Conversations by Candlelight

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny        Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A It was inevitable, in Connor's quest to figure out what on earth brought Benedict Bridgerton to Granville's parties, that he would end up questioning Henry Granville himself. He had put that step off as long as possible —  it was, after all, rather awkward to ask a man openly why he had chosen to invite someone to a party like this. Connor's best efforts to find the answer in other ways, however, had proven rather useless. He had learned easily enough that the young Bridgerton fellow was decently fond of drink and that he favoured the company of women like Madame Delacroix and Mrs. Granville, but that told him little. So much could be said of any man of the ton. What he had not managed to discern was how Benedict had managed to snag himself an invitation in the first place. The Scotsman understood Granville to be rather careful with his invitations; after all, if he invited the wrong person who might then turn around and inform the gossip rags, the reputations of dozens of men and women could end up ruined in a matter of days. How, then, had he known that a Bridgerton boy, of all things, could prove trustworthy? That was a question that would have to be put to Granville himself. Connor had bided his time throughout the evening, straddling the line between enough drunkenness to enjoy himself and enough sobriety to keep a clear head, until the guests had begun to trickle their way out. He had, by that point in the evening, stripped down to his usual state of undress for these evenings, with his waistcoat, stays, and jacket long discarded and his braces hanging down from his waistband. Holding a drink in one hand, he leaned against the open doorframe of the artist's room and watched with vague interest as the last few stragglers exited. When, at last, the room was empty apart from Granville, Connor entered and dropped down into one of the vacant chairs with an indulgent sigh.  "Granville, my dear friend." He paused to take a sip of his brandy, held it on his tongue for a moment, then swallowed. "Spare a moment of your time?"

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

HENRY IS RIDING HIGH, though there is also confusion and a twinge of fear. Benedict had caught him and Alfred tonight. After they had finished the task they set out to do (oh, how romantic a sentiment, Henry), he had gotten himself drunk. On wine, on ale, on anything he could get his hands on. The Bridgerton had left, or at least that is was Henry tells himself when he finds himself in the studio. He's lying on the cloth on the ground, staring up at the ceiling with a glass of something next to him. There are still people here, but he pays them no mind. Even Alfred has gone; perhaps the man did not care as deeply as Granville in terms of ruining a friendship that is slowly becoming dear to him. 

He blinks a few times when he hears Connor's voice. Ah, Doctor Morrison, another friend that he had not expected to make so easily. Henry's dark eyes glance over to the other man, and he feels himself floating, spinning. . . perhaps he will be sick. He considers sitting up and stops himself, instead remaining there in the dim candlelight of the room. He is in his shirt and trousers and nothing else -- no shoes, no waistcoat, and his suspenders had long since been discarded. Henry feels at home here like this, where things aren't as scary. 

God, he hadn't felt this way since his youth. Had he already scared Bridgerton away? He recalls Lucy saying something, but it as though he has been underwater for the past few hours. "Mm," he hums in recognition, closing his eyes. He considers his words before reaching to press the glass to his face, as if it will give him some coolness. . . some solace. "How can I help you, dear Connor?" He answers finally and forces himself up onto his elbows this time. He knocks back the rest of the drink before turning to face his company completely. Some charcoal from the cloth has smudged on his face, but he pays no mind to it. "Did you have a good night? Was it to your enjoyment?" To be quite honest, he is not sure what is on the doctor's mind. 

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny         Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A Connor could not precisely say he had expected to find Granville lying drunk on the floor. From what he had witnessed at past parties, the painter generally tended to keep a relatively clear head, even as he joined in on the fun. He still had the role of host to play, after all. The man's mere drunkenness, however, would not have been enough to arouse Connor's suspicion on its own — after all, given the temptations of this place, one could hardly fault a man for overindulging on occasion, even if that man in question was the host. There was no harm in that.  What did seem out of place, however, was the sheer look of abject misery on the artist's face. It was subtle, almost hidden underneath the lethargy of intoxication, but it was there all the same. That was a far stranger sight than any other part of this scene. Something, clearly, must have happened tonight. What that might be, Connor couldn't guess. The sense of absolute freedom did tend to go to people's heads in this place, and more than once, Connor had witnessed fights break out over perceived slights and petty arguments. Granville did not look as though he had been in any sort of physical brawl, but perhaps he had gotten himself mixed up in some verbal spat or another.  The legs of the chair squeaked softly along the wooden floor as Connor pushed it back, rose to his feet, and settled down beside Granville on the floor, legs bent and forearms resting on his knees. A rather informal position, in most circumstances, but there was nothing formal about this place, especially not at this time of night. "Quite a good night, yes." A standard answer. Gently, the Scotsman picked up the glass that Granville had just drained and moved it pointedly aside. "Indulged a little too much, Henry, have we?" There was a careful note of concern in the question.

