The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 8

He pulled himself off Nelson and made sure his footing was careful in the dark. He shouldn’t have even ridden home. Should have known better. Should have found a hotel and had a bath and nursed his sore head in the morning with a cup of coffee and then rode slowly back home to his estate and the big knowing eyes of his secretary. He could have hidden in the stables or his office. Sent the boy on an errand so George wouldn’t have to look at him and see his own failure. 

He led the animal into the barn, swaying as he went. Undid the saddle and the blanket. Gave the animal a quick rub down and some oats. Didn’t dare try to do more. That was enough to make his stomach roll and his head pound.

He’d had far too many whiskeys to ride home alone, in the middle of the night. Ten miles in the dark and he knew the only reason he’d made it was because Nelson knew the way home. He was lucky he hadn’t been stopped by bandits. Fallen off the horse and lay in the middle of the road until a cart ran him over.

But he couldn’t stay in town. Didn’t want to try and find a room. He was drunk and only had a little coin and he could have gone to Thomas’s townhouse and the other man would have let him sleep it off but what would he say? I’ve a gorgeous boy at home and I’ve not yet tasted his arse? Promised a slave that his chastity is safe in my hands? I’ve been slaking my needs with a whore and tonight I found myself in a room with a bit of naked, willing, paid for flesh and the minute he looked up at me with his pretty blue eyes my cock went soft because they weren’t brown? That my cock decided it wouldn’t stand up for any boy besides the one I can’t have?

He’d sound a fool. An old, ridiculous, love struck fool. A man with a pretty pet at home had to go to a whore to have his needs met like he was some old goat. All because he promised his boy the sanctity of his virgin arse.

He stumbled toward the house, trying not to stagger too much. One foot in front of the other. Slowly.

He saw a light on in the study and tried not to grimace. It was much too late for the boy to be awake. And the lamp light too low for someone who was working. He’d strain his eyes and then what good would he be to George?

He made his way inside and saw that the study door was open. A small fire still going in the fireplace and Alexander asleep, head down at his desk. He’d have to say something to the boy about that. Leaving a fire unwatched. If a spark would have flown out and caught a curtain on fire the whole room would have gone up before Alexander could have gotten himself outside. The whole estate would burn, just as Mount Vernon had.

He purses his lips as he stared at the boy’s reflection in the flickering light of the fireplace and the small, still lit lamp. The face of an angel. Full lips just barely parted. A golden glow painted across the impossibly high bones of his cheeks. His hair had come loose from it’s queue and curled behind his exposed ear.

He stepped forward slowly, softly, so as not to wake the boy violently. Ran his fingers along Alexander’s cheek.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered and George knew he should pull away. Should disguise the naked want he was sure filled his features.

“Sir?” Alexander whispered sleepily.

“It is past time for you to be abed Alexander,” George said as he ran his fingers along Alexander’s cheek.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was waiting up in case you needed to see me after you returned,” he said as he pushed himself upright and rubbed his eyes, seeming surprised to find it was still dark. “What time is it sir?”

“Just gone one,” George answered.

“We did not expect you home so early,” Alexander said as he stood and hastily pulled his hair back again.