Edward Woodrose was never now alone. Owen Archer and Will Scot were his constant shadows,
and the entire Company rallied around the friend they had come to love. The plucky lad had
insisted on performing, albeit beneath powder and paint thick enough to hide his livid bruises and
swollen lip; and he was still pleasing to the eyes - nothing could mar his curséd beauty. Day after
weary day, he trod the boards, and if his voice shook a trifle or he stiffened in Sean's arms, no one
in the audience had the wit to notice.
"How dost thou fare, Ned?" John McAllen dropped to the bench beside him, mopping at his
sweating face. The troupe was rehearsing a new play, and the men were busy at repair and
carpentry.
Edward essayed a painful smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Well enough, Master John." The
book holder raised his brows in patent disbelief and waited silently. For a long time, neither of
them spoke. Ned squirmed beside him, unable to meet John's eyes, until at last he turned his face
to the wall and began to weep quietly.
"The truth, lad," the gentle voice hid a tone of command. John reached out and tilted the wet face
towards him. The blue eyes shimmered crystal in the tavern's dim light. Blank, inward-looking and
unnerving.
"Unclean. . .I am. . .unclean. . ."
The soft, distant voice sent icy fingers crawling up John's spine. He lunged forward with a gasp and
enfolded the thin shoulders in a rough hug. "Nay, Ned! Never that! T'was not your fault - none of it!
No one thinks that - no one. . . "
Ned wrenched free, his face hard and angry. "No one?" he exclaimed bitterly. "Why does he not
come a-nigh me then? He saved my paltry life - mayhap he thinks that I fought not hard enough?"
He wrapped his arms around his shivering body. "He was so strong, so large and he took me by
surprise. I tried. . . but. . ."
John frowned, confounded by Ned's words. Who was this he that the lad spoke of? He saved...
Light dawned and he understood. He followed Ned's yearning gaze to the stable yard beyond the
door. Sean Hastings sat on a bench in the watery English sun, mending a broken chair. He had
shed his doublet, and the sunlight glinted on the golden hairs of his muscled arms and haloed his
curly hair.
"Ye fought well, lad," John assured the despairing boy. "The night watch knows that bastard well.
An you fought harder, ye would have been hurt unto death. And Sean - Sean could not have borne
that. He loves you well, Ned."
The book holder was the oldest of the Company. He had seen much in his four and forty years, and
he had known from the first that Edward was another such as Martyn and Owen. That Sean could
be so as well, he had not known - had never guessed, though they had known each other long. He
met the lad's wide eyes and nodded firmly. Mayhap he was what Sean had been waiting for.
~~~~~
He heard the knock again. Sean looked up from his book with a frown. Who could be calling on
him at this hour? He crossed the tiny room, unlatched the door and saw a hooded figure standing
in the dark hallway, shifting from one foot to another nervously. It spoke, and it bore Ned's voice.
"By your leave. . . " The voice was halting, hesitant.
Sean took him by the arm and hauled him unceremoniously into the room, looking warily up the
dim hall before he shut the door. Then he turned on Ned and snarled, "God's teeth! What do you
here? Fool! Have you learned nothing?" He took a deep breath, frowned and paused thoughtfully.
"Did John bid you come alone - no - he would not. Is he without?"
Ned shrank back and his shoulders hunched defensively. "He brought me here and trusts to you to
bring me back." he replied, and then burst out, "I thank you for all your care, but a child I am not!
Know you this - I can fend for myself right well!"
In spite of himself, Sean felt a traitorous warmth invade his body, a tingling fire that rushed
through his limbs and settled in his loins. Nay, Edward was no child; he was beautiful Ganymede
with his cup of temptation, beloved of Zeus; he was Eros, and his arrows of love were aimed true.
Sean shook his mind free of fancy and bethought himself of his duties as host. He took Ned's
cloak and gestured at the room's lone chair, whilst he settled on the bed.
