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“Short Love"

It was well into the night as Winslow Morton lay in his bathtub, his body submerged to the neck in the previously scalding liquid that had been poured in. He knew it was rapidly cooling, and he knew he couldn't stay too long without calling in the servants to reheat it with more buckets. He simply lay there, swirling his fingers along the water's surface, watching the ripples radiate outward. There was only one candle lit in the entire room, and the moonlight pouring in through the large window to provide the only illumination for him to go by. He closed his eyes and rested back to soak; not really wanting to discuss matters from earlier in the evening. His wife Elizabeth had been so mad with him earlier, and he couldn't blame her; a man of his station should not have acted as he did. He stretched his legs and swept a wet hand across his thin mustache before finally sitting up and climbing out. As his wet foot plapped onto the floor, he reached for a towel and draped it around himself, drying himself as he made his way toward his bedchamber.

The hall was considerably more lit than the bathroom and he spotted his wife at the far end. He saw Elizabeth at the far end of the hall, ascending to the landing from the stairs, her deep brown hair bouncing as she walked, her dress of dark cloth and pink accents trailing behind her as she moved. A moment which he remembered at one point the love that was in her eyes was quickly dispelled as they glanced at him; deep, cold, not a bit of warmth toward him as he stood awkwardly, his ass half out from his towel, his hair dripping still from his bath. She continued on wordlessly entering her own chambers at that end of the hall. He entered his own bedroom, which was already lit up for the evening and as he removed his towel, he changed into his night clothes; cloth that soothed his skin the moment it touched him and he walked to the window. Looking out into the summer evening, he pushed open the glass, letting a draft wash over him before he leaned over the window sill and stared out into the silvery night forest beyond the mansion. His arms rested folded against the cool stone that framed the center of his window he began to ponder where his life had gone wrong. He looked down at his hands and observed them for a moment, tightening and loosening his fists as he realized how thin he'd gotten; he'd started his role in the senate not six months ago, and already he felt as though he were more gaunt than usual.

As he looked down toward the gates at the front gate, they widened and he almost had the urge to duck out of the window; Bartleby was walking the line of the gate. That short stack of man was easily recognizable by his gait and features, that long almost cinder black beard on his face that went clear down to his belly despite the fact he was wearing a well crafted suit that it covered most of. The sight of him was nearly enough for the breath to catch in Winslow's throat. He watched as the man approached the front entry, spoke with the guard within, and then continued on his way. As head of security, he was surely checking in, but Winslow couldn't resist wondering exactly what they had spoken about. As he walked along the short path toward the front, Bartleby looked up toward Winslow's window and Winslow quickly ducked out of the way. He remained for a moment before continuing on and the man peered again out the window to see he'd gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Winslow wasn't sure what it was that caught his eye about the man, something that made his heart beat faster, something that made him more than anything wish he were still a free man...free from the state, free from the senate. Free from Elizabeth... but no. He had to push those thoughts aside as he crossed the room back toward his bed. As he drew back the blanket, his ears caught a soft knocking at his door that made his heart stop. “Oh god..." He said to himself, putting a hand over his lips trying to keep the words from escaping.

What if it was him? Entering his bedroom at this time of the night? What would the others think? What would they say? Would this be such a crime for his station?

Winslow opened the door only to receive a resounding sting to his face. As the echo cleared, he saw that it was Elizabeth on the other side of the door. Her face; normally a strangely pale one, was hinting at red in her cheeks. Her burning blue eyes still beautiful were full of anger and frustration. “Sobered up, have we?" She asked with a sharp tongue as Winslow placed a hand on that sore throbbing on his cheek. “You dare act a fool to our guests and come up here to bathe without apologizing or even having the decency to see them off, forcing me to play host, of all people."

“Yes. I can't imagine they weren't put off by your feminine charms" Winslow said. He watched the rage build up in her breath and she again swung her hand, but this time he caught it, holding her wrist. “Dear, please. I can only take one sobering slap per night. I can take a hint." He said, feeling her strength relent and he released her. “Besides, I was perfectly within my faculties. I simply grew tired and chose to retire for the evening. I'm sure if anyone could help end a party...it would be you, dear."

