[Flashback] On a Lark (Victor & Quinn)

[Coltyn]

On a Lark The Forty-Sixth Day of the Spring Season, Five Hundred and Seven Years After the Valterrian ''The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.'' -Oscar Wilde

[Coltyn]

"...and this is exactly why I'll be calling it quits soon enough, Tyn," Derik Baker explained to his younger brother, Coltyn, as he dressed in what little there was of their matching costumes for this evening's festivities at the House of Vernon Lark. "Oh, come on," his sibling replied, with a bit of laughter in his voice, as he proceeded to work the first of two clamps onto his exposed left nipple, wincing just a bit as it pinched the bump that stood fully erect on his well-developed pec. "It's not...that...bad," he added as he adjusted the gold adornment, taking great care not to tug on it too hard. "Not that bad?" Derik barked. "Not that bad!" he repeated a bit louder from his place behind the dressing screen. "This is insane! We'd be better off going out there naked!" he continued to lament. "At least we'd have a shred of our dignity to cling to. But this...this is too much!" "Not enough. Too much. Which is it, Rik? It can't be both," Coltyn continued to jest, making every effort to get his brother to calm down and laugh a little. However, even the younger of the two Beautiful Baker Boys knew they were getting themselves in pretty deep on this particular evening, at this particular venue. "Ok, well, I'll let you be the judge of that," Derik replied as he stepped out from behind the screen. "Oh, maaaan," Coltyn let slip, in a near whisper, as his eyes came to rest on the striking vision that was his older brother. Muscles the color and texture of polished bronze rippled and rolled as the expertly built, golden-haired, bright blue-eyed, Ravokian male strode into place before his awe-struck sibling. There was no way the man standing before him was on the verge of celebrating his thirty-first year of birth. He could easily pass for Coltyn's twin, who would be turning only twenty-one in two seasons time. "Damn, Rik, you...you look..." "Ridiculous?" "Ah-may-zing!" Coltyn declared as his eyes continued to feast on every aspect of his brother's beautiful body, which was on full display, save the few inches that were covered by a pair of red leather chaps and a matching leather pouch. "Shut it," Derik barked as he playfully swung at his sibling. "Hey, you were the one who booked this party," Coltyn snapped back as he too playfully swung his thickly muscled arms, making contact every few swings. "I'm just here to keep you in line." "You? Keep me in line?" Derik laughed in return. "That's almost as funny as that clip-on earring ya got there," he continued to laugh as he managed to flick the gold hoop in his brother's ear. "Yeah, almost as funny as that," he mocked. Coltyn just smiled at this point and allowed his brother to pick on him. It was good to hear him laughing again, regardless of the fact that it came at his own expense. If they were going to make it through the night, they would both need to remain as upbeat as possible, for as long as they could. If the rumors were true, tonight was going to be daunting and potentially dangerous. However, the mizas were greatly needed and, if Derik stuck to his word - which he usually did - this would be their last venture together. "Hey, lover boy, snap out of it," Derik was suddenly saying as he clicked his fingers in the air before Coltyn's face. "We better get downstairs, before the master of the house sends someone up here to bust our nuts. Got it?" "Got it," Coltyn confirmed as he reached for one of the two red leather masks that were provided by their host. "Let's do this!"

[Victor Lark]

Victor had never been very fond of parties, and he hated Masques in particular. He liked to see a person’s face, if he was to be forced to talk to them, to dance with them, to bed them. But they were his Aunt Leonora’s favorite, and it was her birthday, or something. At least she was not so serious about everything, like his mother and Yvette were. He could see them, in their respective corners of the giant pink-gold room, chatting beautifully through the feathers on their faces and the wine in their goblets. He glared at them for making him be there, for the scolding Alessa Lark had given him as she tugged at his lapel and smoothed his hair:

“Enough of your foolish midnight capers. They’re child’s play, and you’re no child. You’ll sleep like a nobleman, tonight.”