Ned glanced around the room covertly. He had never visited Sean's lodgings before. The room was
lit by a single tallow candle; its flickering light a small isle of gold by the shuttered window. It was
painfully clean, and sweet smelling herbs were strewn among the rushes on the floor. He took a
deep breath and delved into his jerkin, extracting a packet wrapped in oilskin. "I never thanked
you for - for what you did that night," he said shyly. "T'would please me greatly if you would accept
this paltry token of my gratitude."
Sean took the proffered gift reluctantly. He did not want Ned's thanks - he wanted - no. He would
not think it, would not hope. He unwrapped the packet and found a small book, bound in worn
leather and tooled in gold. He opened it, and stiffened imperceptibly. It was a book of poetry,
printed on vellum - poems of love. He looked up quickly; Ned stood before him, his eyes cast down,
the dusky lashes feathering his pale cheeks. "Ned," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I want not
your obligation - but - I - I would know your mind."
Ned raised his eyes slowly. There was a hesitant hunger on his face - soundless desire suppressed
by uncertainty. "It is not only gratitude I feel," he replied softly. He took a step forward and knelt
before Sean. "Sean - that night - you called me love. Didst thou speak true?"
Sean's throat tightened until he could scarcely breathe. "And if I did," he managed, "what of it?"
Ned's blazing smile illuminated the corners of the room and put the candlelight to shame. He
pressed himself to Sean's body, fitting neatly between his spraddled legs, and whispered shakily,
"I love thee, Sean. An you want me, I am thine."
~~~~~
Edward, clothéd, took Sean's breath away; naked - he stopped Sean's heart. His body was a pale
flame in the gloom - smooth as Carrara marble, his skin as soft as the finest silk. Sean looked his
fill, until a blush mantled Ned's cheek, and he pulled Sean down beside him, tangling his fingers in
the coppery curls.
"Sean," he breathed. "Tarry not, my love."
Sean pressed his lips blindly against the moonglow skin, ghosting across the shoulder's curve, the
silken throat, and finally finding purchase upon eager lips and questing tongue. Their first taste of
each other was as heady as the finest wine. Sean drank deep of Ned's sweetness, all else
forgotten. He had lain with many women, but nothing he had ever felt compared to this. The
aching desire consumed him, salted with such emotion, as he had never had the joy to feel. He
whispered brokenly against the warmth of Ned's mouth, ". . . I want thee. . . god, I want thee. . . I
want to be the vessel of thy love. . . to feel thy light fill me. . . to have thee drink from me in turn. . .
"
He pulled Ned atop his body, mindful of his greater weight. The lad moved against him with
surprising strength, and they found a rhythm; their straining shafts rubbing deliciously together,
their bodies as one from neck to knee. Ned raised his head and contemplated his lover's body
through languorous eyes. Sean's nipples were as rosy hawthorn buds upon the expanse of golden
skin, and he bent his head and took one swiftly into his warm mouth, suckling it, worrying at it with
his velvet tongue. Sean arched against him with a low cry, and his caressing hands swept the long
curve of Ned's back and settled on the twin mounds of firm flesh, kneading, loving with his touch.
All too soon, an urgency began to manifest in their frenzied movements, rapidly building to a
release that shook them to the core; that unmade them and made them one as well.
They lay entwined for a long moment, their breathing harsh in the chill air. Then Ned slid aside with
a groan and sat up, running his fingers through his tangled hair. The guttering candlelight glanced
off his glorious eyes, and glistened on his belly, wet with their mingled seed. The green scent
called to mind sacred groves and moonlit revelry; divine madness. Ned bent his leg and rested his
chin on his knee, and smiled; and his eyes were veiled in mystery.
He was dryad. . . faun. . . and frighteningly fey.
Sean felt a cruel fist tighten about his heart. What he saw with the 'sight' did not always come to
pass. He would not let it happen. He would not. He drew Ned down against his body and held him
tight.
"Mine. . . to me." he muttered thickly, fiercely.
"I. . . to thee." Ned agreed tenderly, and sought his lover's lips anew.
