Trapped in Lace (lgbt)

Ch 7

They are reading quietly in each other's company in the comfort of the sitting room when Mikhail feels his eyes grow heavy with sleep. He feels himself relax, with the weight of any secrets between him and Antony finally lifted. He doesn't know when, but eventually he falls asleep on the chaise. His breathing deep and even and slow.

Antony takes the time to admire the silhouette that makes Mikhail. The quill he was using to write to his father is put down, his focus gone and shifted to the younger man across the room.

Mikhail is... interesting.

He hadn't expected to meet someone like him. Someone so uncanny to himself. Running away and toward the chance of freedom.

Antony sighs. He remembers that feeling distinctly. The feeling of running and believing destiny was in his own hands. He learned the hard way that it was only a mirage. It was only a sliver that his father allowed before reigning him in once more to prepare him for something much bigger than himself. Mikhail still has that hope, that fire kindled in his eye. He's breathtaking and unique.

But he wonders how long it will last.

The flame is bound to extinguish once Mikhail realizes just how cruel the world can actually be. And without his family, with no one by his side, it will only make the pain all that much more unbearable when it finally occurs.

Yes, he remembers that feeling too. It came in the form of his mother's death while he was out and about being a rebellious bachelor after his return from the war. His mentality of screw it all coming to a screeching halt with her sudden departure.

He is still a ball of rage and bitterness even months after it occurred.

Antony sighs as he rereads the letter from his father. An update on the affairs of their home and asking if he is ready yet? If he is close to the palace of Mountainshire. He crumbles the sheet in his hand.

He knows the interest.

His father hopes he will meet someone who will finally settle him, who will be able to guide him as he will eventually guide others. As if the war was not enough experience to demonstrate he is more than capable on his own.

Of course, it is not about his capabilities.

It is all about an heir, a legacy. A son.

But this destiny he does not want for his offspring.

His doesn't think his father will understand that Antony does not want that. He does not desire a wife. Not now and perhaps not ever. Not if it means his children will be trapped in a gilded cage as well.

But above all, he still desires his freedom. He likes knowing he can bed who he likes when he likes with little repercussions. He likes knowing he is not tethered in more ways than one.

Tethered to a wife who will not love him, not truly.

A woman who will only be by his side for title, power, money. But not love, never love.

He grimaces when he thinks of Mikhail's words, an auction.

But who is buying who?

A soft whimper draws his attention, and he looks up.

Mikhail groans softly in pain as he curls tightly into himself.

Antony forgets the parchment on the desk. He sits beside the younger man and combs his fingers through unruly curls. The pad of his thumb smooths the little wrinkle on Mikhail's forehead caused by the pain.

"One of the maidservants said this would help," Antony soothes remembering the kind wisdom of the older woman who showed no interest in anything other than genuine concern for Mikhail.

He presses the warm heated pad against Mikhail's lower belly.

"Thank you," the younger sighs in relief, melting at the comfort.

Antony smiles, "You're welcome."

He realizes then, that the moment they part ways might be the moment Mikhail realizes just how lonely this world truly is.

He holds his tongue even though all he wants to say is, Don't run, stay with me.