There's something relaxing about brushing a horse -- the smell and the repetitive nature of the brush gliding over the smooth, warm coat, removing any dust or loose hair. Maybe that's why Corrigan dares more than one look over the filly's back, to where Master Hummel is standing and stroking his long, delicate fingers through the horse's mane. Normally he'd keep his gaze down, answer as monosyllabic and simple as he could, and leave as soon as possible.
But against all odds, it seems that the young man is...genuinely interested in the answers to his questions. Part of Corrigan is suspicious, that maybe there's an ulterior motive -- has he misstepped? Did that nosy groom who caught him casually flirting with the grocery delivery boy say something? Corrigan tries to be especially cautious in his flirtations and dalliances, well-aware that he could be let go from his position and blacklisted from every respectable house in the country if anyone found out. Nevermind that half of the house staff are likely fornicating in the linen closets, not to mention the amount of nobles who are making passes at maids or kitchen girls.
His thoughts are interrupted by the mention of Congress and stables, both eyebrows arching as he meets the younger Hummel's eyes over the horse's back. Because of course he knows the name, knows of Burt Hummel and the magnificent horses he'd bred and raised. Without thinking, he says aloud, "Your father is -- Burt Hummel? Half the county has horses of his in their stables, and the other half wants to. I had no idea."
He's combing through the filly's mane now, and he's distracted enough that his hand slips a big, roughened fingers grazing over soft, smooth ones. The touch has something curling in his stomach, rising up into his chest, wanting and interest and hunger. He doesn't look away from the young man's face when he replies, "Corrigan Molloy. Sir." The respectful title is added quickly, almost as an afterthought.
"That's him. Herbert Hummel, the very same," he says, his tone almost amused. All of his noble friends barely know anything about politics, barely know any of their congressmen or senators, they just know Kurt's father is a legislator so it's probably in their best interest to stay on his good side. But here's this stable hand, voice raising and eyes getting wide with shock and excitement at the mention of him, all for his former profession.
He did have a knack for breeding strong, gorgeous horses, didn't he? Kurt kind of hopes he'll return from Washington and get back at it someday.
The excited look of recognition on the man's face is preferable to the wary way he'd been eyeing him earlier, the suspicion, the respectable distance. Kurt would never want to be too forward, would never want to make any of the boys and men he flirts with uncomfortable, and if he detects even a hint of discomfort, he backs away immediately. It's a lonely life they lead, isn't it? One of constant paranoid caution. Constant vigilance.
But the thrill of such an innocent touch of fingers racing through him is worth all of the lonely nights, all of the excessive caution. The way something clenches in his chest when the man - Corrigan - can't take his eyes off of him. It makes Kurt feel hot all over, color flushing over his cheeks, that careful smile curling just a little brighter.
"Corrigan Molloy..." He rolls the syllables around in his mouth like candy. Then he holds his slender hand out properly. A touch is usually enough to tell, but Kurt likes to feel a man's handshake, feel if his touch squeezes, lingers. Just to be sure. "I'm Kurt. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corrigan."
This is dangerous. It's dangerous enough that even Elizabeth picks up on it, ears pricking as she turns her head to glance back at the two men, one on either side of her. Like having a horse between them is going to somehow defuse the current of heat that's been building since the moment Master Hummel arrived in the stables. Like she'll be a buffer to the inevitable.
Because it's dangerous, yes, but standing against it is like trying to shout down a thunderstorm, or hold back a tide. It could end in disaster, Corrigan is fully aware of this, but he reaches out all the same. His hand is warm and big and rough, fingers closing around the young man -- around Kurt's with a cautious reverence usually reserved for handling fine artwork. And then, his grip tightens, thumb moving to stroke over the younger man's wrist, over where his pulse beats. It's a shockingly intimate, bold gesture, and could very easily land Corrigan out in the streets.
But he's following a hunch here, a promise lingering in those intent, bright eyes, hiding behind that smile. A promise that if he reaches out, touches, caresses, it'll be worth it. It'll be beyond worth it.