~~~~~
and the entire Company rallied around the friend they had come to love. The plucky lad had
insisted on performing, albeit beneath powder and paint thick enough to hide his livid bruises and
swollen lip; and he was still pleasing to the eyes - nothing could mar his curséd beauty. Day after
weary day, he trod the boards, and if his voice shook a trifle or he stiffened in Sean's arms, no one
in the audience had the wit to notice.
"How dost thou fare, Ned?" John McAllen dropped to the bench beside him, mopping at his
sweating face. The troupe was rehearsing a new play, and the men were busy at repair and
carpentry.
Edward essayed a painful smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Well enough, Master John." The
book holder raised his brows in patent disbelief and waited silently. For a long time, neither of
them spoke. Ned squirmed beside him, unable to meet John's eyes, until at last he turned his face
to the wall and began to weep quietly.
"The truth, lad," the gentle voice hid a tone of command. John reached out and tilted the wet face
towards him. The blue eyes shimmered crystal in the tavern's dim light. Blank, inward-looking and
unnerving.
"Unclean. . .I am. . .unclean. . ."
The soft, distant voice sent icy fingers crawling up John's spine. He lunged forward with a gasp and
enfolded the thin shoulders in a rough hug. "Nay, Ned! Never that! T'was not your fault - none of it!
No one thinks that - no one. . . "
Ned wrenched free, his face hard and angry. "No one?" he exclaimed bitterly. "Why does he not
come a-nigh me then? He saved my paltry life - mayhap he thinks that I fought not hard enough?"
He wrapped his arms around his shivering body. "He was so strong, so large and he took me by
surprise. I tried. . . but. . ."
John frowned, confounded by Ned's words. Who was this he that the lad spoke of? He saved...
Light dawned and he understood. He followed Ned's yearning gaze to the stable yard beyond the
door. Sean Hastings sat on a bench in the watery English sun, mending a broken chair. He had
shed his doublet, and the sunlight glinted on the golden hairs of his muscled arms and haloed his
curly hair.
"Ye fought well, lad," John assured the despairing boy. "The night watch knows that bastard well.
An you fought harder, ye would have been hurt unto death. And Sean - Sean could not have borne
that. He loves you well, Ned."
The book holder was the oldest of the Company. He had seen much in his four and forty years, and
he had known from the first that Edward was another such as Martyn and Owen. That Sean could
be so as well, he had not known - had never guessed, though they had known each other long. He
met the lad's wide eyes and nodded firmly. Mayhap he was what Sean had been waiting for.
~~~~~
He heard the knock again. Sean looked up from his book with a frown. Who could be calling on
him at this hour? He crossed the tiny room, unlatched the door and saw a hooded figure standing
in the dark hallway, shifting from one foot to another nervously. It spoke, and it bore Ned's voice.
"By your leave. . . " The voice was halting, hesitant.
Sean took him by the arm and hauled him unceremoniously into the room, looking warily up the
dim hall before he shut the door. Then he turned on Ned and snarled, "God's teeth! What do you
here? Fool! Have you learned nothing?" He took a deep breath, frowned and paused thoughtfully.
"Did John bid you come alone - no - he would not. Is he without?"
Ned shrank back and his shoulders hunched defensively. "He brought me here and trusts to you to
bring me back." he replied, and then burst out, "I thank you for all your care, but a child I am not!
Know you this - I can fend for myself right well!"
In spite of himself, Sean felt a traitorous warmth invade his body, a tingling fire that rushed
through his limbs and settled in his loins. Nay, Edward was no child; he was beautiful Ganymede
with his cup of temptation, beloved of Zeus; he was Eros, and his arrows of love were aimed true.
Sean shook his mind free of fancy and bethought himself of his duties as host. He took Ned's
cloak and gestured at the room's lone chair, whilst he settled on the bed.
