And I Am Happy (5 page)

“I am sorry,” his master repeated himself,
likely misinterpreting Will’s silence as fear or disapproval, “I
threw a tantrum like a child because I couldn’t hold a pen.”

“Was it just the pen?” Will deliberately did
not say
sir
until he had come around behind the desk. “Is
there something else bothering you?”

“They are… there’s a stiffness in my leg.”
Charlie would not say pain, even if he was in agony. He would admit
to aches and stiffness only. But he looked up at Will and grimaced
before trying to rub a steel hand over a steel leg as though his
leg were made of flesh. He checked himself a moment later. “I’m
sure it’s nothing. My mind and not the equipment, though of course
I will have my leg looked at as soon as possible.” His reasonable
words were followed by a muttered complaint, almost too low for
Will to hear. “However much a waste of time it will be, when the
doctors and engineers will tell me it’s all a problem of an
alienated psychology and imply politely that I am insane. That
there are no sensations from a limb that is not there.”

Putting a hand to his master’s neck to soothe
him seemed only natural. “I can clean them. Oil them where
necessary?” Will offered in a rasp, petting his master’s skin far
past the point of propriety. The cleaning would help a little, even
if the problem
was
that his master was upset about something
else. His pains were always worse when he was bothered by a
problem. “Perhaps you could read,” Will suggested, pulling away
just as Charlie’s hand came up to reach for his.

The supplies needed were not far away. Will
kept his gaze away from his master’s face, though he was aware of
Charlie’s eyes on him as he fetched the kit for maintaining the
gears in the prosthetics. Will was an old hand with them now. He
took a pillow from the sofa as well and dropped it to the floor
before pushing Charlie’s chair out from the desk. The chair to his
desk was a wheeled chair, designed for his master to use on days
when he did not wish to wear his prosthetics and yet wanted to move
with ease. There was a small motor on the back that he hardly ever
used, a gift from Peter Aucourte. Aucourte was handsome as well as
brilliant. Will would have hated him if his master had not always
spoken of him as a friend and nothing more, and if Will had not
seen the way Aucourte’s eyes tracked Sebastian Harris whenever they
were separated.

“What book?” Will puffed with the effort of
pushing the chair but raised his eyes at last. His gentleman still
had a hand raised. It was near to Will’s face, so close that Will
nearly turned into it.

Charlie dropped his hand to the arm of the
chair and made a noise. “You do not have to-”

“Something Russian?” Will interrupted.
“Gloomy and long-winded?

“You dislike Russian novels so strongly you
once started snoring when I began one,” Charlie pointed out, not
sounding too upset at the memory. Will could tell his master had
already given in and accepted the idea and nearly flew up to the
library when Charlie suggested something light. He came back with
The Moonstone.

“At least it offers mystery, if not romance.
Do not start at the beginning,” Will instructed his master as he
handed it over, a little too breathless even for a run up the
stairs. He looked away until his master’s eyes were on the book.
Then he dropped down onto the pillow and settled in between his
master’s knees.

“You do not care for the beginning?”
Charlie’s words were strained but when Will glanced up his master
had the book open. He cleared his throat and read a line, “
At
the moment when I showed myself in the doorway, Rachel rose from
the piano,
” with a slight hint at the end that he was waiting
for Will’s opinion. Will sighed happily—he loved a lover’s reunion
scene—and Charlie continued to read. “
We confronted each other
in silence, with the full length of the room between us. The
movement she had made in rising appeared to be the one exertion of
which she was capable. All use of every other faculty, bodily or
mental, seemed to be merged in the mere act of looking at
me
.”

Will took another moment to fully appreciate
both the scene being described and his master’s voice and then set
to work. The prosthetics, especially the arm, were very sensitive,
designed in some way Will didn’t understand to read what Charlie
wished his arm and leg to do and then move accordingly. He knew
enough to know the signals came through nerves, through the stump,
but the science of it confused him. It did not seem comfortable
either but he knew better than to ask if it was. If it was painful
Charlie would never admit to it.

