Folies
d’Amour
By
DRL
Part 3
The private hotel that Quatre conducted Trowa to was
not a hotel at all in the usual sense of the word. It was a large, elegant townhouse, situated in a fashionable
street. To all outward appearances it
was completely innocuous and absolutely anonymous, with no identifying markings
or signage on the exterior of the building, its only declaration being a brass
number on the entrance door. The
establishment offered, to those who could afford the considerable cost,
elegantly furnished bedrooms, and even more elegantly furnished suites of
rooms, to lovers who desired to entertain their beloved for a few hours in
luxury and in privacy. The house was
popular with men entertaining other men’s wives and also with men of Quatre’s persuasion,
entertaining other men.
As they entered the brightly lit vestibule, they were
greeted by a smartly dressed man of middle age, genial aspect and ingratiating
manner, who took their hats and sticks.
He addressed Quatre by name and assured him that ‘everything was in
readiness’, then he ordered a waiting footman to convey the couple to their
suite.
As they ascended the sweeping staircase, covered with
a plush red carpet into which their feet sank a full inch, Quatre stole a
glance at Trowa beside him. The young
man looked mildly curious, but there was no trace of the annoyance that Quatre
had feared. Hitherto there had been
nothing to indicate that building they had entered was anything more that what
it appeared to be, a sumptuously appointed private residence. However, Quatre was sure that his companion
was no fool. He was sure to have
guessed by now the true nature of the place to which he had been brought and
Quatre was watching for the slightest show of annoyance or disapproval.
The drawing and smoking rooms they passed were empty,
and when they reached a door at the end of the long 1st floor
corridor, the footman threw it open and preceded them into a large sitting
room, in which a roaring fire blazed in the marbled fireplace, despite the
clemency of the weather. Having assured
them that he was at their command, the footman withdrew and left them alone.
“Well,” Quatre said turning to face Trowa, “Here we
are.”
“Yes,” Trowa replied with an expression of amused
indulgence, “But where exactly are we?”
In order to avoid the question, Quatre crossed the
room to a small side table on which stood a decorative silver champagne
cooler. The foil-topped neck of a
bottle emerged from the cooler, nestled within a bed of ice. He withdrew the bottle and proceeded to open
it, decanting the contents into two champagne saucers. Trowa had joined him and was standing at his
elbow. He took the glass that Quatre
offered him and quirked an eyebrow.
“I do believe you have brought me to a house of assignation,
Mr Winner.” He said, but his green eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Do you mind terribly?” Quatre asked nervously.
“Not at all.”
Trowa replied. He raised his
glass. “Here’s to an interesting
afternoon.” They both drank deeply,
then Quatre relieved Trowa of his glass, took him by the hand and led him
through a doorway into a bedroom.
The room had a certain fin-de-siécle charm that seemed to please Trowa. He cast a long, appraising glance around the
room, taking in the appointments, from the long curtains of dark red velvet,
decorated with tasselled trim, to the vast bed, ornamented in white and gold
with an oval plaque of porcelain let into its woodwork, painted with a small,
chubby Cupid preparing to loose an arrow from his tiny bow. Quatre tore his eyes from his companion long
enough for him to slip quickly into an adjoining room. He emerged almost immediately, pulling the
door to behind him.
“Now my dear Trowa,” He said as he approached the tall
young man, “Are you ready for an adventure?”
He silently unfastened the buttons of Trowa’s coat,
keeping his eyes locked with his companion’s, watching for any sign of
disapprobation. He detected none, and
he gently slid the garment from Trowa’s broad shoulders and allowed it to fall
to the floor. Slowly and sensuously he
did the same with Trowa’s waistcoat, shirt, tie and trousers, until he stood
naked but for an exquisitely flimsy cotton undergarment that hid his manhood
from Quatre’s eager gaze (but only just).
Trowa stood in the graceful attitude of a dancer, one foot extended
slightly forward and his fingers loosely clasped behind his back, so that
Quatre could admire his slender figure.
As he allowed his eyes to drink in the sight before him, Quatre sighed
in delight.
“You are truly beautiful.” He murmured in a breathy whisper, “The most beautiful being I
have ever seen.”