Another painful slap came across his face, forcing Winslow's eyes to cross. Indignant at his comments, Elizabeth turned on her heel and stormed down the hallway, and Winslow slowly closed his door.

Winslow could feel something strange resting above him on the bed, but somehow he couldn't open his eyes; a warm breath of air washed over his face and he could swear he'd smelled this scent before. He couldn't move his arms, he let out a soft gasp but words would not escape his lips. He was here...wasn't he?

“Shhh..." He heard someone whisper over him, leaning in so close he could feel something rough brush across his lips, a supple soft pair of lips just beyond it then touched his, making his heart skip a beat as a pair of thick, hard hands pressed against him from above the blanket. Winslow couldn't move, he couldn't see, he could only smell...and feel... he could feel the lips pull away, leaving him wanting to touch them, his breathing becoming ragged with desire as a single, calloused fingertip touched them, then began to glide its way down his chin, along the front of his neck, over each of his nipples working its way down to his lower regions.

Winslow gasped as he felt where the finger was going; he wanted to feel it continue he needed to feel the touch. Even Elizabeth, despite their marriage had never...never touched him like this. The hands then pushed back up the hair on Winslow's chest, pushing against the grain and giving him a distinctive reason to let out a moan of pleasure. Then, another feeling: A chest, pushing against his own, their hair tangling between them with a bit of a plush compression of their flesh. The lips returned, whiskers brushing across his own again. “Bet ye want me... don'cha lord?" A gruff, deep voice whispered in his ear. But still, Winslow could not respond, his breath escaped his lungs with a shudder as the hands rounded his head and he was pulled into a rough, hard kiss. It made Winslow's toes curl and he moaned loudly before his mouth was quaffed out by the invading tongue. His nails crept and pressed hard down Winslow's shoulders, then his arms and biceps, capturing his elbows within his grasp and pulling him tight enough that he couldn't even move. As their lips slowly parted, he felt a trail of saliva drool down from between them. It was like lightning. “B-Barty..." He managed to whisper.

With a jolt, Winslow bolted upright in his bed at the precise time a flash of lightning from outside illuminated the room's otherwise dull atmosphere. He put a hand on his forehead and drew it to the side of his face as he panted loudly and helplessly trying to catch up to his hard beating heart. He'd been sweating and as he shifted to sling his legs over the side of his bed he noticed something else too; he was hard as a rock, and his flesh dragged wetly along the hem of the sheets as he adjusted himself and looked down at his throbbing hard flesh.

“Fuck...what was that...?" He said, burying his face into his hands.

It was nearly seven in the morning, the sun still hadn't completely risen into the sky yet and the shadowy sky outside made it seem even later. He went over to retrieve his clothes from his dresser, pondering to himself if he needed to take a bath. He thought better of it however; by the time a bath would be properly drawn it'd be nearly nine and he had to get ready.

Today was the day for a trip to the city of London for a meeting of the senate. He had to attend, and even by carriage it was a four hour journey to the city. Winslow dressed sharply in a suit with a plush, ruffled dress shirt and a crimson bowtie, a long, black coat with a sharp collar that went nearly halfway between his neck and the top of his head. Shiny boots and a pair of black pants with a similarly crimson line up the outside from heel to hip, which was mostly hidden beneath his coat. As he pulled his boots up and draped his pant legs over them he heard a knocking at the door and he stepped over to open it.

Bartleby stood smiling on the other side of it; a man of short stature but big strength, his features were not lost, but accentuated by the thick beard on his face. Striking blue eyes flashed at Winslow as they met. He wasn't dressed to the nines as that mostly fell on “true" gentlemen to bear that across, but he was dressed nicely. A pressed, clean lavender shirt on his chest, the sleeves rolled up somewhat to expose his burly, slightly hairy forearms. A black leather vest buttoned just over that and a pair of dark pants. He looked rather sharp like this. As Winslow stared uncontrollably at him, Bartleby gave a snort, a laugh and then rested his hands upon the inner breasts of his vest on either side. Finishing his ensemble with a pair of black, shiny boots it took Winslow less than thirty seconds to take in every detail of the man and return to his eyes. He swallowed, feeling extremely flush as he tried to return to some semblance of conversation with him. “G--good morning Barty--Bartleby...! Is everything prepared?"