"Pleasure's all mine," Corrigan murmurs, still not letting go of Kurt's hand.
There it is. Cautious at first, that moment's hesitation before taking the plunge, knowing full well the danger that could befall him as soon as he does, as soon as he gives in, lets himself get swept away. Then, as soon as his grip goes tight, as his thumb sweeps over Kurt's fluttering pulse, right there under pale skin and the lacy cuff of his shirt, they both know. This is it. Either one of them could get the other in serious trouble over this. Corrigan too boldly, too intimately laying his hand on a noble, Kurt so freely offering his hand, initiating touch, soliciting the attentions of a commoner...
It's always a gamble. But Kurt knows he's bet on the right horse this time.
"No, not yet. But it will be soon," he promises softly, coyly, eyes locked with Corrigan's dark ones, fingers squeezing gently around that big hand, still holding on. Kurt can feel the years of labor on the man's skin, those rough calluses easily felt against his hands, soft like a woman's but strong like a man's. There's a heat to the nobleman's gaze now, a knowing edge to his smile, cheeks flushing with color as they stand there, holding hands over Elizabeth's patient form.
Kurt is the first to pull away, but now he doesn't bother keeping his eyes to himself, doesn't make his hungry, wandering gaze a secret. And Corrigan makes an incredible sight to take in undisturbed. "I believe you were in the middle of tacking up my horse."
Corrigan makes a quiet sound, halfway between a laugh and a cough, and Elizabeth swings her head around to give him a perplexed look, ears pricked. The statement is so outlandishly flirtatious that it borders on absurd, especially in the middle of the stable where anyone could see, anyone could find out. The risk is beyond anything Corrigan's ever attempted -- his dalliances normally take place with others of his same social class, or slightly below. He's glanced at noblemen, but they've never looked back.
And they've certainly never stood there, pretty and smirking like a cat that ate the canary, all tailored clothes and bright eyes and wicked intentions. Corrigan clears his throat again, nods, turning to distract himself with grabbing Elizabeth's saddle and bridle. He can feel Kurt's eyes on his back, nearly tangible as they rake over his shabby clothes and the shape of his body under them.
Granted, Corrigan...might be showing off a little. He lifts the heavy leather saddle like it's weightless, slides the pad onto the filly's back, then rests the saddle in place, tacks her up with practiced ease. When it comes time to switch the halter with the bit and bridle, he's distracted by his old habit -- rather than forcing the metal bar into the horse's mouth, cold and surprising, he warms it with one hand, then disguises it in a handful of oats, so Elizabeth eagerly takes it, chewing placidly, ears flicking.
He smiles a little, genuine warmth replacing the careful flirtation as he glances over at Kurt. "See, knew she was a sweetheart. Can't fool me, darlin'," he murmurs, carefully buckling the bridle in place.
Good thing he's only showing off a little. Kurt might have fainted at a display more tempting than the one Corrigan makes now, lifting Elizabeth's saddle like it weighs nothing at all. That's not cheap stuff either. Quality leather saddle and straps and heavy iron stirrups. Some grooms need to take a couple of trips back and forth before his horse is fully saddled up, but Corrigan just needs the one. Kurt wonders if he could pick him up just as easily... Lift him bodily off the ground, make him feel so small and delicate...
Kurt too is momentarily distracted from his increasingly dirty mind by the groom's trick, quick and clever, making Elizabeth take her palm-warmed bit without complaint. His tender touch is surprising when seen in contrast with just how huge he is, broad and strong and almost intimidating, but still touching the filly so gently, cooing soft praise. He can't help but smile, warm and sincere, huffing out a soft chuckle.
"You must have some kind of magic touch, Corrigan. I don't think she's ever this agreeable, even with me," he says, waiting for the stable hand to finish his work. It's clear he's an expert, knows what to do, feels it in his bones. Only when he's done does Kurt gently take the reins, leather wrapping around his long, pale fingers. "How many are on hand in the stables today, Corrigan? Five grooms? Six?"