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

"Excellent," he murmurs, barely meeting Connor's eyes as he sits there beside him. Henry's mind is occupied elsewhere, in the image of Benedict's blues staring back at him in -- what was it? Fright? Astonishment? Wanting? No, that last one is Henry's hope. How awful to Alfred, to suddenly be entranced by this baby duckling. The Bridgerton was still finding his way out of his cage, exploring places he never thought he'd enter, and Henry was his initial guide. Perhaps he had led him into the dark too quickly. "Good, good show," he adds, brushing his fingers through his mussed up hair. He'd indulged too much. He knows it. Alas, what was he to do?

Most were comfortable with this freedom that Henry gave them to be themselves, so it was no surprise when people like him were drawn to these parties. He considered Benedict might be like him, too. Like them, Henry reminds himself as he gazes to Connor. This time he finds his eyes, but it is hard to hold his gaze. Not when he can see the --- judgement is not the right word. Concern? Is Morrison concerned about him? 

"Is that what you wished to discuss?" He asks, noting the lack of a glass beside him. Henry's finished; he won't touch more tonight. He already dreads morning and the headache that will surely take him. "I should hate that you stayed so late to check on my. . . sobriety." He rubs his hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Tagged: Connor Morrison

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny         Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A Staying behind to take care of someone after a party was not the sort of thing that was generally in Connor's nature. He could force a decent enough bedside manner when his duties as a surgeon required it, but concern was hardly the sort of thing that came naturally in a setting like this, especially when Connor ended most nights nearly as drunk as Henry was now. He hadn't come in here intending to check on Henry's well-being at all; he had only sought the man out to speak with him regarding the Bridgerton brother, after all, and he could hardly have predicted that he would find the artist in this state. Now that he had, however, he was not entirely content to abandon the man without a second thought. Connor had been around drunk men and women enough to know the difference between someone who had overindulged for fun and someone who had overindulged for the sake of dulling misery. Henry was firmly in the latter category. It was curiosity that motivated Connor as much as any genuine concern: having never seen Henry in quite such a state before, he was rather intrigued to know what had put him there. Not, of course, that the concern itself was feigned — it was simply not the only motivator.  But Connor hid that curiosity well enough. With a brief, sympathetic pat to the painter's shoulder, the anatomist rose back to his feet, fetched a fresh glass and a carafe of water, then settled back down on the floor to fill the glass, which he then held out wordlessly for Henry to take. Given how much the Englishman had clearly drunk, water would not save him from a hangover entirely, but it would at least dull some of the symptoms that hit him in the morning. "That is not why I stayed," he replied mildly, "but I should consider myself a rather poor excuse for a doctor if I left you in this state. You clearly have something that has driven you to drink half your weight in brandy tonight."

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

THE COMFORT IS NICE. It is hard for Henry to be so vulnerable in front of someone else. When he was staring at the ceiling earlier in the night, he was mostly left alone -- Alfred had left not too long after their deed was done, and no one really paid mind because they were too consumed with themselves. He and Connor are friends; they know each other. They mostly know each other's bodies, but there is still a friendship there that has grown over the better half of a decade. 

Though, the moment Connor turns, Henry scrunches up his face with intoxication. He truly has overindulged tonight. He closes his eyes briefly and sees the Bridgerton's baby blues again across the room. So many emotions flooded through Henry in that short span of time: humiliation, fear, arousal. . . He is no stranger to being watched, but the way in which Bridgerton stared. . . the way in which he left. . . His eyes open when Morrison returns. "Thank you," he murmurs, reaching for the glass. He takes it and sips it slowly. Hm -- he is perhaps more dehydrated than he realized. He takes his time with the water, letting Connor's concern hang in the air for a moment. He considers how to tell the story. 

It is so difficult for him to be so open sometimes, but he perhaps should get it off his chest. Henry sighs softly, brushing his fingers through his mussed up hair. "Alfred and I were being intimate earlier in the other room. We had it to ourselves at the time. Normally, it wouldn't bother me when the door opens. . . because it usually leads to fun situations. . ." He trails off, staring at the water as though it's betrayed him. "But Bridgerton opened the door." He purses his lips together. "And I --" He hiccups suddenly, flushing in embarrassment from the noise. "We locked eyes, and now everything is. . . confusing." 

