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Perhaps it was all for the best. This game of theirs had been reckless from the very beginning; he knew he should end it tonight, before flirtation became anything more serious. Flirting with a military governor wasn't some... some youthful crush on the captain of the cricket team, an infatuation to be burnt out in fumbling explorations in the changing room. What kind of damned fool was he even to consider anything so rashly adolescent? If this dalliance of theirs were to become public knowledge.... Well, neither of them was a schoolboy, to escape with a birching and a sermon about moral and physical purity. And Luis must recognize all that as well. Had this interruption given the Colonel time to come to his senses?
Hidden away in the corner Robert could make out neither Grisham's news nor the words of Luis' reply, but he could hear well enough the cold disdain with which they were uttered. He shut his eyes and attempted to replace his last sight of a dishevelled, debauched Luis with an image of Montoya immaculate and precise in full dress uniform. Luis -- the Colonel was no less ruthless now, he admonished himself, no less dangerous than he had ever been.
But no less desirable either, damn him.
Robert heard the door shut and masked his doubts behind as placid an indifference as he could muster before he emerged from behind the screen. He couldn't face Luis, not yet, so he roamed about the room, pretending to inspect the pleasant little landscape sketches on the wall, the book by the bed. He brushed his fingers across its worn leather cover: Shakespeare, naturally. Robert glanced across the room, watched Luis watching him pace, each waiting for the other to make the first move. "I know she's gone, you idiots," Grisham was shouting at his men in the street below. "So get on your fucking horses and follow her."
Robert cleared his throat and licked dry lips. He nodded toward the window. "Why do you keep him around?"
"He is predictable, controllable, and has easily satisfied appetites." Luis paused; his expression kindled. "Unlike some in this pueblo."
Robert flashed a relieved smile. "I don't know. You seemed to be doing a fair job of satisfying my appetites."
"A fair job?" The slight upturn at one side of Luis' mouth spoilled the illusion of outrage, turning it into something much more like a challenge
"Mmmmm. Fair. So far." Robert sidled up to him, savouring Luis' flushed skin, the musk of his arousal. So Luis still wanted him? Logic and common sense didn't stand a chance against this temptation. He traced the line of Luis' jaw line with his knuckles. "But one has heard so much about Spanish prowess."
Luis slipped his hand inside the collar of Robert's open shirt and brushed a finger lightly along his collarbone. He leaned in and his breath feathered against Robert's ear. "Ah, well, if my nation's pride is at stake...." He pushed slightly and moved forward. Robert stepped back, then drew his hand down and unfastened one of Luis' shirt buttons. Luis' fingers strayed fractionally lower and he pushed again. Robert loosed one more button. Another step, another caress, another button. They were retracing their earlier scramble toward the bed, of course, but this time intoxicating, unthinking lust could offer no excuse. This time each was perfectly aware of what they were doing and of having decided, consciously, to defy consequences and dangers. Oh, the hunger was still there, unsated by earlier kisses. If anything, the pause had merely sharpened the need, just as, at a banquet, ices cool but tangy with mint and bitter orange refreshed the palate between courses.
Luis let his own shirt slide from his shoulders to the floor, then pushed Robert's off as well and threw it away. "Still only a fair job?"
Caught by the ardent darkness of Luis' usually pale eyes, Robert shivered. He opened his mouth to respond, but Luis' thumb teased an already sensitized nipple and all he could do was gasp. The kiss that followed was hardly a surprise. Well played: Luis was good. But Robert would show him he was made of sterner stuff. He countered the thrust of Luis' tongue with his own. Luis' hands skimmed down his body, coming to rest at his hips, pulling them together roughly. He pushed one leg between Robert's thighs for good measure.
Between the deep kisses and the rhythmic friction of two bodies in heat, Robert's resistance shredded and burned. He wanted this. He wanted Luis. Wanted to fall to his knees before him. Wanted to lie back and take whatever he was given. Wanted to beg-- Oh no. No. Not bloody likely. He was stronger than this. He was. All he needed was a minute or two to recover his wits. He pushed Luis' body back a step, then more reluctantly retreated from their kiss. Luis frowned.
"Boots," Robert stuttered, feeling a right idiot. "I need to take my boots off," he tried again, attempting a little more sophistication. "If you're to have your wicked way with me."