Mildly embarrassed now, Corrigan smooths the filly's forelock over her forehead once more and steps back, trying to slide back into his place. It's entirely possible he's misread the entire situation, wishful thinking driving his reckless mind places it shouldn't go. Better to tread lightly. Be cautious.
Besides. Elizabeth would no doubt be alarmed if he suddenly pinned her master against the wall and had his wicked way.
Clearing his throat, Corrigan ducks to grab the grooming supplies, putting them neatly back in the bucket and trying not to look at the supple leather standing out dark against Kurt's hands. It would be an improper use of expensive riding supplies to use those reins for anything besides their intended purpose, such as wrapping them around those delicate wrists or that slender throat and tugging just enough to get a gasp --
"Five," he says abruptly, setting the bucket down too hard by the wall and making Elizabeth startle a little. "Ms. Pierce's brother required James's services with his new gelding." Corrigan tilts his head, slightly. "Why do you ask?" It's an impudent thing, questioning, but as long as he's taking risks...
"Hmm," the nobleman hums, a thoughtful sound as the groom finishes tidying up. One of Kurt's hands comes up to gently smooth over Elizabeth's face, a soothing motion, while his other fiddles with the leather reins almost mindlessly, twisting and twisting around and around long fingers.
"Well," Kurt says, his tone revealing nothing - though his eyes when they meet Corrigan's once more are still dark and mischievous, communicating something far from the polite distance men of his status are supposed to have to the serving staff. "I needed to make sure the rest of the grooms would not be inconvenienced. Four should be more than enough to finish sweeping until James returns."
The younger man gestures to the strong, grey-speckled gelding two stalls from Elizabeth's, snorting softly and lazily chewing his hay. "Colt needs his exercise. You are to saddle him up and accompany Elizabeth and I to the lake." Kurt's tone is relaxed, friendly, but his words leave no room for argument.
Here's to hoping he hasn't misread the groom's intentions.
Corrigan could argue. It would be improper, of course, but he has little doubt that if he were to refuse and involve the actual master of the house, Kurt's command would be immediately exposed as far more improper. It would be the scandal of the season, to say the least.
But he doesn't want that. What he wants is those long-fingered hands smoothing over his bare skin, those eyes molten-hot and wanting, fixed to his own and that mouth somewhere that is decidedly improper. So he inclines his head slightly, saying nothing about how the weather is a touch too cold for lake riding, how the mist coming from the water makes observation of anyone -- especially in the more secluded, thicketed areas to the north side -- impossible. He assumes that this is exactly Master Hummel's design.
"As you wish," is all he says, eyes flickering up from under his lashes, mouth curling into a look that's a little too smug to be strictly a smile.
Tacking the gelding up is an easy task -- Colt is mild-tempered as a lamb, compared to Elizabeth -- and Corrigan is on the horse's back within moments. He's not nearly properly dressed, his loose white shirt a touch too flowing and casual, the neckline unlaced to help alleviate the heat he'd built up in saddling up Colt. He acts as if nothing at all is wrong, reining the gelding in step with Elizabeth and offering a deferential nod. "After you, sir."
There's that look. That smug curl of his lip, those eyes peering at him from past those long lashes, gaze heavy with understanding. Oh, how Kurt loves that rush of victory.
By the time Corrigan joins Kurt and Elizabeth at the mouth of the stables, the nobleman has managed to calm himself down somewhat, shaking his wildly excited nerves and impatient impulses as he waited, taking in the crisp air with measured breaths, letting the chill fill his lungs. Where Corrigan is perhaps a touch underdressed for a ride to the lake, Kurt is decidedly overdressed, nearly every inch of skin below the jaw covered with fabric, a multitude of buttons and ties and ruffles, all structured garments with sharp lines and curves. It leaves the impression of a gift to be unwrapped, making for more of an infuriatingly teasing vision than Corrigan does, who leaves very little to the imagination with his chest on display like that. He's stunning, tan and strong and damp with sweat, almost cocky as he trots out to meet him, unlaced and unbothered.
