Sharing Expenses, Part One

[gryphons_lair]

Sharing Expenses
sequel to The Crooked Staff
Part of the Men Must Work series
Disclaimer: the characters of POTC are under indenture to the Mouse. I just borrow them from time to time to amuse my friends.
Gillette/Groves
NC-17
Portsmouth

The rain, little more than mist when he left the Crown, had grown heavier, and Theo was glad to reach the Drake's Head at last. He gave the boot-boy a halfpenny to convey his portmanteau upstairs and headed straight for the fire blazing on the taproom hearth. He'd just reached the top of the flanking settles when a pretty maidservant blocked his path. Her suggestion of "something to warm you, sir," would have sounded innocent enough were it not for her coy smile and the way her fingers played with the string of cheap beads draped over her low-cut bodice.

Theo tore his eyes from the enticing sight of those beads coiling in the cleft of her bosom, and ordered a mulled ale with his best admiring smile. That got him a demur "Just as you like, sir" and a decidedly warm look over a lifted shoulder as she walked away.

He turned toward the fire, still smiling, and saw Andrew seated on the left-hand settle, reading a book. "Good afternoon."

The other mid glanced up without raising his head-- "Groves" --and immediately returned to his book.

Theo's smile vanished, and he changed course to stand on the hearth, back to the fire-- and the figure on the settle. Apparently Gillette really had only offered to share a room to save on expenses. He'd said as much, but Theo'd thought perhaps-- Obviously, I was mistaken. True, Gillette had introduced him to the innkeeper as an old friend, but he could scarcely tell the man how and when they'd really met. If he didn't want to turn the polite fiction into reality, Theo had no cause to complain.

The maid returned, and Theo accepted the tankard with an absent-minded "Thank you." He took a long drink of the hot, spice- and rum-laced ale.

Probably Gillette was regretting having made the offer already. That would explain why he'd left as soon as they'd finished breakfast. Well, he'd not push in where he wasn't wanted. It wasn't as if he had to hang on Gillette's sleeve, after all. He'd plenty to do before Friday without dancing attendance on him.

"Supper is served, gentlemen," the landlord said.

Damn. Theo drained the tankard and left it on the mantlepiece. He should have expected this. Nothing to be done but go through with it.

Gillette rose from his seat, not so much as glancing in Theo's direction.

The landlord smiled impartially at them both. "This way, young sirs."

By the time the food arrived, the silence had become tangible; people would notice if it lasted much longer. Theo knew he should say something, but he couldn't think what. He'd asked about the Dauntless at breakfast---

"How long have you been ashore?"

Theo looked up, to find Gillette's expression as blandly polite as his tone. "Five months." He poured gravy over his steak-and-kidney pudding. "My last posting was the Leviathan-- a frigate, 36-- under Captain Jordan." He speared a generous bite. "Four years' convoy duty, with the Company's fleet." The pudding was excellent.

"I've never sailed with anyone but Franklin." Gillette was attacking his own portion with enthusiasm. "We were with the Mediterranean fleet until the Resolute was recalled last autumn. Based out of Gibraltar, of course."

"I haven't set foot on Gibraltar in four-- no, five years now." Theo took another bite of pudding, remembering. "That was when I was with Warton on the Clytemnestra, before he lost his legs." He licked gravy from his lips. "There was this little tavern in Cannon Lane where all we mids put up. The beds were flea-infested, and the beer undrinkable, but the landlord's wife was the most marvelous cook. I'll remember its name in a moment." Theo bit down absently on his spoon's bone handle as he searched his memory. "Corona de Espinas, that was it!" He looked over at Gillette, pleased at having remembered the name. "Is it still there?"

"I don't recall," Gillette said, looking away an instant before their eyes met. "If you'll excuse me," he cleared his throat, "I'll return in a moment." He turned away quickly, dropping his napkin on his chair. The edge of his coat caught the small, blue-bound book he'd been reading earlier, knocking it to the floor.

Gillette was already halfway to the back door, so Theo picked up the book himself. Smoothing a crumpled page, he realized it was in French. Histoire du Chevalier Des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut A biography of some sort? He'd never heard of the Chevalier Des Grieux, but that didn't signify. Resisting the temptation to try to puzzle out a few sentences, Theo returned the book to its place and applied himself to his food.

Gillette was gone for a good ten minutes. When he returned, he was faintly flushed and seemed to have lost interest in the-- now rather cold-- steak-and-kidney pudding, leading Theo to wonder if perhaps the dish hadn't agreed with him.