Only the women and slaves wore anything ornate on their faces; the male Larks and their true guests shared the same plain black mask. Like his cousins’, Victor’s eyes were polished silver coins within the sea of ebon silk. Combined with his soft face and slight stature, the youth was yet another example of his family’s penchant for beauty in all its forms. And, try as he might, his sour attitude did little to tarnish it.

Perhaps out of rebellion, Victor found his eyes drawn to the slaves. They were more decoration than anything else, dressed in nearly nothing or in so many jewels and drapes and things that they no longer seemed human (assuming they were, in the first place). There were no tables; all refreshments were held by slaves, some still as statues. Some danced or fed guests or sat close to them. Three were singing, or maybe those were hired men—Victor could never tell the difference. Scouring the room for an interesting set of lips, he stole a drink from a nearby plate, took a gulp, and winced.

“Glad to see you finally found the balls to join us,” mentioned the voice of an elder cousin. Vernon was named after his father, but he inherited none of their patriarch’s poise and subtlety. Nonetheless, he was skilled in the arts of business and arbitration, and was heir apparent to his father’s fortune. He elbowed his cousin in the side. “I bet I could claim a Warren girl before you could.”

Petch off, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “I bet you couldn’t get any.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Are you deaf?” He punctuated the jibe with a short sip from his sour cup. “They’re your cousins by law, you know.”

“They’re not Larks. Doesn’t count if you don’t have the blood.”

“Never stopped you from fucking Moanna.”

“It’s true what they say about her, you know.”

“I hear she’s pregnant,” Victor lied.

Vernon’s eyes went wide behind his mask; Victor saw it through the dismissive smile beneath. “She isn’t.”

Victor shrugged. He turned his hand, and the sour red poured onto the rug beneath his feet. The murmuring slurp of its impact was impossible to hear over the party’s din, but Vernon saw it well enough. He glared at the younger Lark with a question on his hanging mouth.

“I’ll tell your mother I did it, if you take Lilly to bed,” he offered, and his eyes reached across the room at her. Daughter of Leonora’s brother-in-law, the eldest Warren girl was also the prettiest. Her dark auburn hair curled at her ample breasts, her full lips pouting beneath the pair of shimmering blue butterfly wings that were her mask. Victor nodded at her, and Vernon fidgeted.

“And if I don’t?”

“Oh look, she’s smiling at Quinn.”

The fresh light on Vernon’s face drooped into a hasty frown. “Deal.”

Victor watched him leave, raising his empty cup to his lips before he realized that he had no more to drink. Flat-lipped, he stole another from the tray beside him and mumbled to the human statue that held it, “I hope she hits him.”

[Coltyn]

"Rik, honestly, living statues?" Coltyn lamented as he reached for a tray of drinks. "I guess I was hoping for something a bit more...interactive." "Shut it, Tyn," Derik instructed his sibling as he made his way toward the door that would take them from the kitchen to the main dining hall and beyond. "It's work, which we need, so, just follow my lead and do as you're told," he continued to instruct Coltyn as they made their way along the opulent hallway. "Oh, and, don't forget, we're slave boys, too." "I...I don't know about this," the younger brother noted now as they stood in the doorway, mere feet from the largest gathering of Larks he'd ever seen. "Tyn, come on, what's wrong?" Derik questioned with genuine concern in his deep voice. "Nothing. Nevermind. Let's do this," Coltyn replied as he began to feel foolish for behaving as if he were a virgin to such affairs. "You're not...nervous...are you?" "N...no. Not at all." "Aww, you are...aren't you?" Derik confirmed, knowing his brother all too well. "I'm good. It's all good. Really. Come on. Let's do this," Coltyn replied a bit too quickly, which only gave him away even more. "Come here, Tyn," Derik directed his sibling in a far more soothing voice. "N...no." "I said, come here," Derik repeated a bit more firmly before running his tongue over his full lips. "We...we shouldn't. Not..." However, before Coltyn could get the word "here" out, his brother was kissing him...deeply...passionately...without any hesitation or fear of being caught and it felt...oh gods...it felt... Fantastic! Derik's lips were soft, yet firm, and they were...gods...they were moist without being sloppy...and they felt so good and so right...and the kiss in its entirety...the kiss felt so... Liberating! Pulling away, ever so slowly, all Coltyn could do was smile as his eyes locked with those of his sibling. "Ya good to go now?" Derik questioned, with a smile of his own, as he straightened the glasses on his tray. Giving his brother a quick nod, he brushed by him and proceeded to snake his way through the crowd. Soon enough, he found the perfect spot to offer up his services, balancing the silver tray of drinks on the very tips of his fingers. Before long, one of the guests - an elegant young man - helped himself to a refreshment as he made some offhanded remark about another guest. Assuming that a living statue should remain silent, Coltyn refrained from making a comment, however, a smile did fall into place upon his lips, which, he continued to assume, was a safe enough reply.