Kurt is glad for the lungful of cold to combat how hot his insides feel. "Very well. After me," he chirps, gently easing Elizabeth into a calm pace down the dusty road cutting through the property, splitting off into the town road heavy with wagon tracks and a more secluded forest path. Naturally, Kurt leads them towards the latter.
Glancing around to see if anyone is spying, the nobleman peeks at Corrigan over his shoulder, shooting him an impish grin. "Race me there," he says, loud enough to be heard but his words rushed like he's telling secrets. "And don't you dare let me win. I'll know if you do."
Most of the time Corrigan quite enjoys undoing all the little bits and bobs that make up the garments of any young man of any standing -- even simple, coarse breeches have a few fiddly buttons that need coaxing free, after all. But looking at Kurt, with his excess of frippery, makes Corrigan think that perhaps it'd be much quicker and easier to simply tear the fabric open. With his teeth, if necessary.
The horse beneath him is idling towards a tempting patch of clover nearby, taking advantage of Corrigan's head being in the clouds, and it's only the issued challenge that has him snapping back to attention. He doesn't even bother hiding the smirk, reining Colt back onto the secluded path and inclining his head. "As you wish, my lord," he says smoothly, nudging the big gelding into a quick trot.
His horse is bigger than Elizabeth, but she has better lineage and breeding, so it could be anyone's race. It's cold outside, the chill air running through Corrigan's short-cropped hair, prompting Colt's mane to stream backwards, the big horse puffing and eager to fully let loose. Corrigan waits until he's sure Kurt is ready, then lets the reins loose, letting the gelding surge ahead.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-12-19 06:12 am (UTC)But against all odds, it seems that the young man is...genuinely interested in the answers to his questions. Part of Corrigan is suspicious, that maybe there's an ulterior motive -- has he misstepped? Did that nosy groom who caught him casually flirting with the grocery delivery boy say something? Corrigan tries to be especially cautious in his flirtations and dalliances, well-aware that he could be let go from his position and blacklisted from every respectable house in the country if anyone found out. Nevermind that half of the house staff are likely fornicating in the linen closets, not to mention the amount of nobles who are making passes at maids or kitchen girls.
His thoughts are interrupted by the mention of Congress and stables, both eyebrows arching as he meets the younger Hummel's eyes over the horse's back. Because of course he knows the name, knows of Burt Hummel and the magnificent horses he'd bred and raised. Without thinking, he says aloud, "Your father is -- Burt Hummel? Half the county has horses of his in their stables, and the other half wants to. I had no idea."
He's combing through the filly's mane now, and he's distracted enough that his hand slips a big, roughened fingers grazing over soft, smooth ones. The touch has something curling in his stomach, rising up into his chest, wanting and interest and hunger. He doesn't look away from the young man's face when he replies, "Corrigan Molloy. Sir." The respectful title is added quickly, almost as an afterthought.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-19 06:30 am (UTC)He did have a knack for breeding strong, gorgeous horses, didn't he? Kurt kind of hopes he'll return from Washington and get back at it someday.
The excited look of recognition on the man's face is preferable to the wary way he'd been eyeing him earlier, the suspicion, the respectable distance. Kurt would never want to be too forward, would never want to make any of the boys and men he flirts with uncomfortable, and if he detects even a hint of discomfort, he backs away immediately. It's a lonely life they lead, isn't it? One of constant paranoid caution. Constant vigilance.
But the thrill of such an innocent touch of fingers racing through him is worth all of the lonely nights, all of the excessive caution. The way something clenches in his chest when the man - Corrigan - can't take his eyes off of him. It makes Kurt feel hot all over, color flushing over his cheeks, that careful smile curling just a little brighter.