When Gillette showed no signs of renewing the conversation, Theo asked, "How long were you at Gibraltar?"

"Three years." He still wasn't meeting Theo's eyes. "Though we were not often in port."

The congealing pudding was taken away, and a raspberry fool set before them.

"You said the Leviathan convoyed with the Company's ships." Gillette picked up his spoon. "You must have seen India, then. You made port in China as well, I suppose?".

"Yes, both voyages ended in Calcutta." Theo began on his own portion. "And we spent two days in Canton harbor, on the second voyage."

"I envy you," Gillette said. "I've never been farther east than Cairo."

"I'd gladly have traded Canton for Cairo and the pyramids. I've wanted to see them ever since I was a child." He smiled, a bit awkardly. "My father used to read Herodotus aloud of an evening, you see. In translation, of course."

"Oh, of course." Gillette was scraping his dish clean. "The pyramids are most impressive, and the Sphinx truly a wonder. Captain Franklin took all we young gentlemen to see them, when we were anchored in Alexandria." His mouth quirked up in that attractive smirk. "I dare say you'll see them some day."

"No doubt I shall." Theo looked up, surprised, as the clock over the mantlepiece chimed. "Eight already?" He glanced across the table, smiling apologetically. "I really should be studying. If you'll excuse me?"

The smirk faded to a polite smile. "Of course."

Gillette hadn't been exaggerating when he said the room was small. It was tucked under the eaves, the outer wall so short a sea-chest barely fit against it. The wash-stand stood under the single, unglazed dormer opposite the door, and anyone foolish enough to have tried to fit a real bed into the room would have risked cracking his head on the oak rafters every time he sat up. The thick straw pallets served just as well, and were-- as nearly as Theo had been able to tell from a brief inspection-- free of vermin.

Theo's portmanteau was waiting for him on the left-hand pallet. He pulled out his books and slate before stowing the bag at the foot of his bed. Laying shoes, wig, coat and waistcoat aside, he arranged the pillow between his back and the rough plaster of the wall, opened "The Sea-Man's Vade Mecum", and settled to his studies.

Or tried to settle to them. No matter how firmly he fixed his mind on the text, his thoughts kept wandering to the red-headed boy downstairs.

If he was still downstairs. For all Theo knew, he could be back at the Crooked Staff, choosing another boy to take upstairs and---

He pushed the thought away, and traded the "Vade Mecum" for "A Sea Grammar". But even Admiral Smith's chapter on "How to manage a fight at Sea" proved insufficiently absorbing. Opening his journal, he turned to one of the navigation problems the Leviathan's First had set him after he'd failed the last examination.

After several false starts, he had what he thought the right answer, and turned the page to check. The latitude and longitude matched. And under the answer, he'd written "Alexandria".

Andrew standing in front of a pyramid, smirking as sweat from the strong Egyptian sun traced a path down his throat...

Theo decided he'd done enough studying. Stacking books and slate next to the portmanteau, he blew out the candle before stripping to his shirt for the night. Pushing the blankets to the foot of the bed, he stretched out on the well-worn linen sheet, then bent his knees slightly as he pulled his shirt up in front.

Theo closed his eyes, imagining how it might have been if they'd gone back to the Crooked Staff together.

Andrew, clad only in a shirt, undoing Theo's breeches, pulling them down over his hips. Theo's hands sliding up pale, freckled skin as Andrew straddled him.

Andrew lowering himself onto Theo, head thrown back, eyes closed. Rising and falling, slowly at first, then faster---

The sound of footsteps in the hall and the click of the room's latch brought Theo abruptly back to reality. He barely had time to pull the blankets up to hide his flushed face and turn to the wall before the glow of a candle brightened the room.

It was torture to lie there, pretending to be asleep, while Gillette moved about. He daren't look, but his ears gave him a clear enough picture of the other boy's actions.

A faint grunt and the movement of stiff cloth-- that would be his jacket and waistcoat. The sound of water being poured, and splashed on his face. The clatter of soles on wood as he stepped out of his shoes; a faint sigh, and a series of rustles from the straw pallet as he sat down, unbuckled his garters, and rolled down his stockings. The soft pop of buttons being undone, then the slither of rough duck over linen sheets as he stripped off his breeches. A whisper of cloth on cloth: his cravat. A sliding sound as he lay down, the soft murmur of blankets being pulled up....

The room went dark, there was a final rustle from the pallet opposite-- and all was silence.