Bartleby's beard twisted as he gave a half-smirk under his whiskers, looking the lord up and down. “Aye we gotch'a covered lad. Ain' gonna find no better horses in these parts--but two carriages though? Whot's the story 'bout that?"

Winslow smiled. He loved the way Bartleby spoke; a gruff, thickly layered accent that felt a bit Irish, a little bit Scottish and extremely masculine. His deep voice sent a chill down the man's spine. “Yes, well... Elizabeth has her own...entourage." He explained.

“Winslow! Bartleby! Hurry along now!"

The sound of Elizabeth's voice shattered their conversation with a bit of a wince from both of them. As Winslow straightened the cuff of his jacket and stepped out of the room, Bartleby pulled him closer. “Ay kin' I be honest with ya?"

“Always."

Bartleby snickered a bit to himself. “Pers'nally thinkin' I'm jus' glad I'll be ridin' with you instead'a the missus. Ay don't think she likes me. An' she got the screamin' call of the banshee when she uses tha' diaphragm ta speak."

“Bartleby, please remember your place sir. As chief of my security you have my utmost respect and I consider us to be closer to equal than a master and servant should be...but that is my wife you're going on about..."

“Aye...sorry boss..."

As Winslow walked past Bartleby, the man turned his head to meet the smaller man's gaze again, and a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Besides if anyone should call my wife a screaming banshee...it should be me."

As Winslow and Bartleby exited the manor, they were immediately met by a flurry of raindrops falling lightly onto their skin; arming himself by the door, Winslow extracted an umbrella and opened it, but Bartleby did not remain under the shelter long. He instead made his way dutifully to the carriages and met Elizabeth at hers. He performed his task, investigating the carriage for possible dangers before making his way to the carriage door, opening it and extending a hand out to assist the lady up inside. His gesture was ignored as her nose rose ever higher climbing into the car, which shook and wobbled as her handmaid followed suit and with the subtlest of moves, nearly pushed Bartleby into the mud at his feet, only hurrying into the carriage when she realized her ploy had not worked. Winslow saw Bartleby say something under his breath before heading over to the carriage and performing the same gesture toward Winslow. Winslow however, graciously accepted the hand and stepped up into the carriage.

A mutual friend of the family, Doctor Ronald Dorsen had agreed to accompany them on this trip, as he had business in London that could not be delayed. A gaunt, ghastly old man, he too ignored Bartleby's gesture and scoffed ever so slightly as he disappeared into the carriage.

“Tch...gonna be a bloody righ' bad trip if'n I say so m'self..." He said to himself before climbing up into the carriage and sliding into the seat beside Winslow.

The carriage began to move almost immediately as Winslow and Bartleby sat next to one another, casting the occasional awkward glance at Dorsen, who had immersed himself in a book, but it still took him roughly fifteen minutes to grow drowsy and start to nod off.

“So...what did you say when Antoinette scoffed at you and climbed into that carriage?" Winslow asked, breaking the awkward silence that filled the car.

“I dunae wanna say..." Bartleby said quietly as he too tried to find time to read for the trip. “Wouldn' wanna come off offensive."

“Oh come now Bartleby... you do know I enjoy your rather antagonistic quips, did you let her have it?"

“I ain' gotta clue abou' that. It ain't like she heard me callin' her a rag-stuffin' stuck up bitch with delusions of proper class... if er fake arse ain' seen so much action, I prolly would'a called her a prudish slut too...but tha's just me."

