When next he stirred, his mouth was dry. He stirred to wet it it, and by stirring brought himself to awareness again of the pleasantness of his situation. His senses filled with the feel of nice linen, the smell of another body, the warmth of the fire, until it all together with only half-halted dreams became the imagined presence of another. He let his hand trail to the pit of his own throat, feeling the way even his own touch could make the night less cold.
His mind wandered cautiously back into sleep, sure that finding his own fingers against his skin would destroy the pleasant dreams between times awake. Curling in, he cautiously brought the image of the evening to mind, finding in memory's eye that his staring into the fire had caught more than he had realized...
Waking red cheeked and thirstier, he took a deep breath, gratifying full of the scent of the shirt. His sigh of happiness came out louder than he intended, and he heard the rustling of blankets next to him. He held his breath, freezing where he was, but even the incautious slip wasn't enough to stop what he had already begun. Pause, maybe, but not halt; he fitfully tried to let himself drift.
Just as his eyes had again gotten heavy, he heard the rustling repeated, and this time he could feel it against his back. Sometime during his half-sleep, Ellis had rolled over and gotten nearer to him, no doubt responding to the slow lowering of the fire as it burned out. After a moment's wait, Harry sighed again, pushing his back ever-so-gently against Ellis, hoping he wouldn't wake.
He had played this game before, only in much more desperate situations, and with much more assurance of woe betiding him if he was discovered. Rolling too close to Ellis when firmly wrapped in his blankets would get him a teasing; when he was with his master, and huddling with Jon for both their sakes, he had needed to have much more careful hold on his body's response. There was nothing but thin rags between he and Jon.
Which had its own appeal, to his mind. He called on that memory – squalid as it was, it was what he had – letting his back push against Ellis a little more to make the feeling complete.
It worked wonderfully. His blood moved warm through his veins, until he could feel the wanting rhythm in his gut beginning its slow trek down to harden him. He buried his mouth against his elbow to make certain he would make no noise, enjoying the sensation of attraction itself for a while.
He didn't have long to enjoy it. Even as he called his imaginings to a halt, he felt the rustling against his back again, instantly worried he had pushed too hard. His eyes came open, and he tried to relax his posture to seem asleep, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellis sit up.
Harry, prudent as he was, had no desire to go through the litanies again. He waited.
Ellis turned towards him.
“Oi,” he whispered gently, “ye still cold?”
Harry didn't respond, keeping his eyes fixed dead ahead for fear closing them now would give him away. He felt Ellis shift again, hesitantly. Then he felt something strange indeed – like a hand on his back, poking at the folds of his blanket. Ellis lowered himself back down – Harry could see that far – but he didn't go back to his own bundle of blankets. He pressed against Harry's back, body so close, Harry swore he could feel Ellis' breath against the back of his head.
Panic hit his blood like ice, fighting the new and eager warmth in the pit of his stomach. The idea that Ellis was simply cold himself, and wanted Harry's warmth occurred to him quickly, but did nothing to calm his gut. He shut his eyes, unsure of what the next step was – he certainly could no longer indulge himself with Ellis that close.
Could he?
Now that he could feel Ellis actually pressed to him, actually with an arm over his side, actually holding him, he felt his length might weep itself dry without his interference. Gentle touch would do, and how often would Harry have the chance to feel as if someone was with him? But, of course, if Ellis woke...
Remembering the beating in the ally chilled him, but even that didn't dim his physical need. Fear of being kicked to death was distant, and the chance to have a very satisfying evening was nigh. Either way, he couldn't act yet.
It was a long wait while his mind went in furious circles and his stomach – and lower – turned to painful knots. Quite unbidden by him, the imagining of breath against the back of his neck cause his whole body to shiver, and he pleaded that the blankets were still thick enough, Ellis wouldn't feel his squirming in the fight to keep his body calm.
Ellis did feel it, apparently, a wakeful noise Harry couldn't parse coming from the gypsy's throat. He could feel Ellis' weight shifting, his hand on the top of the blankets, very gently pulling Harry closer...