Just as Theo thought he must finally have fallen asleep, Gillette rolled over. There was a brief pause, and then Gillette's breathing sped up, took on a short, almost gasping cadence matched by a rhythmic rustle of shifting cloth.

Oh, fuck. Theo stared at the plaster wall a scant foot from his nose and tried without success to keep the picture those sounds made from filling his head. Gillette's gasps turned to grunts, and Theo had to bite on a fold of blanket to keep from moaning aloud as his hand slipped downward. He fought to keep the rest of his body still, to let no sound escape as his hand began to move in time with the noises from the other side of the room.

Gillette's half-swallowed cry sent Theo over the edge. He bit down so hard on the blanket he nearly choked, and then lay utterly still, praying Gillette hadn't heard him, wouldn't realize....

It was a long time before he finally dropped off to sleep.

Theo glared one last time at the narrow shopfront, then started back to the Drake's Head. What was he to do now? Mr Tunstall had always been reasonable, even generous, in his dealings with impecunious young gentlemen, but his wife-- or, rather, his widow-- was cut of very different cloth. She'd seemed to take offense at his mere presence in her shop, and his attempts to explain his purpose had only made her angrier. True, he'd not understood half the words she'd thrown at him, but the ones he had understood had been most un-flattering.

He worried at the problem all the way back to the inn, but no new ideas presented themselves. The taproom was almost deserted at this hour of the morning, and Theo was debating what to do next when Gillette clattered down the stairs.

Hesitating only a moment, Theo crossed the room to intercept him. "Good morning!" He smiled. "I wonder if I might impose on you for a small favor?"

Gillette's lips curved into the now-familiar smirk. "That would depend upon the favor."

"I'm having a bit of trouble making myself understood with a French shopkeeper," Theo explained. "Would you translate for me?"

The smirk vanished, taking with it all the warmth in Gillette's eyes. "What makes you think I speak French?" His chin came up and he glared at Theo through tight-pressed lips.

Theo was too taken aback to do more than gape at him for a moment. When he'd gathered his wits he said, very quietly, "The book you were reading last night was in French."

The belligerence changed to surprise, then unease. Gillette looked away. "Very well."

"Thank you." Theo half-wished he hadn't asked, but he couldn't draw back now. "Shall we go?" Gillette nodded, not meeting his eyes, and Theo led the way, still not at all sure what he'd said to make the other boy react as he had.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the street Theo had left such a short time ago. They stopped in front of the shop and Gillette, who'd regained most of his composure on the walk, raised an eyebrow. "A pawnbroker?"

Theo shrugged. "The prize money for Leviathan was delayed, and I needed to pay my coach-fare home and settle my reckoning. I thought to reclaim my things, now that I'm in funds again, but old Tunstall's dead, and Madame doesn't seem to understand English very well."

"Well, then," Gillette's smile was only a little forced, "let us see what I can do for you, shall we?" He led the way into the shop.

As soon as Madame caught sight of Theo, she launched into the same broken tirade she'd heaped on him during his last visit. Theo scarcely had time to draw breath before Gillette stepped forward and addressed the lady in her native tongue. As he and Madame conducted a rapid exchange, a remarkable transformation took place. Gillette's expression, previously so guarded, became animated. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at Madame, and both hands rose in the air, gesturing rapidly.

It was as if he were a totally different person-- a person Theo found utterly fascinating.

After five minutes of rapid-fire conversation, Andrew turned to him. "It is that you owe her five pounds, seven shillings, nine and a half pence and," he added, "you are not to think you can cheat her because she is a poor helpless widow." His tone was solemn, but his eyes were dancing and there was a suspicious quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"No fear of that!" Theo eyed the figure in black bombazine with wary respect as he laid the coin on the counter, proffering his pawn-tickets at the same time.

Madame counted the money twice, then disappeared into the back room and returned with the small pile of Theo's belongings.

His "Thank you, ma'am," got him only a cold nod, but Andrew's far longer thanks-- Theo caught the word "merci" at least three times-- earned him a beaming smile and the offer of Madame's hand, which he saluted with considerable panache.

When they were safely into the street again, Theo said, "I'm most grateful for your help." He glanced at the other boy, choosing his words with care. "Might I show my appreciation by making you my guest for nuncheon? There's a tavern in the next street but one that does a marvelous roast mutton."

Dark brown eyes rose to meet his. The animation Andrew had shown in the shop had vanished again, but those eyes still held more than a little warmth. "I would like that very much."