There was silence for a moment, as Bartleby gauged Winslow's reaction, a smirk slowly crept onto his face, and then a sputter...and then an outright laugh that filled the cabin. Bartleby's smile joined in and soon both were laughing together. After a time their laughter slowed and they looked at Dorsen, who was fast asleep, slumped over in his seating position. Bartleby was the first to whisper the obvious. “D'ye think he's dead?" He asked cautiously.

“I... I'm not quite sure." Winslow replied. “Should we... check?"

Bartleby crossed his large arms in front of him and looked at Winslow. “Well I sure's shite ain' gonna be ridin' four gruellin' hours wit' a corpse lad. I'd sooner shove 'im out the door over a rollin' river than t'have to put up with the stink of his decayin' body." With that he hopped to the floor and approached the man. “Doctor? Doctor Dorsen? Ye'right then?" He reached down and picked up a cane from under the man's seat, he reached up with it and gently prodded the doctor's chest, and to both of their surprise, Dorsen let out a loud, resounding snore before his body fell back against the seat. Both men reacted with a shocked cry and Bartleby nearly jumped back into Winslow's lap. Both then laughed at the reaction and Bartleby returned to his seat.

“Oy that ol' geezer made righ' idiots of us didn' he?"

“Oh yes, I don't think I've ever been so spooked in my life..." He gazed at the smaller man, who returned the look which immediately dried out Winslow's throat. Winslow swallowed and felt the radiant heat of a blush wash over his face. “So...what are your plans when we've reached London, Bartleby...?"

“Ain' no need for formalities here lad. You don' gotta be so polite an' proper all the time. Just call me Barty...ev'ryone else does."

Winslow smiled. “Alright then... Barty." He said, testing the name on his lips. “You really think I'm so proper all the time?"

“Aye? Well...jus' look at ye, boss! You got more time on the silver spoon than anyone I've ever known in m'life... yer the only one at that manor that gives two shakes of a dick about me...an' made me head of your security? It's a no-brainer I consider ya as high as I do."

Winslow smiled softly and returned his eyes forward, then turned his gaze out the window, watching the rainy countryside passing. As silence filled the car, Winslow felt lost in thought. He glanced at Barty every so often, but he was resting; his eyes closed, his head laying on the back of his seat. He crossed one leg over the other, trying to get comfortable as well. But every time he would try to close his eyes, the vision of his dream from that morning made him open his eyes again. He crossed his arms, having forgotten his umbrella was in his hand and felt the object slip from his fingers. He made a grab for it and the moment he caught it, Barty also caught it, their hands connecting with Winslow's slimmer fingers tucked in under the dwarf's thick ones. The two looked at the umbrella, then looked at each other. They breathed together for a moment, and Winslow could see the faintest flush washed over Barty's face. Then the two again separated.

“Thanks..." Winslow said, his hand brushing across his hair.

“Anytime." Barty replied and turned his attention to the window on his side of the cab. “So... 'bout how long we got to London?"

Winslow extracted a pocket watch from his breast and gazed at it. “About three hours." He said. “We will check into our accommodations. The meeting isn't until tomorrow, so we've plenty of time." Bartleby nodded slowly and glanced at him, almost curiously now. “As such... I'm sure Elizabeth will be spending the evening with her circle, and Mr. Dorsen will probably head to his destination, perhaps we could enjoy a meal...just the two of us."

“Issat so?" Barty pondered, scratching his bearded chin in contemplation. “Well I s'ppose that'd be good. But it wouldn' hurt yer stature? Spendin' time with a lowly servant like m'self?"

“Oh no, you're far more to me than a servant of any kind. I consider you a dear friend."

“Ho ho! Such scand'lous talkin'...I got ears lad. A man'a my stature socializin' wit' a man'a your stature? That'd tear ya reputation wide open...ain't sure I want'a see that happen."

“Is that not my cross to bear?"