It was so slow, he was sure Ellis didn't want him to wake. The agony of trying to keep himself still while Ellis coaxingly pulled him nearer was unspeakable. He should have begun the process of untangling his want before now, when the very idea of coaxing himself back to limpness without satisfaction was painful.
When Ellis' hand touched the back of his neck, he twitched well before he could stop it. Ellis' hand froze, and Harry could feel the roughness of the fingers against his skin, the palm brushing close to the little hairs on the back of his neck. He prayed Ellis wasn't close enough he could feel Harry swallow hard at the new-formed lump in his throat, eyes squeezed shut with the effort. After a long stillness, Ellis kept going, gently guiding his own arm into the place of the one Harry was using to cradle his head.
There was no doubt now – Harry could feel him breathing behind his ear, wetness of his breath making him alternate warm and chill as he breathed in and out. His head settled, Ellis' other hand began a slow trek down Harry's back, pulling away the blankets that kept their bodies separate and putting them over himself as well. Gradually Harry could feel his whole body shifting with Ellis' careful breath as Ellis' chest pressed to his back, Ellis' stomach meeting the curve of his spine; there, he stopped.
There was nothing but breathing. He could feel when Ellis turned his head according to the heat of his exhaling against the skin of Harry's neck. As if deliberating, Ellis hesitated, breath changing to a long sigh of settling in. Ellis' free hand slowly came to rest on Harry's hip, weight of it reaching easily through the blankets.
He began to put his head down, and Harry could've cried. His insides hurt, a mixture of trepidation and want twisting them into a solid unmoving lump of pain. He could not pray fast enough that it would be over soon, that he would either expend himself and ease the burning of his belly or that Ellis would fall soundly asleep and put no more unknowing pressure on him.
Ellis couldn't know what turmoil he was causing. Harry might've been incautious in his pushing against him, but he had hardly revealed himself. Ellis had been worried about him, anyway, being too cold because of the walk back the house...
Dry-mouthed with sobriety, the thought occurred to Harry that, even now, most of the Family would be back at the pub, passing out on the benches and around the fire. They were long-standing customers to the proprietress, and they were too drunk and flush to be made to leave. Nobody was going to brave the weather to come to the ken.
The uneven stubble left on Ellis' chin scraped against the skin behind his ear, and Harry let out a whimper he could no more have controlled than he could rope the moon. The touch turned into brushing, Ellis' breath rustling against his ear, and then he pressed lips under Harry's ear.
Harry nearly caught him with jerk of his shoulder up in a shudder, but Ellis was too fast in moving away. Bringing his hand up Harry's body, he pulled the blankets down to wrap a rough hand over his shoulder, forcing it down to make room for him to kiss at Harry's neck.
Harry's heart was beating like a rabbit's, fear quickening his blood and causing him to sweat in spite of the cold. He panted now, eyes still pressed closed, and whimpered freely, unconsciously begging for what mercy he might get. Pulling down the wide collar of Harry's shirt to get at more skin, Ellis continued wordlessly plant kisses across him, scraping rough palms and stubble against Harry's skin.
His hand pulled more insistently as it trailed down Harry's body, stopping to lay a firm grip on his elbow, or his wrist, pushing clothes out of his way to run hard calloused fingers across over Harry's skin and watch it redden. The blankets he had pulled over them a second ago, he began to push away. Harry heard want in the halting of his breath, and he knew.
Ellis was going to bugger him.
Two years of wandering, sticking to himself, shunning company and starving and freezing and in the end, with two pulls of gin and a couple weeks of kindness, he would be turned to a punk.
He prayed it would not hurt. He prayed to God that it would not hurt, and he might not be too harmed.
Harry had curled in, in as much as he could without being seen to fight it. The time for fighting had been earlier, when he had been too stupidly ready to fall for Ellis' game, before Ellis had taken him so firmly in hand. He was too small, and there was no doubt in his mind that he couldn't stop Ellis, not and live. Ellis had beaten a man to death for a jacket; what harm he wanted to give to Harry, Harry would have to take.
