
"Damn." Mark cursed softly as he took note of my clothes, now primly buttoned up to my neck. "You're just gonna leave me here like this?"
His narrowed gaze shifted down to his crotch and I followed. There was something large still stirring in his pants and my mouth was watering in reflex.
Standing above me with his legs spread wide, he let out a rollicking laugh, and this time his laugh was a tad merciless. "You little bastard. I should just toss you over my shoulder, carry you over to my bedroom and fuck away like a madman .."
Oh my God, did he just read my mind again?
"But I won't."
Damn.
His smile was almost proudly smug. "I want you begging for it."
Any doubts I had about his nobility dissolved as I saw him standing proud and haughty before me. The Wicked Marquis, that's what he was to a T, and the marquis was demanding retribution. And I realized that he didn't have to wait all that long to have me begging and I told him so.
His eyes glittered dangerously blue. "Doctor, you've got a dangerous way of telling the truth."
"So you're going to toss me over your shoulder?" There was a tone of hopefulness in my voice that I couldn't hide and he laughed again.
"You are a tempting pricktease but no." He grinned easily as he knelt down on the picnic cloth. "We're gonna finish these lovely tea and scones that Cook prepared."
"Oh. Okay." Vaguely disappointed, I turned back to the basket and pulled out a glass. There was a champagne bottle somewhere deep inside the damned basket and I suddenly felt thirsty like hell.
In a quick, savage move I didn't expect, he suddenly knocked the glass out of my hand and threw me down. "Fuck the tea."
"But I thought.."
"Bugger it. It's my turn to stick my tongue down your throat, River."