It was still early, so they had no trouble obtaining a table at the Crossed Anchors. When their first hunger was assuaged, Theo broached a subject that had been exercising his mind since they'd left the Drake's Head.

"It's none of my business, I know," he spooned a bit of mustard onto his plate, "but I don't understand why you hide that you speak French. I'd think most Captains would count a midshipman who was fluent in French as an asset."

Andrew seemed to suddenly find the task of selecting a slice of mutton quite absorbing. "I dare say they would, if the midshipman was named Smith, or Jones. Or even Groves." He transferred the slice to his plate and looked up, mouth tightening. "But when one's name is Gillette--" he pronounced it Jhee-yett "--it is quite another matter."

"But you're English!" Theo protested. "Aren't you?"

"Three generations, born and bred." The tone was light, but there was tension still around that full mouth. The mutton reclaim his attention. "My great-grandfather was a Huguenot. Andre Guilliame Gillette. I'm named for him." He lifted a bite of mutton to his mouth. "He fled France in 1685 and settled in York." Looked up. "My grandfather, Henri Pierre, took a first at Cambridge but," there was definitely a bitter tone now, "he found posts as a schoolmaster easier come by if he sign his name 'Henry'."

Theo's discomfiture must have shown on his face. Andrew picked up his wineglass, and when he set it down again, his smile was back in place. "My father was baptised George. Very English. As is Andrew, of course."

"Very." Theo tried for a light tone. "I'm from an old Shropshire family, myself. You can find Groveses in the churchyard going back five hundred years."

"What, not back to the Conqueror?" Andrew quipped, with a return of that charming smirk. "I thought all old country families could trace their lineage to someone in William's train."

"Oh, no." Theo refilled their wineglasses. "We only go back to 1245 or thereabouts. The really old families in Market Drayton are of Saxon descent." He hung his head, adding in a melancholy tone, "My family is grateful if the real Old Draytonians speak to us in the street."

A sideways glance at Andrew's face made it impossible for Theo to keep his countenance. He burst out laughing, and Andrew joined him a moment later.

"It's foolish to say one man is more English than another, just because his family has been here longer," Theo declared. "It's what you do that matters, really."

"I quite agree," Andrew looked straight into his eyes, "Theo."

Theo's breathing quickened, but before he could think of anything to say the landlord appeared at his elbow, offering a choice of sweets to finish the meal.

A gulp of wine wet Theo's mouth. "I've had quite enough," he turned to Andrew, "but if you'd like something...?"

"Thank you, but," Andrew's gaze swept down Theo's torso, then up again, "I've no appetite for pudding at present." He licked wine from his upper lip.

Theo pressed enough coin into the landlord's hand to pay their shot, and they were on their way back to the Drake's Head, neither quite meeting the other's eye as they strode along.

"Down here," Andrew said abruptly, and turned into a narrow alleyway.

Theo followed, stretching his stride to keep up-- and found, on hurrying around a stack of hogsheads, that the alley ended in a blank wall. "Why did--"

Andrew spun him until his back was against the rough brick. Theo felt Andrew's mouth covering his, Andrew's tongue sliding between his lips as his hand found the front of Theo's breeches.

Theo leaned into the kiss, remembering just in time to lower the bag he held to the ground instead of dropping it.

They both fumbled for breeches-buttons, gasping, clumsy with need. Theo nuzzled Andrew's neck, tasting sweat and wig-powder as Andrew's hand closed around his aching prick. In another moment he had Andrew's breeches-flap open and was taking him in hand, awkwardly at first, then with more confidence.

Theo was vaguely aware that Andrew was swearing, a soft, oddly lyrical babble that flowed over him like running water. The sweet slide of calloused skin against flesh sped up, mounting to an almost unbearable pitch. Andrew sunk his teeth into the cloth of Theo's coat as he spilled, shuddering, into Theo's hand. His hand closed convulsively around Theo, who muffled his cry against the soft skin of Andrew's throat as he, too, slipped over the edge.

They leant on each other, staggering like drunks, until their breathing steadied, then separated to tidy themselves away.

When he was sure he was reasonably presentable again, Theo glanced over at Andrew. "I should return to the inn," he said slowly. "The Examinations are tomorrow morning."

"Of course." Andrew seemed absorbed in brushing wig-powder off his sleeve. "I dare say the place will be quite deserted at this hour of the day." As Theo bent to retrieve his bag, Andrew added, "I could go with you, if you like."

Theo pushed away the enticing images this suggestion called up. "I need to study, Andrew. It's important."