Nothing happened for a moment. He could still feel Ellis against him, still feel to hand resting on his arm, and the breath against his back, but nothing else happened. The hand came back up to his shoulder, pulling him back, and he again felt gentle lips against his neck and shoulder.
The pounding of his heart eased, if only because it could not beat at its current speed for any longer. He had to gasp for breath, and began to feel anger at the cruelty of waiting. What else could he do? Did Ellis want signs of fealty for the pain he would give, as Harry's master had?
“Harry...” Ellis whispered.
Cracking his eyes open, Harry glanced back, only to see Ellis staring at him, hesitance in his eyes. Harry wondered at himself, that he might see hesitance in them now, as he had reflected on the kindness he had thought he had seen in them before.
Ellis reached a hand down and took Harry's chin, turning his face up, though Harry didn't want to see. Ellis leaned down and kissed him.
It was not long, but it was Harry's first kiss, so he did not have any means by which to judge it. The invasion of Ellis' tongue into his mouth caused a piteous whimper, seeming to him somehow as a physical warning of the invasion to come. As suddenly as he had done it, Ellis seemed to give up, retreating back to pressing his lips against Harry's back and neck, hand roving twice as eagerly to put Harry's body into place. In place though his body was, Harry's mind reeled.
But by the time he had any chance to think about it, Ellis had moved on, pulling up his shirt and letting his hand run over the soft, untouched skin normally shielded by his clothes. That Harry seemed to shiver and turn goose-bumped under his touch only excited him. Lips still tingling, Harry tried to get his brain to do something other than stubbornly report the still-strong responses of his groin to Ellis' hand, to register each shiver of fear and cold at every touch of rough lips against his neck, and to remind him of the fact that he was going to be hurt and could no more do anything about being hurt than he had ever been able to.
Ellis' hand trailed over some spot near his hip, and Harry let out a whimper that shocked his heart back into motion. Belatedly, he realized that Ellis was pushing away the last of the blankets, that still shielded his persistent and unattended hardness. Harry squirmed, making some effort to hide, but it was far too late.
Harry flushed from privacy upward, whole body blossoming red. Grinning, Ellis ran his hand down Harry's side, bringing it up along his buttocks as if to relish the whole area.
Turning away in shame only revealed the back of his ear for more kissing, which Ellis did, whispering, “Gor, boy, didn' dey teach ye what ta do wit' one o' dem?”
Groaning, Harry hid his face as far as he could into Ellis' arm. Placating kisses brought down the red in his cheeks, and Harry felt the terror in his gut swerving back towards teasing.
That was Ellis' teasing voice. Like the kindness in his eyes, it brought a tinge of sickness to him that he could still hear it, still know it – the mental equivalent to the physical fact that he could still be hard and ready when all he wanted to do was curse himself for a fool and get away with as little pain as possible. Ellis kissed at Harry's blushes, and he touched at Harry's skin, and he reveled at Harry's body...
Harry swallowed, grave uncertainty rising in his chest which he could not afford to give thought to, lest it prove untrue.
But wasn't it true that Harry had felt attraction for Ellis? Wasn't it true that he responded to the presence of other men in the way a woman should? Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was how he was supposed to be used. Maybe trying to become a thief rather than a catamite had been pretentious of him – Ellis was a real rogue, if any was, and didn't it seem a real rogue would know exactly what to do with him? Maybe he should be glad it was Ellis, who at least he had some fondness for.
He still shivered.
God, let it not hurt too much.
God, let Ellis be kind to him, even once he had finished.
He whimpered again as Ellis' rough palm scraped over the skin of his stomach. Ellis traced a line down the center of Harry's belly with his thumb, pausing just as he grew near where Harry's length waited.
“Well,” Ellis murmured, “I kin show ye.”