Enraptured, Quatre sank to the floor and kissed
Trowa’s bare knees, his fingertips lightly caressing the backs of his long
thighs. By stages his hands moved up the
loose legs of Trowa’s diaphanous undergarment until he could squeeze and stroke
the tender cheeks of the tall young man’s buttocks. Eventually he gently pulled himself away and rose to his feet,
fearing that he was boring his pleasure-seeking companion, although Trowa gave
every indication of enjoying w hat was being done to him.
“Come,” He said decisively, and took Trowa by the
hand, “I am going to bathe you in champagne.”
Trowa’s green eyes opened wide and his languid
expression was replaced with one of genuine astonishment. Quatre knew that he had struck the right
note.
“In champagne,” He exclaimed. “How magnificent!”
“Every great beauty has been bathed in champagne by a
special admirer,” Quatre continued, “And as the greatest of them, you deserve
no less, and I shall consider it a sacred privilege to be allowed to perform
this sumptuous rite for you.”
He led Trowa into the room he had discreetly inspected
earlier. It was a spacious and ornate
bathroom, and around nine or ten cases of finest quality champagne were piled
neatly in a corner. Quatre settled
Trowa on a chair, having retrieved his glass of champagne from the bedroom, and
the tall young man sat, his bare knees gracefully crossed, sipping his wine and
watching in total fascination as Quatre discarded his jacket and set to
work popping corks and pouring fizzing
champagne into the large onyx bath. The
delicate fumes of the wine filled the air making Trowa’s eyes sparkle.
“But this is quite mad!” He exclaimed, laughing and Quatre thought that if he lived to be
100, he would never again hear a sound as beautiful as that laughter.
“Yes it is.”
He agreed, laughing with him as he stood, a bottle in each hand,
champagne streaming into the bath.
Quatre worked quickly, tearing open the cases,
unwiring the corks and opening the bottles with a deft twist, until he had
emptied the contents of around eight dozen bottles and the floor was littered
with foil, wires, corks and empty bottles.
“Now,” He exclaimed, “Your bath is ready, my prince.” He turned to Trowa and took his hands, one
in each of his own. Quatre lightly
kissed the palms of both hands and then the inside of each wrist, then he took
Trowa gently in his arms to kiss his adorable mouth. Trowa let out a moan of pleasure.
“Oh Quatre,” He breathed, using Quatre’s given name
for the first time, “I think I’m falling a little in love with you.”
Spurred on by these words and Trowa’s lapse into
familiarity, Quatre slipped the wispy cotton undergarment over the globes of
Trowa’s bottom and down his silky-smooth thighs to pool at his feet.
“You are truly beautiful.” He said, stepping back to fully take in Trowa’s glorious
nakedness.
“Truly?” Trowa
said, as if unsure.
“Utterly and breathtakingly beautiful.” Quatre answered. “Give me your hand.”
With great courtesy he helped Trowa into the
bath. He lay back in the pale gold
champagne, a sight that dazzled Quatre’s senses. The delicate pink tips of his nipples showed above the surface
and the rest of his long, svelte body and legs were visible through the
wine. Quatre gazed at him and wondered
at the good fortune that had made it possible for him to attract the interest
of a young man as beautiful as Trowa.
Those nipples of his were works of fine art in their perfection Quatre mused,
as much a delight to the eye of the connoisseur as to his sense of touch,
though he fully intended to explore the truth of this in due course. For the moment he was content to regale his
eyes with the sight of Trowa’s exquisite body.
His elegantly formed and beautifully proportioned sex lay cradled
between his slender hips in so artistic a manner that Quatre’s heart missed a
beat. To kiss it would be
enchanting! There, at the join of his
long thighs, nestled within thick cinnamon curls that simply invited the
fingers to comb through them.
“How the bubbles tickle,” Trowa exclaimed with a
tinkly little laugh that broke Quatre’s reverie, “I love it!”
“Open your thighs and raise your hips a little,”
Quatre suggested, “Let the bubbles burst against your most sensitive
parts.”
Trowa arched his eyebrows at the frankness of the
suggestion, but he crooked his knees and parted them as widely as the bath
allowed, raising his hips slightly.
“Oh,” He cried a few seconds later, “Oh Quatre, the
sensation is incredible!”
