The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER SEVEN.

                Pip ought to have returned to his own bedroom after Oliver had fallen asleep, but he could not. This was, in part, because Oliver forbade him to.

Even in sleep, Oliver's arm around Pip's waist was tight, possessive. As they lay bare in bed, Pip could not find the strength nor the will to leave Oliver's side. And hadn't he asked Pip to stay the night? So Pip had stayed, unable to sleep himself as he preferred to take advantage of the few hours he had to admire Oliver as he could not admire him in public.

"Beautiful," he whispered against Oliver's lips before taking them in his own.

Oliver stirred in his sleep as Pip kissed a trail down his body, touching whatever of him he could reach, but Pip could hardly help himself. They did not have too many moments together like this.

Pip remembered a year ago, when he and Oliver had first come together. The others had all been off on a trip, and Oliver had ordered that his chambers not be disturbed for an entire day. He'd called for Pip through a—yet again—very nervous Charles.

"He's in a right state, he is," Charles had muttered, taking Pip's hand. "Oh, if only one of the Misses were here!"

Even Pip was anxious, but for a different reason entirely. He and Oliver had shared little more than glances, but they'd always been filled with heat. Sometimes he could swear he was being watched but when he looked, Oliver would quickly turn away. He'd been bewitched by this man with gold curls and bright green eyes, always so angry and grieved about something, yet so kind when he thought no one was watching, as though he would not dare lower his armour before anyone.

Pip had expected the kiss, hoped for it. He'd instantly melted against Oliver, holding him close. He'd never wanted to let go, but eventually he'd been forced to. And he'd accepted it.

Pip kissed Oliver's chest, then his collarbone, nuzzling the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent. He didn't know how much longer he would have to accept it.

He could not keep away from Oliver much longer. Even if he remained a servant for all of time, he would be happy so long as he could serve Oliver. So long as the world knew that this beautiful man was his and his alone.

The black sky outside soon turned to light, however, and while Pip had not slept a wink, he felt as though he was waking from the most wonderous dream. It was time to leave.

Pip gathered Oliver in his arms once more and kissed his cheek, his jaw, and his lips before he whispered, "I love you," against his curls, and forced himself out of bed. As quietly as he could, Pip picked up each article of his clothing that had been discarded, and dressed. The bruises on his chest looked a deep purple in the rising light coming in through the windows, but they were well-hidden from view. A few of the buttons on his shirt had been torn, but fortunately, those were unnoticeable as well beneath his waistcoat. Pip rubbed his face with both hands, put his hand on the doorknob, and hesitated. He looked back at Oliver who lay with his back to him, and swallowed down the desire to go lie back down beside him.

Pip slapped his own cheek multiple times, attempting to wake himself up. It was the exhaustion that was leaving him so forlorn. It had to be.

He walked out, and carefully closed the door behind him. He'd only just allowed himself a sigh and turned to leave when—

"Got lost, did you?"

Pip whirled around, his heart having nearly stopped. There was Lord Westcott, standing beside his open door, fixing his cuffs.

He gestured with his chin at his chambers. "I think you were meant to come here?"