"Corrigan Molloy..." He rolls the syllables around in his mouth like candy. Then he holds his slender hand out properly. A touch is usually enough to tell, but Kurt likes to feel a man's handshake, feel if his touch squeezes, lingers. Just to be sure. "I'm Kurt. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corrigan."
no subject
Date: 2020-12-20 11:35 pm (UTC)Because it's dangerous, yes, but standing against it is like trying to shout down a thunderstorm, or hold back a tide. It could end in disaster, Corrigan is fully aware of this, but he reaches out all the same. His hand is warm and big and rough, fingers closing around the young man -- around Kurt's with a cautious reverence usually reserved for handling fine artwork. And then, his grip tightens, thumb moving to stroke over the younger man's wrist, over where his pulse beats. It's a shockingly intimate, bold gesture, and could very easily land Corrigan out in the streets.
But he's following a hunch here, a promise lingering in those intent, bright eyes, hiding behind that smile. A promise that if he reaches out, touches, caresses, it'll be worth it. It'll be beyond worth it.
"Pleasure's all mine," Corrigan murmurs, still not letting go of Kurt's hand.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-22 09:38 pm (UTC)It's always a gamble. But Kurt knows he's bet on the right horse this time.
"No, not yet. But it will be soon," he promises softly, coyly, eyes locked with Corrigan's dark ones, fingers squeezing gently around that big hand, still holding on. Kurt can feel the years of labor on the man's skin, those rough calluses easily felt against his hands, soft like a woman's but strong like a man's. There's a heat to the nobleman's gaze now, a knowing edge to his smile, cheeks flushing with color as they stand there, holding hands over Elizabeth's patient form.
Kurt is the first to pull away, but now he doesn't bother keeping his eyes to himself, doesn't make his hungry, wandering gaze a secret. And Corrigan makes an incredible sight to take in undisturbed. "I believe you were in the middle of tacking up my horse."
no subject
Date: 2020-12-24 04:54 am (UTC)And they've certainly never stood there, pretty and smirking like a cat that ate the canary, all tailored clothes and bright eyes and wicked intentions. Corrigan clears his throat again, nods, turning to distract himself with grabbing Elizabeth's saddle and bridle. He can feel Kurt's eyes on his back, nearly tangible as they rake over his shabby clothes and the shape of his body under them.
Granted, Corrigan...might be showing off a little. He lifts the heavy leather saddle like it's weightless, slides the pad onto the filly's back, then rests the saddle in place, tacks her up with practiced ease. When it comes time to switch the halter with the bit and bridle, he's distracted by his old habit -- rather than forcing the metal bar into the horse's mouth, cold and surprising, he warms it with one hand, then disguises it in a handful of oats, so Elizabeth eagerly takes it, chewing placidly, ears flicking.
He smiles a little, genuine warmth replacing the careful flirtation as he glances over at Kurt. "See, knew she was a sweetheart. Can't fool me, darlin'," he murmurs, carefully buckling the bridle in place.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-24 02:29 pm (UTC)Kurt too is momentarily distracted from his increasingly dirty mind by the groom's trick, quick and clever, making Elizabeth take her palm-warmed bit without complaint. His tender touch is surprising when seen in contrast with just how huge he is, broad and strong and almost intimidating, but still touching the filly so gently, cooing soft praise. He can't help but smile, warm and sincere, huffing out a soft chuckle.
"You must have some kind of magic touch, Corrigan. I don't think she's ever this agreeable, even with me," he says, waiting for the stable hand to finish his work. It's clear he's an expert, knows what to do, feels it in his bones. Only when he's done does Kurt gently take the reins, leather wrapping around his long, pale fingers. "How many are on hand in the stables today, Corrigan? Five grooms? Six?"
no subject
Date: 2020-12-27 06:11 am (UTC)Besides. Elizabeth would no doubt be alarmed if he suddenly pinned her master against the wall and had his wicked way.
