Date: Sun, 07 Mar 2004 23:17:39 +0800
From: paul sung <psun@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mr Darcy III

DISCLAIMER
==========

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights
(copyright (c) 2004 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not
copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this
disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:

- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to
psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit
my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002


Tea and scones were clearly an understatement. No one could ever accuse
Mark F. Darcy of doing anything halfheartedly. As I eyed the amazing
smorgasbord of dishes arranged on the checkered picnic cloth, I wondered
whether anyone could ever finish it all. Even looking at the veritable
mountains of food was making me full.

As I picked up a scone with clotted cream and bit into it, I closed my
eyes and sighed. It was the perfect setting, the perfect idyllic English
glade under a gorgeous oak tree, the perfect charmingly accented Brit
hunk, even the perfect scone. Like the man himself, the delicious lil
piece of English pastry tasted every bit as good as it looked. Smiling to
myself, I wondered what Mark would think being compared to a fluffy scone
but figured with his quirky sense of humour, he'd probably be amused.
"You never told me you were going to drag me halfway round the country."

His reply was a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. "Hardly halfway,
it's only into Kent," he corrected me with a quick wink.

"And this isn't your home."

"Not my townhouse, no," Mark replied with a shake of his head. Gesturing
to the manor a mile or two away on the near horizon, he said, with a hint
of pride in his voice. "But it is nonetheless mine. My endlessly
matchmaking mother lives here and she would certainly have been here to
welcome you - a prospective in-law - if one of my crotchety aunts up in
Scotland hadn't fallen and dislocated a hip."

I chose to disregard the sly reference to the in-law comment and focused
instead on his collection of houcses. His answer was telling enough and
had me silently wondering just how many 'houses' the man actually had.
Some men collected stamps, some collected antique coins. Like a crazed,
controlling Monopoly player, Darcy seemed to enjoy collecting houses. And
I would hardly call the palatial manor we just left a mere house. The
large, beautifully furnished salon he'd ushered me in to wait while he
collected our tea and scones was roughly the size of the apartment I had
when I was a med student back home. And Mark had called that the
breakfast salon. Was the dinner salon the size of a tennis court?

Moments later as I'd sat waiting patiently on the sofa, he'd returned to
the salon from somewhere in the depths of the manor with a large picnic
basket filled to the brim. There was a strange smile on his handsome face
but he refused to explain the reasons behind it.

"And you changed your cars.."

That accusation had him looking down with a faint flush at his cheeks and
I wondered whether I'd embarassed him. "Well, I hoped that the Vanquish
would impress you enough that you'd ... gimme some of your sweet lovin'."
Flicking his glance back to me, he grinned in a wicked way that had me
wondering whether he was really joking.

Looking back at the gleaming automobile parked beneath the shade of a
thicket close by, I shook my head. It was really strange. For a man who
mapped out his schedules with the thoroughness of a king planning out a
military expedition - and already had a planned itinerary for the day,
undoubtedly disrupted by a certain Englishman - this was totally
unprecedented. No one knew where I was, no one knew who I was with and I
was miles away from nowhere with someone I barely knew. A tiny part of my
mind was screaming get out of there, he's a crazy axe murderer but I
suppressed that crazy impulse. Giving him a slightly nervous look, I said
softly. "I feel like one of those virginal brides kidnapped from their
bower by a dastardly lord."

"You've got part of that right." Instead of trying to chop and dice me
into bloody litle pieces, Mark seemed more intent on rifling through the
contents of the picnic basket. Easing his hand into the basket, Mark
slipped out a scone and bit into it. "And ye'll be deflowered soon
enough, winsome young lad."

Licking the bit of cream across his sensuous lip, he gave me a lewd wink.
The man was a study of anachronisms. In his dapper English suit, sipping
lager with scones. The hunky blue-blood with the sexy fuck-me body and
that bad-boy smile. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Tea and scones. The best in England," he enthused, waving the remains of
his scone. "My mother's cook makes the best."

It certainly wasn't an empty boast. Hard to argue with that claim when my
mouth was watering for more. "That's all."

His interest in the scones forgotten, Mark leaned forward slightly, his
deep blue eyes darkening. "Well, you want the meatier portion I mentioned
earlier right now?"

"Mark."

My cool comment only had him throwing his head back in a laugh. Seeing
that I was staring at him without a trace of amusement, he pulled my hand
and drew me closer. Resistance seemed to be futile, what with the man
outweighing and outmuscling me, and I allowed myself to be drawn to him.
"I would have thought that it's simple enough. I want to be alone with a
man I find eminently attractive. That a good enough reason for you?"

It was almost scary how well the man knew me despite getting to know me
at my drunken worst. Far more effective than a string of easy, charming
phrases, the simple direct words had butterflies carwheeling in my
stomach. "You can't really be serious, you've only known me for two days.
And one of those days I was not myself - and drunk to boot. I could be..
some kinda monster."

"So you're going to pull out my still bleeding heart from my chest and
eat it?" Mark mimed being attacked and fell to the ground moaning in
distress.

Despite the disgusting images that ran through my head, I tried to smile.
"That sounds gross. And how do you know I won't do it?"