Ned glanced around the room covertly. He had never visited Sean's lodgings before. The room was
lit by a single tallow candle; its flickering light a small isle of gold by the shuttered window. It was
painfully clean, and sweet smelling herbs were strewn among the rushes on the floor. He took a
deep breath and delved into his jerkin, extracting a packet wrapped in oilskin. "I never thanked
you for - for what you did that night," he said shyly. "T'would please me greatly if you would accept
this paltry token of my gratitude."
Sean took the proffered gift reluctantly. He did not want Ned's thanks - he wanted - no. He would
not think it, would not hope. He unwrapped the packet and found a small book, bound in worn
leather and tooled in gold. He opened it, and stiffened imperceptibly. It was a book of poetry,
printed on vellum - poems of love. He looked up quickly; Ned stood before him, his eyes cast down,
the dusky lashes feathering his pale cheeks. "Ned," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I want not
your obligation - but - I - I would know your mind."
Ned raised his eyes slowly. There was a hesitant hunger on his face - soundless desire suppressed
by uncertainty. "It is not only gratitude I feel," he replied softly. He took a step forward and knelt
before Sean. "Sean - that night - you called me love. Didst thou speak true?"
Sean's throat tightened until he could scarcely breathe. "And if I did," he managed, "what of it?"
Ned's blazing smile illuminated the corners of the room and put the candlelight to shame. He
pressed himself to Sean's body, fitting neatly between his spraddled legs, and whispered shakily,
"I love thee, Sean. An you want me, I am thine."
~~~~~
Edward, clothéd, took Sean's breath away; naked - he stopped Sean's heart. His body was a pale
flame in the gloom - smooth as Carrara marble, his skin as soft as the finest silk. Sean looked his
fill, until a blush mantled Ned's cheek, and he pulled Sean down beside him, tangling his fingers in
the coppery curls.
"Sean," he breathed. "Tarry not, my love."
Sean pressed his lips blindly against the moonglow skin, ghosting across the shoulder's curve, the
silken throat, and finally finding purchase upon eager lips and questing tongue. Their first taste of
each other was as heady as the finest wine. Sean drank deep of Ned's sweetness, all else
forgotten. He had lain with many women, but nothing he had ever felt compared to this. The
aching desire consumed him, salted with such emotion, as he had never had the joy to feel. He
whispered brokenly against the warmth of Ned's mouth, ". . . I want thee. . . god, I want thee. . . I
want to be the vessel of thy love. . . to feel thy light fill me. . . to have thee drink from me in turn. . .
"
He pulled Ned atop his body, mindful of his greater weight. The lad moved against him with
surprising strength, and they found a rhythm; their straining shafts rubbing deliciously together,
their bodies as one from neck to knee. Ned raised his head and contemplated his lover's body
through languorous eyes. Sean's nipples were as rosy hawthorn buds upon the expanse of golden
skin, and he bent his head and took one swiftly into his warm mouth, suckling it, worrying at it with
his velvet tongue. Sean arched against him with a low cry, and his caressing hands swept the long
curve of Ned's back and settled on the twin mounds of firm flesh, kneading, loving with his touch.
All too soon, an urgency began to manifest in their frenzied movements, rapidly building to a
release that shook them to the core; that unmade them and made them one as well.
They lay entwined for a long moment, their breathing harsh in the chill air. Then Ned slid aside with
a groan and sat up, running his fingers through his tangled hair. The guttering candlelight glanced
off his glorious eyes, and glistened on his belly, wet with their mingled seed. The green scent
called to mind sacred groves and moonlit revelry; divine madness. Ned bent his leg and rested his
chin on his knee, and smiled; and his eyes were veiled in mystery.
He was dryad. . . faun. . . and frighteningly fey.
Sean felt a cruel fist tighten about his heart. What he saw with the 'sight' did not always come to
pass. He would not let it happen. He would not. He drew Ned down against his body and held him
tight.
"Mine. . . to me." he muttered thickly, fiercely.
"I. . . to thee." Ned agreed tenderly, and sought his lover's lips anew.
~~~~~