Clearing his throat, Corrigan ducks to grab the grooming supplies, putting them neatly back in the bucket and trying not to look at the supple leather standing out dark against Kurt's hands. It would be an improper use of expensive riding supplies to use those reins for anything besides their intended purpose, such as wrapping them around those delicate wrists or that slender throat and tugging just enough to get a gasp --
"Five," he says abruptly, setting the bucket down too hard by the wall and making Elizabeth startle a little. "Ms. Pierce's brother required James's services with his new gelding." Corrigan tilts his head, slightly. "Why do you ask?" It's an impudent thing, questioning, but as long as he's taking risks...
no subject
Date: 2021-01-02 01:23 am (UTC)"Well," Kurt says, his tone revealing nothing - though his eyes when they meet Corrigan's once more are still dark and mischievous, communicating something far from the polite distance men of his status are supposed to have to the serving staff. "I needed to make sure the rest of the grooms would not be inconvenienced. Four should be more than enough to finish sweeping until James returns."
The younger man gestures to the strong, grey-speckled gelding two stalls from Elizabeth's, snorting softly and lazily chewing his hay. "Colt needs his exercise. You are to saddle him up and accompany Elizabeth and I to the lake." Kurt's tone is relaxed, friendly, but his words leave no room for argument.
Here's to hoping he hasn't misread the groom's intentions.
no subject
Date: 2021-01-04 01:24 am (UTC)But he doesn't want that. What he wants is those long-fingered hands smoothing over his bare skin, those eyes molten-hot and wanting, fixed to his own and that mouth somewhere that is decidedly improper. So he inclines his head slightly, saying nothing about how the weather is a touch too cold for lake riding, how the mist coming from the water makes observation of anyone -- especially in the more secluded, thicketed areas to the north side -- impossible. He assumes that this is exactly Master Hummel's design.
"As you wish," is all he says, eyes flickering up from under his lashes, mouth curling into a look that's a little too smug to be strictly a smile.
Tacking the gelding up is an easy task -- Colt is mild-tempered as a lamb, compared to Elizabeth -- and Corrigan is on the horse's back within moments. He's not nearly properly dressed, his loose white shirt a touch too flowing and casual, the neckline unlaced to help alleviate the heat he'd built up in saddling up Colt. He acts as if nothing at all is wrong, reining the gelding in step with Elizabeth and offering a deferential nod. "After you, sir."
no subject
Date: 2021-01-04 09:05 am (UTC)By the time Corrigan joins Kurt and Elizabeth at the mouth of the stables, the nobleman has managed to calm himself down somewhat, shaking his wildly excited nerves and impatient impulses as he waited, taking in the crisp air with measured breaths, letting the chill fill his lungs. Where Corrigan is perhaps a touch underdressed for a ride to the lake, Kurt is decidedly overdressed, nearly every inch of skin below the jaw covered with fabric, a multitude of buttons and ties and ruffles, all structured garments with sharp lines and curves. It leaves the impression of a gift to be unwrapped, making for more of an infuriatingly teasing vision than Corrigan does, who leaves very little to the imagination with his chest on display like that. He's stunning, tan and strong and damp with sweat, almost cocky as he trots out to meet him, unlaced and unbothered.
Kurt is glad for the lungful of cold to combat how hot his insides feel. "Very well. After me," he chirps, gently easing Elizabeth into a calm pace down the dusty road cutting through the property, splitting off into the town road heavy with wagon tracks and a more secluded forest path. Naturally, Kurt leads them towards the latter.
Glancing around to see if anyone is spying, the nobleman peeks at Corrigan over his shoulder, shooting him an impish grin. "Race me there," he says, loud enough to be heard but his words rushed like he's telling secrets. "And don't you dare let me win. I'll know if you do."
no subject
Date: 2021-01-09 11:27 pm (UTC)The horse beneath him is idling towards a tempting patch of clover nearby, taking advantage of Corrigan's head being in the clouds, and it's only the issued challenge that has him snapping back to attention. He doesn't even bother hiding the smirk, reining Colt back onto the secluded path and inclining his head. "As you wish, my lord," he says smoothly, nudging the big gelding into a quick trot.
His horse is bigger than Elizabeth, but she has better lineage and breeding, so it could be anyone's race. It's cold outside, the chill air running through Corrigan's short-cropped hair, prompting Colt's mane to stream backwards, the big horse puffing and eager to fully let loose. Corrigan waits until he's sure Kurt is ready, then lets the reins loose, letting the gelding surge ahead.