Henry pauses once more. He struggles to put the rest of it into words. He turns to Connor, meeting his eyes helplessly. "I met Benedict Bridgerton at a gallery, and he and I have. . . built a rapport. He's aspiring to be an artist, so I invited him to a few painting nights at the studio. Then I was bold enough to invite him to this." He searches Connor's eyes for answers he does not have. "He stood there when he found us, and I enjoyed it when he found us. I'm afraid I am developing feelings for him, which is confusing enough. . . but I do not know if he is like us. And he stood there like a deer on a hunt for a brief moment before leaving the room. I did not see him again that night. . . and, of course, everyone usually knows, but now I fear I may have made a grave mistake."

Tagged: Connor Morrison

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny         Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A Connor listened in silence. He had gone very still at the first mention of Benedict's intrusion on Henry's... intimate activities with Alfred. He knew of the relationship between the two, of course; it would have been difficult for him not to know, given the amount of time that he and Henry had spent together. Granted, they did not exactly speak enough to call each other friends in any real sense — generally, when Connor and Henry found themselves in the sole company of each other, speaking was low on the list of priorities — but he had mentioned Alfred enough to assure Connor that his relationship with the man was an open one. Beyond that, Connor had not questioned the matter.  He could not deny, however, that the thought of anyone walking in on Henry and Alfred made him uneasy. The idea of being witnessed by anyone was always at the back of his mind, whenever he found himself seeking male company; as much as possible, he preferred to conduct any escapades outside of these parties themselves, as an extra layer of security, and even when he found himself caught up in the moment enough to risk a tryst or two in the Granville home, he spent half the encounter obsessively glancing at the door. He had never admitted that fear aloud to Henry, but he had no doubt that the man understood it, on some level, without Connor having to say anything.  The fact that the man who had walked in on Henry and Alfred turned out to be Benedict Bridgerton was surprising, to say the least. The mysteries continued to build around that man, it seemed. If Henry had not been in such a state of obvious distress, Connor might have laughed at the sheer irony of this whole situation — he had come to Henry intending to find out more about the second Bridgerton brother, and without even having to ask, he certainly had learned a hell of a lot more than he'd bargained for.  He was not altogether pleased to hear what Benedict's reaction had ultimately been. He supposed it must be a shocking thing for a man so green to walk in on something like that, but he could have at least done Henry the courtesy of staying long enough at the party to say that he would not out the poor fellow. He could hardly blame Henry for spiralling, after a mess like that. With a tight, quiet sigh, the Scotsman leaned aside to pick up the half-empty bottle of brandy and pour himself a large glass. This was not a conversation he intended to have while sober. Once he had swallowed a large mouthful, he leaned back to prop his weight on one hand. "... well." He couldn't quite think of what to say beyond that. "Do you want me to speak to him? I can put the fear of God into him, mark my words."

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

HENRY POUTS when Connor pours himself brandy. What gives? He has been robbed with this water. He takes another sip of it before choking on it as Connor speaks. Henry laughs and chokes at the same time, patting at his chest. When he regains his breath, he shakes his head. "No, no. I don't believe that will be necessary. He seems like... a good lad. I hope. I beg." He pouts again, looking at his water. 

"This is supposed to be a safe space. Ugh -- I thought I was being so careful, but it always a -- " He hiccups again. " -- bloody gamble." He places the cup down, resting his elbows against his knees and is quiet for a moment.

"Can I be honest for a moment?" Well, too late, Henry. He's been very honest. "For a moment, I believed that Bridgerton would join us. There was something in his eyes. . . curiosity. Maybe more. So perhaps all will be well. I will speak with him next I see him. . ." He furrows his brows together and then looks at Connor. "You think it will be all right? Do tell me it will be. Even if you must lie." 

Tag: Connor Morrison

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny         Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A The rational part of Connor — or the cruel part, call it what you please — was inclined to chastise Henry for his foolishness. The artist was right to say that he had taken a bloody gamble with Benedict, and a damned foolish one at that. Given the activities that Henry tended to get up to at these parties, he ought to have known better than to invite a man whose opinions he was unsure of; after all, if Benedict turned out to be a little less open-minded than Henry had presumed, it put more than just the painter in danger. Connor was thoroughly relieved that he had not yet hinted at his own tastes in front of Benedict.  And yet, he could not deny that he had picked up on some of the same hints that Henry had just mentioned. Benedict had certainly made no overt indications that he might be open to the attentions of men, but Connor had seen how the young fellow looked at Henry, and he would wager that there was a little more in that stare than just artistic admiration. It was not necessarily a wager on which he'd bet his own reputation, but it was enough to give him some hope that Benedict wouldn't turn away in complete disgust.  He bit down on the side of his tongue for a moment, sighed again, then reached out to pat Henry's knee. "I am sure all will be well." He was not entirely confident he was telling the truth, but given Henry's current state, Connor thought it better to simply reassure the man. "Besides, he could hardly try to ruin your reputation without ruining his own, hm? I'm certain he would not be keen to admit he's been at these parties. The man will hold his tongue."