"I know." Andrew's eyes met his own. "I want to help, Theo. If you'll let me."

"Tell me," Theo smiled as he swung the bag over one shoulder, "how are you at trigonometry?"

"All right, here's another one," Andrew said. "You're close-hauled on the port tack, beating up the Channel against a strong nor'easterly wind, with Dover bearing north two miles. The wind veers four points, taking you flat aback. What do you do?"

"Order the helm thrown over to bring her about on the starboard tack," Theo said. "And right sharp, or we'll be dismasted."

Andrew grinned at him. "You're good. That one stumped half the mids on the Elphebe, when it was put to us." He closed the battered journal and set it on top of his sea-chest, next to their wigs, then picked up The Sea-Man's Vade Mecum. He leafed through it, stopping at a page about a third of the way through. "If your ship has a beam of twenty feet, what are the proper sizes for the main and top masts, and the main and fore yards?"

"Oh, they'll never ask that!" Theo protested.

Andrew primmed up his mouth and intoned, "Answer the question put you, Mr Groves."

He sounded so like the pompous, self-important ass who'd been Second on the Clytemnestra that Theo was strongly tempted to throw something at him. Instead, he leaned back against the cool plaster of the wall and frowned at the dark window opposite. "If the ship's beam is twenty feet, her mainmast should be... sixty?" At Andrew's encouraging nod, he continued, "That would make the top-mast forty feet, and the yards..." he reached for the slate, but Andrew snatched it away.

"Do you think the Captains will let you fiddle about with one of these?" he demanded.

Theo had to admit the truth of this and subsided, muttering as he tried to work out the numbers in his head. "Right," he said at last, "the main yard would be forty-five feet and the foreyard thirty-seven."

Andrew shook his head. "Thirty-eight and four-sevenths."

"Bloody hell." Theo rubbed his forehead.

"Headache?" Andrew asked.

"Nerves, that's all."

"You should try to get some sleep," Andrew said. "It's late."

"I suppose so." Theo sat on the edge of Andrew's pallet and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though I can never sleep the night before an exam. Too tense."

The pallet rustled and shifted. Andrew's hands were on his shoulders, his breath warm on Theo's skin. "I could relax you." He pressed a kiss on the nape of Theo's neck.

Theo's breath caught. He started to lean back-- then remembered, and cursed his lack of forethought as his hands clenched into fists.

The warmth against his back withdrew. "If you-- don't care for it--" Andrew's hands lifted.

"No!" Theo grabbed one of his wrists, twisting to look him in the face. "It's not-- I don't--" He realized he was blushing, and looked away. "You'd have to-- use something," he muttered, "and-- I don't--"

"Oh." Andrew's hands were on his chin, his shoulder, pulling him around for a hard, hungry kiss. "My chest," he gasped when the kiss ended. "Right front, green glass." He stood, kicking their shoes out of the way as he lifted the bar into place across the door.

Theo gaped, blinked-- and dived for the foot of the pallet, piling books and wigs and all on the floor so he could open the chest. He plunged his hands into the stacks of clean linen, searching by feel for the cool slickness of glass, scarcely noticing the rustles and grunts behind him.

His hand had just closed on a smooth round shape when something jarred the pallet beneath his knees, forcing him to grab the edge of the chest for balance. He glanced over.

Andrew had dragged Theo's pallet over to lie next to his own. He wiped away a trickle of sweat and grinned. "We might as well be comfortable." When Theo grinned back, he scramble across the plump, rustling bedding and slipped his arms around Theo. His breath was hot on Theo's ear as he whispered, "Did you find it?"

Theo pulled back his hand, opened it to show the small green glass vial on his palm.

"Splendid."

Andrew's arms tightened and Theo leaned back into the embrace, moaning under his breath as Andrew's teeth closed on the lobe of his ear.

Teeth and tongue traced fire on his throat while fingers made short work of undoing his breeches. Andrew's hands were on his hips, pushing the stiff fabric down. Twisting, Theo kicked the garment off even as he knelt to face Andrew, who pulled him in for another kiss. His hands slid down soft linen over hot skin until they found the harsh rasp of duck and the smooth, hard shape of breeches-buttons. Andrew wriggled out of his breeches, and then they were tugging on each other's shirts, alternately cursing and laughing as they got caught in collar and cuffs, until the tangle of linen fell away and they were facing each other, naked and breathless.