[Quinn Lark]

“You’re kidding me!”

Quinn lifted his glass between them, bowing his chin. He worked to keep his mouth a flat line, as if to impose some weight on his story; it only served as a threadbare cover for his japery. “I kid you not, my dear Lilly. Rhysol Himself could have dropped His trousers and shat upon the dais and it would not have gotten such a glorious reaction from a crowd of smarmy wine-sippers than The Sultry Slattern did.”

“What of your wife? What did she think?”

“Why, she was my subject!”

A butterfly’s waif-thin wings shuddered as Lilly loosed a chorus of laughter from behind a clenched fist. “Gods, Quinn, you’re awful.”

“Ah, but would I be half as interesting if I wasn’t?” Grinning lips dipped into a delicate glass of sour red, and he leaned forward, caught scent of lavender trapped between tawny locks, and murmured a playful dare, “Try to keep that captivated smile.”

Quinn straightened, and doffed an invisible cap. When he caught Vernon in his silvered gaze, the simpering artist feigned surprise, as if he had only just noticed his advance.

“Cousin,”

“Mordeco,”

There was mockery in a wince, an egregious bow, and Quinn parted from Lilly Warren and her new found burden, “She’s all yours,” you nepotistic cunt.

A half-empty glass of warm wine was abandoned in favor of two more, cradled between four fingers. Quinn was alone in a sea of masks and scantly-garbed slaves, having relinquished his night’s entertainment to suit a man whose father’s approval meant more than that of his own wife. But she wasn’t here. He’d left her with Charlie: a boy of five, an encumbering blessing, and a tether to a cold, loveless marriage.

Thoughts of Evonne the sultry slattern left him when he spotted his cousin.

Even obscured by a black mask, Victor’s modest stature went unmatched by his peers. They were half a generation apart, but his aunt’s bastard seemed free and unfazed by the pressures their small society imposed on most—something Quinn could not help but find respectable, if not amusing.

“Alessa let you out this time, did she?” One glass went down easy, and parted from his overburdened hand on a smiling statue’s platter. Sour red teased his tongue and warmed his chest, made his peripheral thoughts and the parade of masks unimportant. Quinn rounded his cousin, snaked an arm around his narrow shoulders, and followed a slate gaze with one of his own. Vernon was fingering a delicate butterfly wing; all the amusement had drained from Lilly’s lips. “Victor,” he laughed, “You little shit.”

[Victor Lark]

“Watch your step.”

His eyes were trained on Vernon and Lilly, watching closely for how their mouths moved, their heads tilted, their hands travelled. Whatever their masks stole from him, he could forgive for the comfort of hiding behind his own. He did not even have to look at his cousin as the man rocked him by the shoulders, forcing one foot to grope at air before he found his balance again. He brought up his drink, took a hard swallow, and licked his lips of the red that lingered.