“Not'n this day'n age, sir. Reputation makes a man a gentleman...a colleague...someone t'actually count for somethin'... I don't want t--"

Winslow didn't know what made him do it, he was sober as a priest, he was into the debate. He was hanging onto every word; and in an instant, his lips crashed against Barty's. Their flesh moved their lips parted slightly in a soft, sensual kiss, the only sound in the car was the soft wet pull of their skin pulling away at the spot of contact. Winslow opened his eyes and stared into Barty's. His face just as flushed as they remained there, frozen. Neither of them pulled away and slowly Winslow's grip on Barty's vest loosened. Soon he pulled himself back and straightened the tufts of hair on his head, trying to reconstitute himself casually. “I... uh... I am sorry about that, it was a momentary lapse of control. I don't know what came over me..."

“Y-yes well... I weren't expectin' that turn...that's all I just..."

Winslow shook his head. “A momentary diversion that's all."

“Yeah... that's all."

As the pair settled back into their seats they watched as Dr. Dorsen gave a loud snorting noise with his nose and jerked himself awake. He yawned big and stretched his arms out before looking out the window. “I say... I say! Are we close to London yet?" Winslow and Barty looked at one another briefly, then returned their attention to their respective windows.

Dorsen had not fallen back to sleep for the remainder of the trip, even as they entered the cobblestoned streets of London, creating wakes of quaking under the wheels of the carriage, he still continued reading his book, giving Winslow and Barty no time to discuss what had happened earlier. The tension among them was palpable, and by the time they pulled up to the drive in front of their hotel to climb out, they were both absolutely out of breath. They clambered out of the carriage, breathing the air deeply, trying instantly to forget the long haul they had just gone through.

Elizabeth's carriage had pulled far ahead of them earlier on the trip, it was seated already outside the hotel and as the two approached it, the door swung open and Elizabeth's hand came from it. She was expecting a gentlemanly lift down from the carriage, and Winslow obliged for her while Antoinette's hand rested in Bartleby's. But as soon as her feet touched the ground, she ripped her hand away from him;

“That's enough you disgusting low creature." She said with a snappy arrogance that infuriated Winslow. But Bartleby took the insult in stride, instead bowing his head to her and remaining wordless.

Winslow kissed Elizabeth's hand politely prior to releasing it and she smiled; it wasn't a smile of romance, or passion or love, but that of requirement. She gave a gentle curtsey in her beautiful teal dress and turned to walk with Antoinette down the alleyway. “Husband, please do us the kindest of favors and check us in, I will be heading to the shops. I will return before sundown."

“And if you are needed prior to your return, where may I find you?"

She didn't even turn to acknowledge him. “Oh you won't." She said as the two of them walked away.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Winslow turned to Bartleby and the pair entered the hotel to check in. The hotel was grand, and that even paled in comparison to its lobby, which was plush in brightly colored reds and pinks adorning walls, dangling from ceilings, even brightly decorative around the front counter. They were walking so closely now that the heat of their bodies seemed to radiate between them, Winslow approached the counter, a well dressed man appeared with a broad smile on his face. “Ah! Sir Morton, a pleasure to see you again, sir."

“And you sir, I am here to check in for my wife and myself." He extended a hand. “And our security chief Bartleby as well."

“Very well, two of our finest rooms will be made up immediately. Shall I have a bottle of wine sent to your wife's room on behalf of our staff to show our deepest appreciation that you will be staying with us?"

“Y--" Winslow's voice faded at the response. “No...but if you could please send it to our second room, that would be appreciated."

“To him?" The man sneered as he looked at Bartleby.

“M'standin' right here..." Barty said somewhat dejectedly.

“To myself." He corrected the man fiercely. “Just because my wife owns half my life does not mean she gets half of my fucking wine." His response elicited gasps from not only the man behind the counter, but several passers by who paused to stare at the spectacle. Even Barty stood there in disbelief. His mouth hanging open in surprise as they received their room keys and they left the lobby area.

“I've got ta say... that...was feckin brilliant sir."

“Oh for God's sake Barty. You insist on me calling you that... the least you can do is call me by name and not by s--"

Like before, the line was cut off with a kiss. But this time, it wasn't Winslow kissing Barty, but the other way around as the shorter-statured man had grabbed him by the coat and pulled him rough and hard down toward him. Their lips locked and in a gruff, passionate gesture, Bartleby thrust his tongue deep into the man's mouth, shocking him with this sudden and lewd display. It did the trick though and immediately silenced him as his hands held onto Barty for dear life. After several moments, their lips parted, a wicked grin on Barty's face. “Alright... Winslow... ye got me int'rested...now what're we gon'ae do about it?"