Curling a hand around the nape of Andrew's neck, Theo kissed him hard, relishing the long-denied feel of skin against skin as Andrew's tongue twined around his own, his hand sliding down the small of Theo's back to cup his arse.

Christ, but I've missed this.

Theo pulled away to fling himself down on his knees, head pillowed on his folded arms as he looked back at Andrew in open invitation.

Andrew's pale skin was flushed, his eyes bright, his breathing as harsh as Theo's own, but instead of moving behind him he leaned forward, placing a hand on Theo's shoulder. "No," he said. "Not like that."

And then Andrew was turning him over, pressing Theo's shoulders into the pallet, his mouth on Theo's throat, his fingers skittered down to tease maddeningly at Theo's nipples. Theo moaned, arching into the touch, barely remembering to keep his voice low. His hand found Andrew's hip, slid inward against silken skin-- but before he could do more Andrew's fingers closed about both wrists, pressing them onto the pallet.

Kissing him lightly, Andrew whispered, "Wait for it."

Thoroughly confused now, Theo did as he was bid, keeping his hands quite still as Andrew straddled his leg, nudging his knees apart before-- Oh, Christ, yes, please-- moving to kneel between them.

He choked back another moan, writhing under Andrew's touch as those clever fingers traced leisurely paths down his chest and belly. One hand splayed over his hip, the other slid up his leg, lifting until Theo's foot touched a slanting beam. Understanding dawned, and he pressed his sole flat against the dark oak.

Andrew smiled, and the line of kisses he trailed down the skin of Theo's inner thigh nearly shattered his control.

The other foot rose in turn, and only then did Andrew pick up the green glass vial and work the stopper free.

The stuff gave off a faint, clean scent as Andrew poured it into his palm. He coated himself quickly, then slid slick fingers down Theo's spine before pressing against him.

Theo clenched both hands in the canvas pallet-cover and pushed, groaning in relief as Andrew's fingers entered him. He threw back his head, eyes closed, unaware he was making small, eager sounds as those fingers probed, twisted-- withdrew. He opened his eyes and raised his head, watched as Andrew's hands slid up his legs.

Andrew moved closer, until his thighs were under Theo's hips, his prick against his arse. "Brace yourself."

Theo reached over his head to splay his palms against the cool plaster of the wall, then looked back at Andrew. He licked his lips, and nodded.

Andrew's fingers tightened on his thighs, he pressed forward....

Theo moaned aloud, relishing the sweet burn as Andrew entered him. It faded quickly, as it always did, and after a moment he opened his eyes to find Andrew watching him, lips parted.

Theo smiled.

That seemed to be what Andrew had been waiting for, because he started to fuck Theo in earnest. He began slowly, until Theo caught the rhythm of it, then picked up the pace, taking him harder and faster until Theo could barely hold back his cries. Just when he thought it could get no better, Andrew's hand closed around his prick, squeezing hard. He remembered just in time to turn his head, sinking his teeth into his own arm, muffling his cry as he spent himself, arching upward. When he slumped back again, he became aware that Andrew was still taking him, thrusting hard and deep-- a rush of warmth, and Andrew collapsed atop him, gasping, his head under Theo's chin.

Theo let his legs drop from their high perch, draping them loosely around Andrew's. That felt so good he did the same with his arms.

After a while, Andrew stirred, then pushed up onto his elbows to grin down at Theo. "Relaxed now?"

"Very." Theo stretched lazily, and smiled back. "That was... I never..."

Andrew rolled on his side and raised a cynical eyebrow. "If you're trying to claim you've never been buggered before, I shan't believe it." He grinned and slid one hand across Theo's belly. "You're too good at it."

"Of course I have!" Theo said indignantly, even as he blushed at the compliment. "Just-- not like that."

Both eyebrows rose. "Haven't you? I'd never have guessed." Andrew yawned. "Well, best catch what sleep we can before morning." He pulled up the tangle of bedclothes to cover them both before rolling onto his back. "Good night, Theo."

"Good night."

To Part 2
Author's notes:

I too often forget to thank my beta-readers. So thank you, fairestcat for brutally honest editing, and black_hound, fabu, linaelyn, and the_stowaway for handholding and encouragement. I couldn't do it without you guys. :)

And a special thanks to commodorified, for creating the MMW universe in the first place, letting me play in it and guiding my writing in the second place, and kicking me out of the nest when that was what I needed.

The interested reader can find recipes for mulled ale, raspberry fool, and steak-and-kidney pudding here and gingerbread here

Excerpts from the books Theo was studying can be found here.