“Don’t know why he thinks there’s any use in seducing her,” he replied with an already loosed tongue. “Everyone knows you just have to fill them with wine to take them home. They’ll do anything to get in with Uncle’s lot.” He did not have to say which one. He stepped out of Quinn’s grasp, folding his arms like rebellion and tucking the foot of the glass in the hook of his elbow.

The slave, or whatever he was, stood between them then, smiling that stupid smile. Victor eyed the bejeweled body, searching his bare chest for gooseprickles, and decided he could blame it for the seeping stain at their feet. He looked back at the scene across the room. “They’re not even real nobles.”

Vernon had dropped his hand, but not without caressing the girl’s arm. Lilly scratched her neck behind her hair and gave that polite nod that all girls could somehow replicate, then turned to crane around the room for some other sight. She stopped a moment too long when her iridescent mask flashed at Victor, or rather Quinn, but ultimately could not be bothered to act on whatever thought had crossed her little mind.

Victor should have asked how the married man had covered ground where his younger cousin had not, but he did not care enough about pleasantries to suffer through the details. He gave a long hard look at the human statue, waited for him to blink before he finally bowed distractedly to his cup. “She says I need to sleep like a Lark tonight,” he explained with half-hearted disdain. “Like I don’t know how.”

[Coltyn]

Coltyn was familiar with long hard looks, such as the one the young man just gave him, however, what he wasn't familiar with was being treated as if he didn't matter. Sure, he and his brother were hired to do a job, but the Ravokian preferred to be a part of the festivities, not just a pretty thing to be glanced at and ignored. Perhaps he was spending too much time in one place. Maybe it was time to mix and mingle. Ensuring that the two men were well situated with fresh drinks, Coltyn first gathered the empty glasses that were starting to pile up here and there and then he made his way toward the bar, which was located just outside the kitchen. Disposing of the empties, he then proceeded to refill his tray. He would take a spin around the room and maybe, if it were at all possible, catch a few words with his brother. Strutting around the room, Coltyn began to feel a bit more hopeful about the evening, the party, and his place in it. As he served the guests, they took the time to tossle his hair or run their fingers along his tight abs, as well as his exposed backside. One guest went as far as to grope his pec and tug on the ring in his nipple, which caused a slight moan to escape his lips. Now this was what he was looking for. A little interaction went a long way in Coltyn's book. He wasn't looking to be the center of attention. No, not at all. But to be appreciated, even just a little, made him feel worthy of his position in life. He was here to entertain the guests, not behave like a piece of furniture. Well, that's what he thought to be the case up until the moment he heard a familiar voice in his ear. "Cool it," Derik muttered as he nudged his sibling into a corner. "We're not here to make friends and influence people. Got it? So you better cool it, before you get us both in trouble." "But..." "No, Tyn. There's no 'but' about this. Do as you're told and get your arse back in its proper place," Derik informed his younger brother as he motioned with his strong chin toward the spot where he began the evening. Not wanting to cause a scene, Coltyn did as he was told. He returned to where the two young man were and repositioned himself as best he could without drawing too much attention to the fact that he had taken his leave. It sounded as if the conversation was still on the subject of sex, which was interesting enough, but, even in Coltyn's mind, talk was rather cheap. He'd rather see firsthand what a man was capable of, not hear about it after the fact. Men were known, after all, to exaggerate their conquests to garner some form of respect from those they knew. Were these two guilty of such embellishments?

[Quinn Lark]

“Sleep like a Lark,” Quinn rolled his eyes, “She wants you to fuck noble girls, is what she wants.”

It occurred to Quinn that he had never seen Victor at gatherings beyond tedious birthday parties and family events. No, of course not—Victor was young. Fourteen? Fifteen? Barely a man, his mother still doted over him. A candid laugh caught in his throat and he feigned a cough. A grin split his face, and he tipped the glass between his teeth, toying with the red that threatened to spill down his chin, if he was not careful.

