"I meant it when I said I was a fan." He smiled down at Aimé, who stood a head shorter than Badri did. "And I wanted to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner?"
"I have already eaten." Aimé seemed to hesitate, and Badri's heart sank. Everything had been going so well between them, but maybe something had happened or Aimé had changed his mind.
"But I would like it if you could accompany me back to my apartment for drinks." Aimé looked up at him with a small smile.
Badri drew in a breath and then grinned. "I would love to."
Aimé's carriage was indeed waiting on the street at the end of the alley. Badri climbed in after Aimé, glad that he'd taken a cab to get to the opera. Aimé gave him a once-over as he settled across from Badri, who self-consciously tugged a little at the lace cuff of his dark yellow jacket. Aimé gave him a smile with just enough heat and desire behind it to make Badri's pulse quicken.
"You look particularly lovely tonight."
"Thank you." Badri smoothed one hand down his front, grateful now that he'd taken such care dressing earlier that evening. "I don't get that many chances these days to get dressed up and mingle with society, as it were, not with practice."
Aimé did a thing with his lips that looked like a pout, but there was some rueful amusement there, too. "Don't I know it. During the season, my life seems to contain performances, practice, and very little else. I will become more free once the season ends, but then there will be no performances to attend."
"Exactly." Badri nodded.
"But sometimes I make the time." Aimé's gaze became bashful. "Like the ballet the other night. It was my birthday, so I had been given the night off."
"Oh." Badri blinked, and felt guilty for a moment that he hadn't known, even though there was no way he could have. "Best wishes on the year ahead and many more."
"Thank you." Aimé still sounded a little shy.
The carriage pulled up in front of a smart-looking, brown stone townhouse, and Aimé descended, still carrying the flowers, with Badri right behind him.
"Your house is beautiful." Badri looked up at it as Aimé unlocked the door and led the way into the hall.
"Thank you," Aimé said again, pushing open a door that led into a small sitting room. A fire was already laid in the hearth. It was done in striking shades of green and blue instead of the cool, open whites or the darker wood paneling that Badri was used to seeing in such townhouses. "I share it with Collette, but she is not here at the moment." He glanced towards another door on the far side of the room. The door was closed, with no light coming from the bottom. "She is involved in a difficult case and working late. Court in the morning, too."
"Is it common for the commander of the capital city's police force to appear in court?" Badri asked, folding himself onto one of the settees Aimé waved at.
"No." Aimé’s expression became fond. "But Lady Miriam, the Duchess de la Poltrot, is prosecuting, and she likes to win, and believes in utilizing every card in her hand. Wine?" He held out a glass that he'd already poured. "Or I have something stronger, if you'd like?"
"I would enjoy a glass of wine."
Aimé poured another glass and carried it over to Badri, sitting beside him on the settee. Badri took a sip of the deep red liquid, watching Aimé while trying not to appear to be doing so. His body was small and soft, and his features were rounded in a way that tended to make him look younger than he was. His black hair was cropped down close enough to his skull to make wearing wigs more comfortable, and there was a touch of grey at his temples, belying his real age.
"So tell me how you came to sing."
"I started singing in a choir when I was five, and was doing it professionally by the time I was six," Aimé said. "My mother and father encouraged it and I loved it; I couldn't imagine doing anything else. It became obvious very quickly that I had talent, so my choir director suggested that I have the operation to become a castrato. I agreed, my parents agreed, so it happened. Shortly after, I decided to begin studying opera. I loved singing choir music, but I fell in love with opera, with the challenge of it, but mostly the drama and the story, and the chance to both sing and act." Aimé took a sip of his wine. "It was difficult for a while. Castrati were going out of fashion in opera, and everyone was sure if I left choir music, I wouldn't stand a chance. I was determined, though, to make a name for myself as an opera singer.”
"And you were the first castrato to perform at the Royal Opera House in almost thirty years, and the first to take on lead roles within the Royal Opera Company in nearly twice that."
"Yes." Aimé looked extremely pleased with himself, and Badri felt something akin to laughter catch in his chest when Aimé did not even try to deny it.
Their eyes met, and Aimé must have seen the laughter there, because he smiled: slow, hot, and inviting.