It was more of a question... it was enough of a question, Harry felt his blood begin to boil again. Taking a deep breath, he set his lips, bidding all parts of his body be limp and cooperative as he burrowed his forehead into Ellis' elbow while Ellis carefully rearranged them.
The rearrangement included pulling Harry's hips until they were cradled in Ellis', and for the first time, Harry felt Ellis' length hard against him, sliding into the trough of his buttocks. The very closeness seemed to draw a groan from Ellis, as he pushed against Harry again, bringing it rubbing against the cleft, before he brought his hand away from holding Harry's hip in place. The kisses ceased, and Ellis ran his tongue over his palm determinedly, while Harry tried to make sense of the pulse resting behind him... or, rather confusingly 'between'. As Ellis pushed close again, Harry's fear returned like a stab to his stomach, only to die as Ellis laid his hand around Harry's shaft.
Harry had yet to feel any hand but his own on himself, and the sensation of Ellis' coarse palm, wet and warm, made him cry out in surprise. He could feel more than hear Ellis' chuckle at his amazement through how close their bodies were pressed, but Ellis wasted no time being amused. Deft as a thief should be, Ellis pulled back Harry's cloak of skin with deliberate slowness, resting his thumb over the bead of wetness standing on his tip. Gently, more gently than his callouses and scars should've allowed, he let his thumb stroke the little bead away, rubbing to the lip of Harry's head and back without taking the warm grip of his palm away.
Harry could no longer think, the sensations of want and pleasure and fear all essentially amounting to same racing of his blood, the same shifting of his body so firmly trapped by Ellis'. A squirm to plead for escape couldn't help but brush their bodies together, a twitch to shy away from Ellis' grip only pushed Harry against Ellis' cock, a pulse of fear and a pulse of want passed very similarly through a heart overloaded. He no longer bothered withholding his whimpering – what good would it do? – but let them all add to the general plea of mercy and satisfaction. If there was any good in the world, they would happen in one and the same action.
Ellis seemed to enjoy his distress, or at least, to be able to understand it, nuzzling and kissing and pressing close as he slowly built to a steady stroking Harry's shaft. All the attentions Ellis laid on him couldn't break the barrier of Harry's terrible confusion, but the stroking of his desire at least promised an end to a want grown painful. He may have intended to draw Harry on for much longer – at least it seemed as if he had not gotten near the amount of vigor he was prepared to use – but Harry couldn't hold out very long. With a half-choked cry of surprise, Harry spilled himself with a force he had never felt before, hips twitching his shaft into Ellis' grip even as he paid out.
Harry could feel Ellis' grin against his neck as Ellis took his hand away, running his own sticky fingers by each other. Sensing he was being made fun of, Harry felt his blush return automatically, as if Ellis had only been teasing him and not taking a survey of his seed. The familiarity of the blush caused Ellis to nuzzle into him again, moving his hips to slide his still-beating shaft against Harry more assuredly, as if reminding him he still had a job to do.
The jump of Harry's nerves at being reminded paled in comparison to what it had been before; some of his trepidation seemed to have evacuated with his spirit. Or, at least, he was too tired, too aware that he would no escape. A beating was a beating; he supposed he would find out when Ellis was done with him, and no sooner than it happened. Panting, he rested in Ellis' arms, and prepared himself for the idea he would next be taken.
But Ellis rolled away from his back, leaving Harry distinctly cold and incongruously wondering if he had done something wrong. After a moment's hesitance, he glanced over his shoulder, only to realize Ellis had rolled onto his back to give himself space to stroke himself – and with far more vigor than he had treated Harry. Cheeks solidly red again, Harry went back to staring ahead at the wall, as if he shouldn't watch.
It did not seem to take long, either, but Harry was keenly aware of every second it lasted, and not only because his back grew cold. He had to close his eyes when he heard the effort in Ellis' voice, the quickness of his breath, and the groan of release when it came. He could feel Ellis' muscles against him as they tensed, and now as they drained, as thoroughly as Harry's had. Ellis pressed his lips to Harry's back to draw out the final drops, satisfied grunts deadened against Harry's skin.
