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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
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.