Visitation

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Title: Visitation
Author: j_flattermann
Pairing: Caspar Goodwood/Oliver Mellors
Rating: NC17
Warnings: None
Prompt(s): #11: perspicacity, gentlemen callers in stiff suits and a picture of an old caboose
Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Fandom crossover: Portrait of a Lady / Lady Chatterley



He had been called by his Lordship to report to the house. His Lordship informed him that they were expecting visitors and that they planned to hold a banquet. Game was needed for the kitchen and he had received a list of what they wanted him to provide. Oliver Mellors had glimpsed at the list, scratched his head, bowed and, putting his cap back on, left the study and his Lordship behind. He had hoped to bump into her Ladyship on the way out, but the dame was nowhere to be seen.

He grunted his misfortune and left the building whistling for his dog to follow him back into the woods.

Mellors thought they had given him warning early enough, but the next day saw the first gentlemen callers in stiff suits, as he used to call them.

Amongst them one figure stood out. Behaving awkward, outlandish. He asked the staff who the gentleman was and they told him that he was an American visitor, named Caspar Goodwood. The gent and her ladyship had a friend in common, an American heiress called Isabel Archer.


The next morning saw a very melancholy Mr. Goodwood walking through the woods, deep in thought, when he suddenly shrieked, screaming like a little girl over the sudden appearance of the dog barking at him. Goodwood looked up and saw a shed in the wood, reminding him very much of the odd caboose in his home town, only missing the wheels of course.


A man, bare chested, sweaty and hot, came around the hut whistling for the dog to make his retreat. Goodwood couldn't help himself but stare at the perfectly built stature of the man, who looked like a heathen god with the glittering sweat on his chest. The man spoke in a strange dialect and Goodwood couldn't understand a word he said. He followed the man around the hut and watched as he picked up the ax again and continued chopping wood. Goodwood adored the tension and flexion of the muscles while the man worked away and, spying the bench by the hut, Goodwood went there and sat down.


He tried to make conversation, but his companion seemed to be of an unknown obtuseness, as he only carried on with his work, grunting a reply once in a while.

Goodwood was just about to leave, when the man turned and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him into the shed. He blocked the door that there was no escape and Goodwood lifted his brow in curiosity. The man dropped his pants and stood before Goodwood in all the glory of gods creation. Goodwood gasped, his knees gave in and he knelt down, swallowed hard and his hand shakily moved forward urging to touch. Goodwood licked his lips and opened his mouth.

With an unexpected perspicacity the man came forward, grabbing Goodwood by the hair and pushing the outstretched hand aside. He pulled Goodwood's head back, bending himself down, and pressed his lips hard upon lips, his erection pounding against Goodwood's throat. Goodwood planted his hands upon the sweaty hips.

"Yer all the same!" he grunted, and stripped Goodwood's pants off, spreading his legs above his broad shoulders and pushing his fingers into Goodwood.

Caspar groaned, he remembered this from his days in school, all the boys had had sexual intercourse with each other. He remembered well, how good it had felt and he was ready to refresh these memories. He relaxed and Mellors pushed his member inside him. Both grunting and puffing, steaming, sweating until the climax is reached and they relax.

"Yer done that before, havn't ye?"

Goodwood only able to nod, reached out to touch the sublime body again. "Yes, but it never had felt like this." He paused, looking the other in the eyes. "I have to go back to the house now. Will you be here tomorrow, say, same time?"

The question, spoken softly with passion and so is the reply. "Aye, I'm here alright!"


Goodwood rearranged his clothes left the cabin and before he set foot back on the path to the house, turned and shouted "My name is Caspar. Caspar Goodwood. What is yours?"

"Mellors. I'm the gamekeeper, Mellors." Before the figure of the gentleman disappears, Mellors shouted "Oliver, call me Oliver!" Caspar chuckles, the fellow most certainly is perspicacious.

Comments

[stormatdusk.livejournal.com]

grunted his misfortune

nnngh. yeah, that works.

[j-flattermann.livejournal.com]

I am glad that it worked for you.