Quatre watched him for a while as his eyes half-closed
in his enjoyment of the tiny tickling of the champagne bubbles against the
tender flesh of his sex and the sensual nodule between the cheeks of his
bottom. Then throwing off the spell of
the naked beauty before him with reluctance, he tore open another case, popped
two corks and let the frothing wine pour down over Trowa’s pert nipples.
“Oh yes, yes,” Trowa moaned with delighted pleasure,
“Oh Quatre – how marvellous!” He arched
his back so as to raise his chest to receive the cascade of pale wine, his
expression one of surprise and pleasure.
Quatre quickly opened two more bottles and poured again from as high as
he could hold the bottles, directing the two streams of champagne onto the taught
pink buds, where the wine foamed and sprayed out in a great torrent.
Quatre noted a change in Trowa’s expression. The surprise had been replaced with that
look of slight hauteur that he had at first feared but had begun to love. Trowa’s thinking had adjusted to the
situation, he surmised, and he had now come to terms with receiving such homage
from so ardent an admirer, perhaps deeming it no more than was his due.
“Again!” Trowa
demanded when the bottles were empty, and again Quatre cascaded the foaming
wine onto his pink buds, which were now engorged and firm.
When the bottles were empty, Quatre set them down and
reached for a large fluffy towel. He
helped Trowa from the bath and wrapped him in the towel, which was large enough
to cover him from shoulders to knees.
Quatre led him back into the bedroom, laid him on the broad bed and
unwrapped him with a delicacy bordering on reverence. His own clothes were off in seconds and he was beside Trowa,
kissing and caressing him. Trowa lay
with his arms outstretched, hands clasped above his head, and sighed in great
contentment as Quatre kissed and suckled the tips of his nipples, relishing the
taste of the champagne.
“I am definitely a little in love with you.” He murmured for the second time.
“And I with you Trowa.” Quatre replied fervently, his lips moving over the flat plane of
Trowa’s stomach, his hand between his thighs, closing at last over the warm
treasure he had been denied at the ballet the previous evening. He pressed his lips to the damp curls that
also tasted of champagne and then closed them around the thick shaft that
protruded from them.
They were both a little drunk from the fumes of so
much wine. Trowa’s hands grasped him
firmly by the shoulders and pulled him upwards. At once Quatre slid on top of him and as Trowa legs moved apart,
brought his stiff projection to the tight pucker of Trowa’s rear entrance.
The thought had been in his mind earlier, after what
Trowa had told him of the dullness of his life, that he might well be a virgin
still. Quatre pushed firmly but gently
to overcome any such difficulty, but the ease of his entry proved Trowa to be
otherwise. At this supreme moment
Quatre tried to reign in his passion and to proceed at a canter rather than a
gallop to prolong the uniqueness of his first lovemaking with Trowa, but the
young man’s beautiful face so close to his own expressed such pure delight at
what Quatre was doing to him and the feel of that enchanting body beneath his
was so stirring that, try as he might, nothing could restrain the sensations
that overwhelmed him. His loins bucked
wildly and Trowa cried out in pleasure as Quatre’s passion erupted hotly within
him. Trowa himself fared no better as
his own passion poured forth scant seconds later.
Afterwards, they lay together in each other’s arms,
too spent to do anything more than kiss each other lightly, caress each other’s
hair and exchange murmured endearments.
“I’d better get you home or you will be late for
dinner.” Quatre said at length. Trowa sighed heavily.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He reluctantly agreed.
They rose, hurriedly dressed themselves and descended
the stairs to the vestibule, where they retrieved their hats and sticks and
went out into the street. Quatre hailed
a hansom and Trowa gave the driver an address in a fashionable street of
elegant townhouses, not far from the park where they met. They lowered the blinds of the cab and spent
the entire journey locked in each other’s arms, exchanging passionate kisses
and fervent endearments. When the cab
drew up outside Trowa’s house he kissed Quatre one last time and said,
“My name is Trowa Barton, my love. Send me word soon.”
Quatre rapped on the ceiling of the cab with his stick
and the driver moved off, while Quatre sat back and sighed contentedly as he
thought about how, in a few short hours, he had changed from a man deeply in
carnal lust to a man wholeheartedly in love.
The End