The door to the room slammed open with such a violent force that the wood nearly split hitting the wall behind it; Winslow had never known Barty was so strong and forceful but when he broke the kiss and slammed the taller man against the back of the door, slamming it shut behind him it showed clearly. He didn't have much care for being delicate and ripped the man's shirt wide open; buttons be damned as they split off and went spilling to the far corners of the room, this man was in a ravenous, frenzied heat and he was able to toss Winslow like more of a rag doll than anything else. Pushing him impatiently onto the bed as he unfastened his shirt and removed his clothing as Winslow eagerly unfastened his pants. The smaller man then climbed onto Winslow and wrapped him in another breathtaking kiss. His beard scratching the leavings of Winslow's thin strip of mustache and making him gasp and moan hard into the other man's mouth.

Bartleby's mouth parted again from Winslow's lips with a pop as he put his hands on the man's shoulders and pinned him down. “We really doin' this?" He asked with a husky growl in his voice.

“I ahhh--err... I... y-yes, please..." Winslow's breath was hard, he could barely form a cohesive sentence and he watched the dwarf's grin widen, gruffly grabbing his chin and pulling his face closer. The coarse feel of his fingers stroking what little facial hair Winslow had.

“Mmm good." He grunted as he leaned forward and attacked Winslow's neck.

Like a vampire, Barty's mouth tightened around the vein and sensitive areas of Winslow's neck, he grew eager and kissed his way down the man's neck to his chest, he locked onto the left nipple and bit down, making Winslow let out a cry and his body shook, leaning into the warmth Barty provided. Barty slipped even lower, dragging his body hot and furry across the slender man's cock until he was back on the floor. His tongue sliding wetly along Winslow's aching erection before his mouth met the tip and his lips curled around it, dragging the flesh flat under the pressure and enveloping it wetly within. Winslow's body jerked, he placed a hand over his face and cried out. The sensation reminded him of the dream he'd had that morning and on impulse his knees drew together, touching Bartleby's mane of hair as he began to bob his head up and down, drawing his lips deeper and deeper around that rigid, twitching length of flesh. He growled, giving a powerful surge of pleasure that made Winslow quiver.

Never before had Winslow felt like this; his heart was racing, his mind was flooded with thoughts of how a man of his station not only should not associate with a man in Barty's place but to engage in this type of sin? It was more than a pleasure of the flesh though, it was a desire, a need...he wanted to be ravaged by him and right now, he was feeling every inch of his length covered and coveted by Bartleby's wet, thick lips. The pleasure made his loins feel like they were on fire, his balls were tight, he was trying so hard not to climax that he could feel the waves coming faster and faster. Barty wasn't slowing down though, in fact as he looked down at him, Winslow could see that the man was doubling down. Getting faster and faster, twisting his head, pouring his lips over his flesh with an eagerness he'd never seen before. “B-ba-Barty..." He whispered.

Bartleby ignored the pleas; he knew how close he was getting Winston and he glanced up into his eyes as he began to probe Winston's sensitive hole with a single digit, his finger rounding his ring slowly before teasing the entrance with a bit of pressure. He inhaled and held his breath before bringing his mouth down the length, feeling Winslow pulse in his mouth, tasting the thick coating of precum now lining his mouth and throat and subtly he began to submerge his digit, his finger stroking along the underside of his flesh, roaming over Winslow's balls, giving them a gentle pinch and before Winslow could even stop himself, he grabbed hold of the blankets under his body and howled out loudly, suddenly letting lose volley after volley of hot seed into the dwarf's suckling mouth. “Ahh! HAHHH!" He cried, his entire body jolting as his streams shot deep and Barty swallowed the essence eagerly, and as Winslow's climax began to subside, he slowly brought his lips to the man's tip, capturing a thick glob of seed at the end of his tongue.

