The Master Finale | manxman | (Book Four: The Master Collection)

IX - Shameless

Quaking as the dark-haired man retracted from Jasper's body, they both collapsed upon the floor of the stage then, listening to nothing but the breaths of one another while clarity and their active arousal diminished.

Several minutes seemed to go by as they stayed there in the ballroom, tired and unmoved until Timothy finally gathered the will to sit up all the way.

He shoved two hands into his dark curly hair, sitting with his back facing the blond nobleman. Although he couldn't lie that the entirety of his body was satisfied from this shared moment of intimacy, nothing about the position he was in right now matched something Timothy Creel would do, and suddenly...after so long of never feeling as he once did, Timothy saw traces of Broderick Thorne in him. This internal desire, the relief of being touched, touching and witnessing another's pleasure, and especially the fact that he let himself be lured into a sexual moment with Jasper, it was all something Timothy could never envision himself doing.

But Broderick was a whole different story.

"You regret this," Jasper said from behind him, voice sounding insecure.

Timothy glanced over his shoulder, meeting Jasper's weary eyes as he sat up as well, a shirt blanketed across his groin. "No," Mr. Creel reassured the other cautious man, "Misperception is all I feel, not regret. Never." Grabbing his trousers tossed a meter from him, Timothy stood and pulled them on.

"Stay with me then," the Master said, "Just for tonight if you haven't anywhere to be at dawn."

When the dark-haired man nodded, he and Jasper gathered the rest of their clothing into their arms, and while Jasper would have been alright walking up to his quarters, he was swept off his feet by Timothy after he blew out the candle, and together they ascended the stairs to his large chamber. After stepping into the second half of the room, Jasper was placed carefully down in his bed while Timothy shut and locked the door.

The only light source that brought proper vision to the darkness were the ceiling-high windows against the wall, silver moonlight seeping inside. The Master was still nude as he found comfort in the bed, gesturing for Mr. Creel to join him after the man showed hesitancy. He climbed up next to the blond lord beside him, laying back with his head in the pillows as Jasper then moved into his arms.

They laid there in silence for a time, neither of them falling asleep while the realization of what had occurred settled in. Jasper's whole body felt at ease, and although he was fatigued from the sex, he didn't want to fall asleep right now. A year ago, he couldn't have pictured himself as he was now, held and comforted in the arms of another man, but granted the absence of a single remorseful thought in his mind, Jasper was satisfied by him and Timothy's unexpected moment. He watched his fingers trace circles into the solid wall of the dark-haired man's chest, able to hear as his heart beat and watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his serene breathing.

In that instant, Jasper remembered what it was like to feel unperturbed.

Spying the several scars all over Timothy's chest, Jasper glanced up to the extensive one just above his collar bones. He ran his thumb over the length of it and propped himself up on one hand, "Where did you get all of these?" he asked. "It looks as though you have suffered a great deal."

"I kill people for a living," Timothy said, no shame in his voice. "And sometimes people fight back."

"You're not afraid, are you? Of death?"

Folding his hands behind his head as he lay there, Mr. Creel felt as Jasper ran his thumb over the past neck wound, the concern for his well-being clear as day in the Master's stare. "August," he said, "Two years ago. I was begged by a woman like Darcy and Juliette who became the third victim of a man who trapped and tormented vulnerable women in his home. When I arrived to his cottage in the late evening, I could see him through the windows of the kitchen cooking dinner for himself. I entered with my rifle in hand but somehow he heard me approaching. He ambushed me from the doorway, and we wrestled for control. With a blade in his hand, he swung defensively at me, causing just a few of the scars you see now. Able enough to restrain me against him, he was nearly strong enough to slice my throat, but the blade didn't cut as deep when he dragged it across me."