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

HENRY STARES AT HIM, a look of desperation in his eyes. He reaches to put his hand over Connor's on his knee, giving it a squeeze. "Thank you," he whispers in response, and for a moment it is a soothing comfort from someone else not involved in the situation. "Yes, yes. . . that is a good point." Henry nods, considering Connor's thoughtful words. He finds himself brushing his thumb against the doctor's hand, quiet and considering for a moment,. His mind is somewhat racing and yet still at the same time. He has perhaps drank too much. (No, he definitely has.)

Alas, when has that stopped him before. They are perhaps the only two left awake. . . Henry hasn't been keeping track of his guests for a few hours now. If it is just them, then. . . well, perhaps. . . 

"Would you be interested in offering me a distraction?" Henry asks like the slut he is. Alfred does not care; they know their own urges, their hungers. Sometimes they cannot satisfy each other's needs, but they still love each other deeply. And he and Connor are always so... compatible. "I would be . . . ever so grateful." He scoots a little closer to Connor. 

Tag: Connor Morrison

[Connor Morrison]

Tag: bunny         Thread: Conversations by Candlelight         Notes: N/A Connor paused to give the request a moment of consideration, letting his gaze rake over Granville's body as he did so. The artist did look wonderfully undone like this, with his shirt hanging unabashedly open and his braces hanging down from his hips. It had been easy for them to come together, the first time — by the time Granville had made his intentions apparent, Connor had been so high on the atmosphere of the party and so drunk on the free-flowing wine that he had not bothered to second guess the decision to lean into that greedy hand on his thigh. Henry Granville was many things, but subtle was not one of them. After that first time, Connor had taken greater care; he had insisted, whenever he was lucid enough, on proper privacy, the better to ensure that they would not find themselves caught unawares. It was a bit of a hassle, certainly, but Granville made it worthwhile enough to put in the effort. By God, the things that man could do with his tongue.  Thanks to Connor's extended absence from London, it had been a damned long time since they'd had a chance to enjoy each other's company. That, alone, was enough to make the prospect dreadfully tempting. Lulled by his own tipsy state, Connor permitted himself the luxury of flexing his fingers thoughtfully against Granville's leg. But the vague shreds of a conscience that the Scotsman still possessed gave him pause. He was not normally the reserved party in any situation like this, but it was plain enough that Granville was as distraught as he was drunk; even if the artist was not generally the sort to regret trysts like this, he very well might regret one he sought in this sort of state. With a soft, reluctant sigh, he moved his hand away from Granville's thigh to stroke it through the painter's curls. "Tempting, darling. Tempting. As much as I do relish the idea of enjoying your company tonight, I don't much fancy the prospect of you passing out drunk on my cock. Another night, Henry."

credit to Laura of Adox

[bunny]

HENRY BITES HIS LOWER LIP as he feels Connor's fingers on his thigh. This would be ideal -- for it would help Henry forget his worries. He would do it with Alfred if he'd still been here. But Alfred was not here, and Connor was. . . He and Morrison had tangled before, and Henry enjoyed every encounter thoroughly. There is much he would do for Connor perhaps beyond sex, but he did not know their boundaries outside of it. 

And just like that, the grip is gone from his thigh. Henry lets out a soft whine at the rejection but leans into the touch in his hair. "You are a terrible tease," he mumbles, but he doesn't mean it. He closes his eyes, relaxing into the touch. . . just like that, he's drifting to sleep. Henry snorts awake, blinking a few times. "Heavens," the artist mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut briefly before opening them. 

"Perhaps you are right. . . perhaps it is time for bed." Henry laments, looking at him with a gentle gaze. "Could you help me up the stairs? I fear as though may I fall down them in such a state." He pauses before thoughtfully gripping his knee. "Thank you, Connor. I... appreciate your friendship tonight. It has grounded me." He gives him a little smile. 

Tag: Connor Morrison