At first, Winslow had no idea what Barty had in store for him, but his expression shifted as he felt the warmth of a beard brushing across his taint. He hadn't even prepared himself as he felt the man's slippery, wet tongue start to invade him. His entrance tightened and earned a bemused look from the man, who simply applied more pressure and pushed past that ring of muscle. As his tongue slipped in, Winslow's body quivered and he gasped. He could feel it wriggling around inside him, pushing deeper and deeper as Barty grabbed his waist and thrust his tongue deeper. Winslow bit one of his knuckles lightly, trying to keep from screaming out loud, this sensation was new and it was amazing, and it caused his cock to immediately spring back to life from being spent only seconds before. As it pulsed and grew again in size, Bartleby's passionate half-lidded arousal met Winslow's deep green pools and he watched as Barty's nose pressed against his balls.

“B-Barty where--did you... l-learn that?"

Barty smirked, not answering but instead spreading Winslow's cheeks apart even further so that his face could fit more easily between them. The feeling of his beard bristling against his ass made Winslow gasp and cry out, his hips rose, his legs propped up giving the man room to work as he reclined back shivering and panting loudly. Eventually, Barty retracted his tongue and stared at him, eyes locked as he whispered. “Ye got'nythin' to slick me up? Migh' sting otherwise."

“I--I have an idea... if you'd join me..."

Tilting his head, but with an expectant glance, Barty got onto the bed again as Winslow sat up, his hand reached down and grabbed the man's cock which was impressively girthy. The sight of it you might not expect a man like this to possess a cock this big. But Winslow knew what he had to do. He craned his head down and wrapped his tongue around the cock, his saliva dripping along the shaft as he worked his mouth down its bitter-sweet taste. It was a musky smell, one he was all to familiar with and he enjoyed it. He moaned a bit as he felt Bartleby's hand grab the top of his head, stroking his hair as he gently, but almost impatiently pushed downward. Winslow gagged for a moment, but pushed the thick cock past his throat and he heard Barty growl like some kind of an animal. Winslow slurped, trying to keep the saliva from escaping his mouth and failing spectacularly, sending cascades of spittle down Barty's flesh, and watching as it caught in his nest of hair, glistening back at him every time he was driven down and made the climb back up that thick flesh. He felt it twitch in the back of his throat, tasted a bead of his precum and heard that raspy gasp of air escape his lungs as Barty's fingers gripped the crown of Winslow's head with a slight tremor. “C-careful now I think tha'd be enough...wouldn' wanna ruin the big finish..." He said as he pulled Winslow's head back lifting him off his cock. And just as abruptly, he threw Winslow face down on the bed and just as quickly was on his knees behind him, resting between the man's legs as he slapped his wet hard cock against him. “Mm I've always wanted ter do this..." He purred as he angled himself at the warm, wet hole and with his free hand, grabbed Winslow's left shoulder giving a grunt and a loud plap as he buried himself within Winslow's tight confines.

“AHHH!" Winslow cried out, completely unprepared for the sensation that shot through him.

Pain at first washed over him, Winslow clenched his teeth but Barty gave him a few moments before he continued, pushing himself deeper and deeper with every thrust. His breathing was hard and his body slapped wetly against Winslow as he raised the man's ass slightly and started to drive even harder into him. Winslow buried his head under his arms and howled into the blanket, but it didn't do much to muffle the sounds he was making. “Yer righ' tight, Winslow... I c'd fuck ye all night..." He panted loudly. “But I'll settle fer one roun' for now..." He huffed and slammed even harder now, causing the slapping sounds to echo through the room as Winslow grabbed the railing of the bed's headboard as it continually knocked into the wall behind it. Bartleby grabbed Winslow's waist and stood up more, slamming down into an angle even further, drawing out more and more drips of precum from the slim man under him. He could smell the heat building up, the musk and sex filling the air, and that only made Barty fuck him even harder. His hands crawling over his friend's larger size as he fucked this otherwise-beanpole of a man into complete submission.