"Ah. In that case..." Luis took another step back and waved his permission with mock solemnity. "By all means. Although I should warn you," he added with a throaty chuckle, "that this time I am the insulted party. And I shall demand satisfaction."
Robert leaned back against the bed and bent to fumble with his boots. He took a few deep breaths. He had almost regained control now. It was better when he didn't look at Luis, didn't see the way the candlelight gleamed on his skin and cast shadows that defined his trim athletic body, when he didn't feel it's strength against his own. He had not allowed himself to be this impetuous in a long while. In Spain his missions had left little time for prolonged amorous maneuvers, but the martial game he played against the French had offered him his fill of intrigue, of hair's breadth escapes, of raids and rides under cover of darkness. He'd given all that up, of course, renounced such passions along with the killing.
He should have known he'd fall. And especially for someone this tantalizingly dangerous.
Luis pressed his lips lightly against the back of Robert's neck. He began to kiss his way down, vertebra by vertebra, with leisurely deliberation. The whiskers of his beard tickled a little, their burn soothed by the soft warmth of his breath. Robert tossed his boots aside, straightened and then stood, and Luis slipped in behind him, embracing him. "What shall I do with you, eh?" Luis' voice had deepened, raspy with his own desire, and Robert could feel his cock hard and insistent against him despite the layers of cloth between them. Oh, but Luis was skilled at this. Robert envied his control and managed to bite back an instinctual, shaming response. He felt Luis' fingers linger on him, exploring him, stroking him, as they worked his trouser buttons and freed him from the rest of his clothes. Then he felt the roughened palm of Luis' hand cupping his sex. Christ, it felt good. And it would feel even better to let Luis have his way with him, take him, master him.
But first things first. He wanted Luis to feel as deliriously broken as he was. So he turned and pounced, using surprise to accentuate his slight advantage in height. He grabbed Luis' face between his hands, demanded his mouth. He all but tore the man's breeches from his body. Luis didn't seem to mind his roughness; he just laughed and tumbled them on to the bed. They struggled, wrestling for position, until Robert felt his arms pinioned above his head and looked up into Luis' triumphant smile.
Robert smiled back. "I suppose I should award you the victory."
"Was there ever any doubt? And to the victor go the spoils."
Robert nodded, and relaxed his resistance. Luis relinquished his confining hold and brought their groins together, claiming the victor's initiative to set the rhythm that would bring them both inexorably to release. But as delicious as that prospect might be, it was a little presumptuous of him: he hadn't won yet.
Robert twisted and pushed, flipping them and straddling Luis' body. "I said, I should award you the victory." He leaned down for a kiss. "I never said I would."
"Perfidious Albion."
"Now, now. We'll call it a draw." Robert took his kiss. He wrapped one hand around Luis' erection, and guided one of Luis' hands around his own. "I doubt," he began, gasping slightly as Luis took his cue from that, "that either of us..." He let Luis draw him down so that they lay side by side, and closed his eyes, shuddering into the other man's caress. Yes. God, yes. Yesss.... And he was so close.... They were both... so close....
"Surrender, Robert."
What? He shook his head. Never. Luis' hand became a little more forcefully coercive. "Yes."
"Say it then." The hand moved to fondle and massage his balls, urging him to comply, to come.
"I– No."
"Say it." A finger strayed a little and teased at him, tickling the skin around his... Robert opened his eyes; Luis grinned at him like the proverbial cat who'd been at the cream. That bastard. He wouldn't. The finger entered him. "Say it, Robert."
"I..." The finger pressed inward just a little more, and he tensed in response to the fire that pulsed along his nerves. "I surren..." The rest of the word was lost in the intensity of his climax, but he was fairly certain he felt Luis tense and gasp only a second or so later. They sank back against the damp sheets together.
Robert stared up at the mottled plaster of the ceiling for long, timeless moments. Finally he rolled on to his side. Had Luis fallen asleep? "So you win after all." He reached over and brushed sweat-soaked hair off the other man's forehead. "This round, anyway. Even if I'm not sure you played fairly."
"And you did?" Luis turned his face toward him. "Men like you and I, querido, we like to win. Whatever it takes. Besides, the more wily the quarry, the more sweet the victory, no? Perhaps next time-– "
Without finishing his sentence Luis was off the bed and shrugging into his robe. "Colonel! Colonel!" Grisham's voice carried clearly through the door. "We've got her, sir! We've captured the Queen."