Storm in a Teacup

The nobleman seemed comfortable enough, humming cheerfully to himself as he started stripping out of his traveling clothes without so much as a scrap of modesty. And, peeking out uncertainly through the curtain of hair shielding his face, the servant had to admit that such a man had no need for modesty. The lord was utterly beautiful in every way; dark sable hair like velvet in the firelight framing elegant features, tall and well-toned with glorious golden skin, completely devoid of scars or imperfections. When he was down to just his trousers, he stretched his long limbs with a contented sigh before turning that damnable smile on the tavern boy once more.

“I think I’m quite settled in for the evening, if you need to see to your other patrons.”

The young man swallowed again, struggling to keep his voice steady as he re-plied, “M’Lord, I… m-my master bade me stay here… and see to your needs this evening.” Taking a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to continue, “Whatever they may be.”

There was a very long pause, during which neither man spoke, and the tavern boy wondered if the sound of his heart pounding was as deafening to the noble as it was to himself. It was so loud in his own ears, he didn’t hear the soft shift of cloth or the ghostly pad of bare feet over the rug as the taller man drew up close to him, didn’t even realize the man’s proximity until a large hand was cupping his chin, startling him badly. He bit his lower lip and looked up out of reflex, and found himself trapped again in that devastating gaze.

“Are you telling me you’ve been sent to warm my bed, sweetheart?” the taller man asked calmly.

Barely more than a whisper, “Yes, m’Lord.”