Page 20 of The Shooting Season

“Christianity is a religion that expresses sexual control through guilt and denial. You deny yourself the attention of a lover, do you not?”

I was very uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “That is none of your damn business.”

“I would like to make it my business.”

Those words stopped my anger in its tracks. The atmosphere between us sizzled and I fought for breath.

I spoke on with the utmost care. “If what I seek was…discovered… made public… it would see me barred from my Church…from polite society. I would be abandoned, left out in the cold. Do you think any would do business with a man such as I if they knew of my indecent thoughts and deeds?”

Cavell continued unfazed. “You want to own a phallic artifact that has been used in sexual rites over hundreds of years.”

“You have it, don’t you? You stole it from Euan’s bedchamber after setting the chimney in the Great Hall alight.” I accused.

“The fire was nothing to do with me, dear heart. That is all on Euan for not paying the chimney sweep! It was an excellent distraction though!” Sebastian mused.

“Did you know there was a scroll in the box? It was written in Greek. There appears to be a ritual and an incantation for using the Staff as a cure-all through sex. But as I said, you are a celibate, religious man so I am confused as to why you want it so badly.”

I pursed my lips. I could not explain why I wanted the Staff. It was far too personal and would not trust Cavell with my deepest secrets. It riled me, the way he made my blood boil at times, and he seemed to take pleasure from it. Cavell had stolen the Staff anyway and would return it to whoever he believed was its rightful owner. While it was flattering that Cavell had seen fit to seek me out I was exhausted by the whole sordid affair of Lord Ardmillan’s ill-gotten gains, and it was time Mr. Cavell got dressed in his own clothes and left my room.

The Gift

I stood abruptly and walked towards the bathroom to retrieve his garments. I heard Cavell follow me.

“I do find I am magnetized by secret things,” He said, “And you, dear heart, seem so tightly stitched up. I wonder, did your valet sew you into your undergarments to prevent you from taking pleasure from your own flesh?”

Who did this young whipper-snapper think he was to address me so? I turned to face him, and to my astonishment, Cavell backed me up against the bathroom door.

“So buttoned up, so restrained, Benedict.” He purred, “Makes it much more interesting when a man like you comes undone”, he said cupping me with his long-fingered hand. He was touching me in my most intimate place and my whole body was aflame. I did not want to meet his hazel eyes, and yet I could not look away.

“This is between you and me, dear heart. No one knows I’m here, the door is locked, and we are safe. Let me give you the pleasure you deny yourself.”

The warm pressure of his touch and his words made my cock stiffen. I licked my lips. The right thing to do was to step away and give this cur a shiner, but I found my feet were glued to the floor and I could not move from the heat of temptation. Sebastian was kneading my growing bulge with practiced fingers. He knew exactly how much pressure to use to make the ache of pleasure swirl within my gut.

“I see you, Benedict. I see you for the man you are… and he is wonderful. Let me please you.”

I had never heard a man say silken words like that to me before. I was in my fifth decade and believed I was undesirable and invisible. Oh to be seen, to be desired. When the shroud of my religion was pulled away these were my deepest darkest wishes. I wanted to be seen, to be recognized as a virile, attractive man. I wanted to be desired, to be...touched. Cavell knew what I wanted to hear. I met his hazel-eyed gaze and saw the glint of gold reflected from the raging fire in the hearth… or was that his passion? His words had melted my steely core. I didn’t know or care about whom in society thought my needs indecent, for all common sense and fear of sin drained from me as Sebastian toyed with my prick and made me stand hard in my trousers.

Sebastian wanted me. He wanted ME! And if I was to sin then I would do it with a man who saw me for who I am and still desired me.

Sebastian Cavell—renowned master thief had me in his grasp. He was in control and as he leaned in to place his lips upon mine. I knew I would not fight it. Out of habit, I closed my eyes so that I was in the dark. Sebastian tasted of pipe tobacco, smoke, and Port. His kisses were tender and gentle. It was almost as if he expected me to protest and pull away, but so entranced was I by his fingers tracing the outline of my growing shaft and his lips upon mine.

Sebastian ended the kiss.

“Open your eyes, Benedict, dear.” He said. I did so, but I felt somewhat removed from myself and in a dreamlike state.

“I came to Scotland to claim a prize, and now it seems I will have it. The only thing that the new Lord Ardmillan ever had that I wanted… was you!”

I was stunned into silence.

“Shall we get you out of these?” Sebastian said, moving his nimble fingers to unhook the catch and buttons on my trousers.

Again, I did not protest, I did not assist. I could not allow myself to touch him in return for then I would be lost.

Some would say my desire to lay with men was the product of a mental disease, a sinful nature or a damned soul, but when Sebastian stripped us of our clothing, laid me on the bed and clambered naked atop me I knew I would rather be a sinner than live another day without the hard warmth of his masculine form pressing me into the mattress. Sebastian was not like Euan. He did not seek to gamahuche me so I would spend quickly to please him. Sebastian was a tender lover. He took his time. He removed my silver cross and placed it safely on the bedside table, and then he touched me—and I did not protest. His fingers traced my burning skin and he kissed me in places I had never been kissed before and I discovered that they elicited exquisite sensations. How was I to know that the backs of my knees and the soles of my feet were so sensitive that when Sebastian kissed and licked me there I had to pull a pillow over my face and howl my pleasure into the goose feathers?

I needed to reciprocate, to give him as much, if not more pleasure than he was giving me and so, my defenses melting like snow against the warmth of his passion, I reached out and caressed his face. Sebastian met my gaze. He looked a little startled that I had taken the initiative to touch him, and then he smiled. I tentatively mapped his face with my fingers and he turned into my touch and kissed my palms, his mustache tickling all the while. I was unable to fathom how this man came into my life, my bed, and made me feel as though my years of loneliness could float away like snowflakes on the wind.

The way he looked at me filled me and made my heart fit to burst. If this attraction was a sin, I was a happy sinner. I ran my hands over his sharp bony shoulders and down his smooth, warm back. I traced the shape of his taut buttocks and squeezed. I felt his member, hard and ruddy, throbbing and leaking pre-ejaculate against my belly. I put my hand between our stomachs and lined our pricks so the silky moist skin would slide side by side as we rutted. Then I claimed Sebastian’s mouth in a hungry kiss and began to push up against him.