There was rustling on Ellis' side, which Harry didn't have the bravery to investigate. Fatigue and want and fear were all quite enough, and to battle with curiosity was too much – but he did want to know.
Surely Ellis wasn't going to work himself back to hardness to sodomize Harry now, was he? Harry had never thought of getting hard twice in a night – getting hard once was terror enough – but it did not seem very plausible. He was fairly certain that it was only with the shaft a man could take another, and... well... if Ellis had spent his... what was next?
Perhaps it was different... and that only made him want to know if Ellis' came the same way his did, what it looked like, how it was... how it was Ellis made it happen, and if that was the same.
Ellis turned back onto the side facing Harry, and ran his hand up Harry's backside one more time before pressing it to him. The hard length Harry had felt pressed to him before was definitely diminished, though he could still feel it, dormant as Harry's was. Ellis nestled into Harry's back, scratchy chin resting on Harry's ear. He pulled the blanket over them both, sneaking his hand back under to circle around Harry's waist like a vice – indeed as possessive as if he had taken Harry for his own, but also, unless he was mistaken, as if he was protective.
As if he were fond.
Harry wasn't sure if there had been taking. His fear had dissolved, though his tension had not quite, leaving only a fatigued uncertainty. Harry wanted to ask questions, but Ellis seemed undisturbed, settling into sleep even as he finished drawing Harry into his tight embrace.
“Ellis...?” Harry whispered, half-hoping he had just fallen asleep.
Plans could change suddenly as tempers; hehad no guarantee Ellis wasn't just putting off buggering him until it was more convenient.
Ellis grunted into his ear, but it wasn't a hostile sound, and he followed it with softly pressing his lip to Harry's neck.
“What... um... what...” Harry berated himself for not having come up with a question before he had ventured disturbing Ellis, but Ellis interrupted his stuttering by hauling himself up enough he could look down at Harry, eyes full of happy satiation one moment, replaced quickly by concern the next.
Harry panicked. “...What?”
Frowning, Ellis brought his free hand up, turning Harry's face towards him–
The hand that he had just used to toss them both off, the hand that still smelled of his satisfaction, the hand whose coarse and dextrous thumb, now tracing the bottom of Harry's lip and tainting it with the taste of salt and sweat, had strolled the tip of Harry's manhood and brought him off almost on sheer deftness of touch alone–
THAT hand held Harry's chin still so Ellis could kiss him again, this time plunging ahead with his tongue and forcing the two of their mouths together, forcing Harry to smell and feel and taste him, and to taste himself-on-him, and to taste the gin and beef and the coarse alum-bread between them, finally forcing him to know that what he smelled and felt and tasted was Ellis now, and he would taste Ellis again soon, and again after that, and again until he would know the taste of the two of them together better than anything he had ever known before.
Until Ellis let him go.
Grinning, Ellis let kisses trace his way back to where he would lay his head, hand greedily pulling Harry's body to his and holding it tightly in place while he shuffled himself into a comfortable spot again. Harry felt as if his heart had flipped in his chest, as if his a pane of glass had cracked and fallen out of its spot; he let his body settle against Ellis', warm and spent, and felt the twisting again his gut, the warning coming, as always far too late, that he was setting in a course for which, as his fear had already told him, he was only ill-prepared, and in which he could easily founder and drown if he did not keep his wits about him. Just as when he had run from his master and joined the streets, hungering for freedom. Just as when he had left the street and joined the Family, that time just hungry. In the canting crew, they would say he had jumped games.
Ellis had come up with a game new to Harry, and chosen him, perfect for his part. As with any game amongst rogues, fear could easily cost him the whole bundle. Harry hadn't lived as long as he had on his own, or get as far as he had with the gang, because of fear.
The twist in his gut that warned him of dangers in which he was about to partake never was fear anyway. He curled in to Ellis' hold to sleep, warm, spent, and, for the first time since he had joined the Family, hungry once again.