The metal leg was heavy. The weight alone was
a burden that could leave his master shaking, but he tripped much
less when wearing his metallic leg with the toes that could flex
than when he wore the simpler, earlier model.

Will rolled up the trouser leg, taking his
time but making sure his hands did not graze anywhere too intimate.
He would not take advantage, especially not after his master had
known him well enough to read the romantic scenes from the book
despite what Will had said about the mystery. His master was kind
and for him Will would try to be less selfish.

The gears were partly exposed despite the
casing over the top to protect them which closed over the knee
itself and over the places where muscle would have been. The casing
had been created from brass with an artist’s touch. Will had seen a
fine lady once with an artificial arm that had a casing inlaid with
silver and gold to depict birds in flight. His master’s leg was a
man’s, a soldier’s, and resembled nothing so much as a scabbard.
Will thought it fitting and beautiful.

He ran his fingers over the cover one more
time, then found the latch to lift it. He was gentle, but he heard
the cessation of his master’s breathing as the casing clicked open
and put a hand up to his flesh knee to rub away the tension. He
could not imagine how it felt to be opened up so. His master could
have Will every way imaginable and still would never see inside of
him like this.

“I will be quick,” Will whispered, “please
don’t stop reading.”

“I do not need the distraction,” Charlie
answered with the book before his face. The gears in his legs
whirred as if an attempt at motion had been stifled.

“Master,” Will begged, using the term Charlie
had never asked him to use as some of his previous gentlemen had.
There was a world of difference in how Will said it to Charlie
though his master could not have known.

There was a moment or two where Will thought
Charlie might argue the use of the term but then his master shook
his head and continued reading. His was voice was strained as Will
took the swabs of cotton and the cleaning solution and started to
swipe lightly at anything that looked like accumulated dirt.

It did not take long, even when done with
care. The pain Charlie felt was most likely in his mind, but Will
would do his best to ease it as if it were solid and in front of
him. He reached for the can of lubricant and then nestled in closer
as he greased pistons and gears. There was a warm leg at his back
and the metal leg was pressed closed to him, making him feel like a
puppy ensconced at his master’s feet. It was not an unpleasant
feeling. The strain in Charlie’s voice was easing, becoming
something more natural. Will half-listened to the story though they
both already knew the ending, and continued to carefully apply the
grease as needed. Sometimes his fingers would linger on a
particular piece of steel, intrigued at the warmth he felt, but all
too soon it was time to snap the casing back into place.