“Oh gods... ahh... B-Barty I'm... I'm cumming again...ahhh!" As he said this Winslow felt his cock again start to shoot thick, wet streams of cum under him, it wet the bedding, likely the mattress underneath and his ass clenched from the intensity of the release.

Barty huffed and growled, trying to resist but finding it impossible as his walls came crashing down. “N-not far... behin' ya...NNNNHHHHH!"

The flood was intense, Winslow could feel heat gushing into him, sloshing about in his stomach and filling before he felt the wet slap of it pouring from his hole and trickling down his legs between them. This gave Winslow a second, though less intense climax and he began to spit dry loads of cum under him as well. He lifted his head and cried out, his voice echoing through the room and probably the entire hotel as Barty finally finished his impossibly intense load, his legs trembling as he buried himself to the absolute hilt holding himself in as his hot breath washed over Winslow's back.

Both men collapsed onto the bed, falling into the mess Winslow had made as they curled their bodies together, sweating, breathing hard and covered in their various fluids.

“My--god I've never felt anything like that..."

Barty laughed breathlessly. “Ye git use'to it...men like me train our bodies from'n early age...been...described as a rollin' bolt of lightnin' when ye fuck wit' one of us..."

“There's... more than one of you?"

“Tch..." Barty scoffed at the implications. “Been wantin' to do that fer a long time tho..."

As he said this, a loud, audible scream echoed through the room that caused both men to suddenly cringe and cover their ears. They looked to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, horrified at the display, her hand clamped over her pale face. If Winslow had learned anything, she was about three seconds from keeling over from a heart attack or she was about to reach a level beyond horrified: She screamed again and pointed at the pair. “DEBAUCHERY!" Her voice could very well have cracked glass.

“Well...there ye have it..." Barty said half joking as Winslow quickly got up and ran into the hall completely naked, a chorus of shrieks and screams following. “I don' like where I see this goin..."

***

Six months had passed since the incident, leading to one of the biggest divorce proceedings that the country had ever seen. Over a month of arguments and trials back and forth leading to the last day where Bartleby sat on a bench in front of the courthouse waiting for the end to finally come. He held a brimmed hat in his hands, it was a marvelously beautiful day and upon feeling a hand clutch at his shoulder, he was surprised to see Winslow behind him smiling. His eyes widened. “Wha'd'the missus keel over on the stand'r somethin?" He asked earning a look of confusion and laugh from the other man.

“No, Barty. It's over...and I am glad that it is over. You weren't needed to come forward after all."

“Really?" He got up from his seat and the pair embraced. “Tha's it then? Penniless an' out on the streets? I been there before."

“Oh don't be so dramatic, Barty. It's true that she got a fair--or rather substantial part of my fortune, all the other servants in my employ are now in the employ of Elizabeth. Which I know you would hate simply because I know how much you adore Antoinette."

“An' yer job?"

“Gone." He admitted. “But it's not as though I would miss it, it was a pompous, posh position born clearly out of necessity. Very much like my marriage, as of the end of the month I will be officially released from my position with no pension. Retirement or otherwise."

As the pair walked through the park, they continued to speak. “What'll ye do now?"

“I think I'll write. It's something I enjoy doing and I hear there can be quite a market for it. I'll get by...and...I have some good news and bad news, now while I cannot promise to pay you as well as I had in the past but I can certainly try to compensate-" His words were cut short by Bartleby clutching his chin, how rugged with the growing start to a beard, their lips met and the words melted away.

“Ye dun' gotta pay me a cent if it means I get to stay wit'ya... so... wha's the good news?"

The pair approached a couple of horses tied up and waiting for them and as the pair mounted them, a smile crossed Winslow's face as he leaned in. “Oh just that we won't be homeless. The manor has been in my family for generations and there was no way they were going to be able to pry that out of their accounts." He chuckled then kicked the reins slightly.

As the horse cantered off, Bartleby stared after in confusion before realizing. “Wait...what?" Before sending himself and his horse after him.

THE END