Badri put aside his wine glass, leaned forward, and kissed Aimé on the mouth. Aimé melted against him at once, hands wrapping around the back of Badri's neck. Badri stroked the soft hair at the nape with his thumbs while his lips slid against Aimé's warm mouth, still tasting of wine. Aimé pressed close, let his tongue slide into Badri's mouth. Aimé tasted like wine there, too: wet, sweet, and so very hot. Badri imagined that mouth on his body and made a small noise of greedy want.
Badri used his larger size to press Aimé back against the arm of the settee. His hands pushed up underneath Aimé's dress jacket, trying to worm under his waistcoat.
"You wear too many layers," Badri said when they parted, voice already husky. His mouth lingered, caressing the curve of Aimé's jaw.
"You are wearing just as many layers as I am," Aimé pointed out, huffing a small laugh. "But I will make you a deal: I am willing to remove my layers, if you will remove yours."
"That seems fair." Badri claiming Aimé's mouth again, tongue pressing forward, wanting to explore Aimé's mouth.
"Well, I am a gentleman." Aimé's breath was uneven as well by the time they parted.
Badri rolled them, their movements limited and awkward on the tiny settee, but finally Aimé was lying on his back, Badri propped above him, and their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh.
"Do you have a bedroom?" Badri asked between kisses, "or shall we indulge ourselves here in the parlor?"
At that, Aimé shivered all over, putting his arms up around Badri's neck, and clung to him.
"Would you rather we stayed here?" Badri asked, mouthing at the line of Aimé's throat.
"No." Aimé's voice was also rough with want now. "I do have a bedroom, and we should probably use it."
Badri rolled off so that Aimé could stand and lead the way across the room to another door. The room beyond the door was small, but neat, with a bed and a small cabinet beside it, as well as a wardrobe, washstand, and writing desk.
There was only one piece of furniture in the room that Badri had never seen before.
It seemed to be a stool or chair of some kind: low and made of polished wood. There was an opening in the center of the seat, though. A long, thin piece of wood, almost like a paddle, half jutted out in front of the stool, the other half inside the opening in the seat.
Frowning, Badri touched the top of the seat lightly and discovered it rocked gently back and forth.
"Badri..." Aimé's voice held a note of something, but Badri wasn't sure what—embarrassment, unease?
"What is this?" Badri asked.
"I..." Aimé took a breath and then squared his shoulders. "Here." He turned away towards the bed, rummaging in the cabinet, and then turned back holding a smooth, polished, wooden phallus. Badri felt his own cheeks warm even as his cock twitched in his breeches. It was a beautiful thing: long and wide, with just a hint of a curve to it. It looked giant held in Aimé's small hands. Badri imagined Aimé pushing it into him and felt his entire body heat.
Aimé walked over to the stool and knelt beside it. On closer inspection, Badri saw that the paddle-like part that was fitted into the hole in the seat had a piece of leather with a metal ring set into it, secured firmly to one side and attached to the wood on the other by a set of buckles. Aimé unbuckled the leather piece, flipped it up, passed the phallus through the ring until it hugged the wooden base of the toy, and then buckled it firmly down, securing the toy to the wooden paddle.
With the phallus now jutting out of the hole in the seat of the little rocking stool, Badri had a pretty good idea what it was for.
"You sit on it," Aimé told him anyway. "The toy goes up inside you and as you rock it back and forth, the toy ..." he waved his hand, "moves."
Badri's mind was full of images of Aimé naked, head thrown back, eyes closed, sitting on the stool, while the long, hard toy fucked him. Such a toy would be unyielding, fucking in and out of Aimé's little hole, driving him closer and closer towards completion.
"I want to see." He was unsure he'd spoken aloud until Aimé looked up at him, eyes wide with shock.
"What?"
He was already half hard at the idea, flushed hot from head to toe. Badri's hands clenched at his sides, trying to get himself back under control enough to explain to Aimé what he wanted. "I want to see you ride on this. I want to watch it fuck you."
For a long moment, Badri thought he would refuse. Instead, Aimé straightened, hands clutching at Badri's shoulders, his tongue pressing into Badri's mouth, hot and wanting for a moment, before he stepped back. "Yes," he said. Then his jacket was hitting the floor, followed by his waistcoat and shirt, shoes, and stockings.
Badri's gaze swept over Aimé's body as it was revealed to him. Aimé was soft and well-padded, his hips, ass, chest and stomach rounded and full. Badri wanted to touch and squeeze that lush backside, toy with those dark, little nipples.