“Noble girls care too much, even the fake ones.” Quinn found the bottom of the second glass, and forcibly slammed its foot against a tray that had dared deviate from them without a word of apology. His newly freed hand dipped beneath his black and silver brocade vest to fish out a pair of slender cigars, handing one off to his younger cousin before striking a match and lighting them both. “They want more.

“You’re better off sticking it in a slave, or some girl whose parents don’t mean anything—or better yet, something that won’t give you a child.” An olive hand discarded the match in a wine glass before it snapped down to the living statue’s stomach, driving his pinky into a shallow navel, and lower, leaving a trail with abrasive nails that quickly flushed pink. His palm stopped where crimson leather began. “Sooner or later, a woman will give you a child. And children are a pain in the ass, especially when the whore gets sick of you and leaves you with him.”

Quinn’s hand fell away, but not without tossing a sideward glance at the presumed slave. “Sow your seed in him all you want, and it’s got no place to grow.”

Cold steel flew back across the room, settling on Vernon Junior and Lilly, whose arms were linked as they shared their glasses like a couple on their wedding day. It seemed she’d gotten over whatever warmth of charm he’d left her with. Quinn laughed so that he did not sigh, and pushed a lungful of fragrant smoke through his nose.

[Victor Lark]

“I’m not an idiot,” Victor rejoined. “I know what she meant.”

He tried not to think of that meaning, even after he had teased their cousin with similar threats. As much as he could joke about it, Victor had little experience with which to inflate his tender youth’s pride—and that little was enough to make him wary. The older Lark’s offspring was the inevitable end to such exploits as these, and the circumstances of his marriage were no secret. It stilled his tongue to consider himself so committed.

And so he turned his head from the bitterness of Vernon’s successes to the man at their side. Adorned like a slave, he was too tall for the young Lark to bother glimpsing his face. Victor had thought him gone, excused to fetch more wine or entertain some beckoning quest. But he had come back, and he still had that stupid smile on his face. Clearly Vernon was going to win the bet, but Victor was not about to admit to his aunt that he was responsible for Leonora’s rug.

So he wrapped a knuckle and thumb on the outer edge of the slave’s plate. “Maybe I will,” he said to Quinn, with a mostly charming grin, then pulled down. The thing toppled to the ground with the whole of its contents, colliding almost soundlessly with the plush rug. One woman turned back with disdain at them, but the slight was not otherwise noted. Victor stepped away from the seeping puddle. He held his breath as he turned back to his family’s poor employee.

“Your fault.” He tugged almost gently on the chain that hung from the man’s nipple, an attempt pull him to eye level. “What are you gonna do about it?”

[Coltyn]

At first, the brush of a single finger against Coltyn's exposed skin felt nice, but then it found his navel and suddenly there was a jolt of pain. It dug, deeply, into his shallow button, as if it were looking for buried treasure. However, as quickly as it entered, it came out, and continued down along his firm stomach, until four more joined in and hovered over the mound of his groin. Tensing up just a bit, expecting to be publicly groped, the moment passed without any additional fondling. Releasing the slightest of sighs, Coltyn's focus shifted from one cruel Lark to the other. Cruel, because, in an instant, his carefully balanced silver tray containing four crystal glasses full of red wine were suddenly sent soaring to the carpet below. "Shyke," Coltyn muttered more to himself than to anyone else as he swiftly dropped to his knees, his hands flying out to gather the toppled items. Gods only knew what he would do about the soiled carpet. "I, uh," he stammered as he attempted to blot the carpet with... What exactly was he going to use? He began to look about when, suddenly, he was drawn up by his nipple ring. Wincing just a bit, his eyes locked with those of the guest. "I believe I need to go fetch a cloth, sir," Coltyn replied as he made every effort not to pull away before being permitted to do so. The fact that he had even spoken was probably going to result in further punishment. This was turning out to be a rather daunting evening.