He did not move when it was done, but then
his master did not cease reading. Will did not know if the act of
closing the casing had gone unnoticed, but with a pillow and a soft
rug under him and his head nearly on his master’s knee, he was
disinclined to draw attention to it. He did move but only to wrap a
hand around his master’s ankle. Charlie was so involved in his
reading that perhaps he did not notice how his fingers slid into
Will’s hair or the way the faint pressure made it seem only natural
and right for Will to ease his head back to rest on his master’s
knee. He wanted to close his eyes as well and did so, knowing that
the moment would end soon enough. He would take what memories he
could, and exhaled in contentment as his gentleman continued to
read to him of a lover’s misunderstanding.

~~~

He woke to a disorienting numbness in his
body that went away when he jerked his head up and realized he was
still curled up at Charlie’s feet in the study. He jumped into
motion. It was a foolish mistake. The moment he stumbled to his
feet all the feeling returned to his limbs. He floundered against
the desk at the waves of irritating pain and glanced over at
Charlie. Charlie’s eyes were closed but Will could tell from his
frown that he was awake and in great discomfort.

There was grey light coming through the
windows. It was morning. A night in the chair with could not have
done his master any good.

“I am so sorry, Charlie,” Will blurted, his
mind taking far too long to fully wake. His master’s eyes opened
and fixed on him but Will shook his head to clear his mind and
tried to stand again. He couldn’t imagine how they had spent the
night like that. “You should have woken me,” he chided
breathlessly, only to gulp back the words. “Sorry, sir. Are you in
pain?” He came closer, running his hands over Charlie without much
thought until Charlie drew in a sharp breath.

“I’m fine,” he was told, but Will knew better
than to listen.

“Can you move? Do not.” If it was anything
like Will’s first attempt to move his stiff muscles it would hurt
and Charlie would fall. “Give me a moment, sir,” Will pushed out
what had the sound of an order but didn’t stop to wonder at
himself. He made his clumsy way first into the bedroom to gather
the pain powders and a glass of water and then back into the study
with more ease of movement.

Charlie had removed the spectacles he must
have slept in. “I do not need—” Charlie started to say with his
chin at a stubborn angle but stopped when Will mixed a half dose
and handed it to him.

Will had tasted those powders once. They were
bitter but they worked, sometimes too well. Both the doctor and
Miss Ann had warned him to keep the doses low. Many veterans of the
war developed cravings for the opiates they were given. Charlie
rarely asked for them at all anymore, perhaps because an especially
strong dose turned him into a different man, a man of flushed, hot
skin and hands that reached for Will, a man Will was hard-pressed
to deny. He did only because he knew of the shame Charlie would
feel the next morning. On that point his master had been very
clear; he was not the sort to take advantage of servants, not ever,
not even when the servant would not mind.

In truth, Will not only would not mind, he
would love it were a sober Charlie ever to reach for him. Some of
his greatest fantasies involved his master buggering him, sometimes
tenderly, slowly, with their faces close, and other times
forcefully, over his desk or the side of his bed, with Will’s arse
red from his hand and Will moaning for him. He did not think either
likely to happen but it did not stop him from wishing.

He watched his master reluctantly drink most
of the potion then set the glass aside and came around to the back
of the chair. He pushed it to the doorway over his gentleman’s
protests.

“I cannot help you all the way to the
bedroom,” Will reasoned with him at the threshold, and bent down.
He could not look into those wounded, brown eyes but he nodded in
relief when Charlie at last accepted his help to stand. His arms
looped around Will though he probably had no intention of using
Will as a crutch until the first wave of pain hit him as sensation
flooded back through his lower body. He bit back a noise and Will
hurried, walking him to his bed and sitting him down on the
edge.

He made short work of both waistcoat and
shirt, and when Charlie was shirtless, Will unbuckled the
prosthetic arm and winced at the angry marks left in Charlie’s skin
from having it on so long. His master’s eyes were closed and he had
not one word about being undressed when he was capable of doing it
himself. Will wanted to kiss the buckle marks from his chest but
forced himself to skip on to his trousers and shoes. The straps for
the leg had dug grooves into his master’s thigh. Will put his hand
over them without thinking. He could not control his breathing when
he raised his head and found his gentleman watching him.

“A massage,” Will told him, stupid and
thrilled into full wakefulness, “a massage and a bath and you will
be right as rain and ready to work again. Perhaps a hot chocolate
for breakfast.” He could fetch one from the boulangerie down the
street, perhaps two. He would need one as well after the massage
was over.

He could not speak or even swallow at that
thought and left Charlie in order to wash his hands in the bathroom
and find the oil he would need. Charlie was still sitting up when
he returned. He frowned over his shoulder at Will, his tension
obvious, but turned and laid down the moment Will reached for him.
He slid one-handed over the sheets where the bed had been turned
down and put his face in a pillow. He was naked and very, very
beautiful.

Will knew himself to be breathing too hard
and paused to roll up his sleeves and give himself the appearance
of calm. He climbed onto the bed but not yet over his master’s
tense, prone body. He rubbed the oil between his palms until it was
warm and then placed both hands on his master’s thigh, the one
still red and marked by the straps.

Charlie moved his head to face away from
Will.