Aimé's hand paused at the fastening of his breeches, but then they, too, fell. Aimé's cock was tiny, nestled between his thighs, much smaller than any other man's cock Badri had ever seen. Underneath his cock was smooth skin where Aimé's balls used to be.
Arms crossed over his chest, chin tilted up, Aimé stood and let Badri look his fill.
"Well?" Aimé finally said, and Badri looked up to meet his eyes.
"Well, what?" He could see the nervous energy in the way Aimé stood: so stiff and still, as if preparing to flee or fight. Bardri himself was so achingly hard, so ready to know what these intimate parts of Aimé's body felt like under his hands and mouth.
"Does it disgust or arouse you that I am not the size of a normal man?" Aimé said, chin up, shoulders squared as if for a blow.
Badri kissed him then, with all the passion and longing he could muster. "You arouse me," he said when they pulled apart. "All of you, not merely the size of your cock." Aimé seemed to melt a little against him, pressing close enough that Badri was sure he could feel Badri's own hard length against his hip.
"I've had lovers who refused to sleep with me after seeing me naked," Aimé said, "and others who took a little too much pleasure in the fact that my cock is like that of a boy and not a man's."
"You are a man." Badri cupped his face gently. "And I desire you as one."
Their lips met, wet, lazy, and slow, with lips, tongue, and teeth. "Take off your clothes," Aimé said finally, drawing away to pluck at the front of Badri's jacket.
Badri shucked off his clothes as quickly as possible—hard to do with so many layers and tiny fastenings, but he managed. The open hunger in Aimé's gaze as it raked across Badri's naked body was well worth it, though, not to mention a boost to his ego.
"God, you're just so ..." Aimé's fingers skimmed across the muscles of his arms, down his chest and well-defined abdomen. Aimé's fingers wrapped around Badri's cock, and Badri groaned, hips moving forward and eyes sliding shut. Aimé stroked him several times before letting go. "You are beautiful."
Badri opened his eyes and looked down at Aimé.
"Truly." Aimé's expression was serious. "Your body is a work of art."
"I..." Badri didn't really know how to respond to that. He was aware that most considered him attractive, but he'd never really thought of himself as such, focusing more on the function of his body rather than its aesthetic, but if it pleased Aimé, he supposed that was a good thing. "Thank you; I train hard."
Aimé leaned up so that he could kiss Badri on the lips. Badri's own arms wrapped around Aimé's waist, pulling Aimé up a little, causing his back to arch and drawing them both tight together. Their cocks rubbed against each other. The head of Badri's cock was already wet with his arousal. He could feel pre-seed beading there as he rubbed against Aimé's small member. He reached between the two of them to wrap his fingers around both their cocks, using his thumb to rub his own slickness down over them. Aimé groaned, pressing in close and thrusting into Badri's hand.
"I want..." Badri let go of them before he got too badly distracted. "I want to watch you on that." He nodded his head towards the stool. "What do you call it, anyway?"
"Erotic furniture."
Badri was pretty sure Aimé was blushing, and on him, it was almost unbearably attractive. It was almost enough to distract him from what they were talking about. With difficulty, Badri focused at the matter at hand: namely, the very fine piece of erotic furniture.
"That seems like a lot to say." Badri raised one eyebrow skeptically.
"Chair?" Aimé offered.
"I want to see you fuck yourself on the chair." Badri leaned in close, letting his mouth brush the curve of Aimé's ear, and Aimé nodded a little jerkily.
He turned away, back to the cabinet by the bed. When he turned back, he was holding a glass bottle that Badri assumed contained the slick. Aimé stopped next to Badri, leaning into him for a moment and nuzzling his neck before stepping back. He opened the bottle, pouring some of the oil into his hand before reaching behind his body. Aimé sucked in his breath, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he knelt and rubbed the rest of the slick along the wooden toy.
Badri knelt by the chair as Aimé lined up the tip of the toy with his hole and began to lower himself down slowly. Badri's breath caught. He'd seen his own cock disappear into partners' bodies, but never from this angle, never watched anyone be penetrated by a toy like this. He watched, fascinated, as the girth of the toy parted Aimé's cheeks, stretching and filling his hole. Aimé shifted his hips a little, his breathing becoming heavy as he sank down onto the toy until he was sitting fully on the padded seat of the chair.