Peeking up at me through his thickly lashed, curled black lashes, he
grinned at me defiantly. "You don't scare me, doc. And anyway, that won't
stop me from going after what I want." His smile was engaging and
irreverent, his blue eyes twinkling with humour but there was a trace of
steel in the tone of his deep, velvety-smooth voice that I recognized.
"When I see what I want, I go for it, and right now that seems to be you.
There was chemistry between us that night and even you can't deny that."

There was an earnestness in his voice that belied the laughter in his
eyes and I found myself puzzling over it. Mark seemed so sure, so
determined to engage in the pursuit of a man who was essentially a
stranger to him. Falling down beside him on the picnic cloth, I propped
my head on my palm and stared at him. "Riddle me this. What the hell do
you find so attractive in me that you'd want to go out with me again?"

Mark moved his hand across the cloth and slowly trailed up my arm,
running lightly across my cheek. "Must you go through every single detail
and analyze it? Can't you just enjoy the moment?" Taking my silence for
what it was, he sighed. Slowly tracing a design on my cheek - and leaving
a warm tingle, he paused to ponder a point. "Well, I find it very hard to
actually pinpoint a single quality..."

Seeing the beginnings of a laugh in his eyes, I nudged his hand away.
"Forget I asked."

"I'll give you an answer." His answer was rapid-fire even as he caught my
hand in his own, entwining his fingers with mine. "The absolutely
mind-blowing, back and bed-breaking sex."

Colour rushed into my cheeks as he'd probably intended. There had to be
no reply to that comment except for one. "Bollocks."

He looked at me in some surprise, his straight dark brows lifting
smoothly. I've always envied that ability in some people. "Well, that
too. Nice accent by the way."

"Asshole." I laughed. "Stop making me laugh."

"Well, I don't know how exactly to phrase this but... mate, you're easy."

Since I allegedly leapt on him like a ravenous sex-crazed animal, I don't
think I could refute that. According to Mark's undoubtedly exaggerated
recollection, I'd walked into a gay bar, spotted the hottest stud in
there - namely him - and then, I'd stuck my tongue into his desirable
mouth. Not bad for a first-timer. I still had doubts on the truth of his
recollection but since my own far from reliable memories were blurred out
by alcohol, I had to go with his description of me as the undoubted slut
from hell. "I'd love to punch you in the face for that but don't think I
can argue with that."

He laughed again. "Not to worry, I like guys who are easy too. But you
gotta make damned sure that's your last time cause I'm a jealous kinda
bloke. No going around grabbing some guy's arse anymore for you, no
matter how cute they are."

The easy, confident laugh only made him all the more better-looking and
damn if he didn't know it. Mark Darcy was a fucking beautiful man and no
doubt half the barhoppers in gay London would agree with my assessment.
It was hard not to notice his particular brand of radiant good looks and
charisma when I'd noticed that passersby strained their necks just to
look back at him. Definitely a Close To You kinda guy. "Look, Mark, I'm
an average guy. The guy everyone describes as witty, interesting with a
pleasant personality. While you're... well, you know what you are.."

Finally piqued, Mark moved forward with seeming interest, his extremely
mobile mouth turning up in an increasingly smug smile. "Yes? Devilishly
handsome? Dead sexy? Impossibly charming in a rakish, debonair manner?"

"Looks like your head's bloated enough," I replied dryly.

"It's still nice to get a rave review now and then." Mark shrugged
easily. Reaching down with his hand, he gave his butt a quick, satisfying
pat. "Don't forget, we have already established that you like my superior
arse."

There was that delicious twinkle in his blue eyes that I'd started
associating with him and I broke into a smile despite myself. "You're
trying to make me laugh again."

"There. That's such a lovely sound. It's nice to hear you laugh. Somehow
I don't think you do it often enough."

I stared at him curiously. "You don't know that."

"I don't?" He grinned with some satisfaction. "I'll tell you what. It's
the watermelon thing."

Picturing the fruit didn't seem at all complimentary and I laughed as I
turned back to the scones. His cook had even laid out some ham and fried
chicken. Digging out a wing, I bit into it. "That's why you like me? I
don't know whether to be insulted."

"It's a compliment, I assure you." His gaze faltered before mine for a
moment and he glanced down briefly at the checkered cloth before
continuing. "Seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed as much with
anyone else."

It was surprisingly frank and just the right thing to say. "You're a
smooth one, aren't you?"

He cocked his head to look at me. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
As he spoke, his hand lifted to brush lightly against my cheek. It was
obvious that affectionate gestures came easily to him and I wondered why
it prompted me to flinch instead. Love and affection were shown in far
more subtle ways in the conservative Chen family. Just spontaneously
reaching out to touch someone just wasn't in me and it didn't come to me
as easily as it obviously did to Mark.

I looked away. How could I explain? My one and only fling years ago.. it
was pathetic.. It couldn't even be called love or even a relationship
since it barely lasted a week. Call it a reckless, childish infatuation
for a handsome face and a smooth style. Flushed with puppy love, I'd
returned to the dance floor searching for the same guy and I
inadvertently heard his scathing review of my performance. It was
emphatically both thumbs down, both for my looks and my technique. Since
then however, I'd polished up my looks but since that first disastrous
outing, I hadn't had the opportunity to practise my moves. And it galled
me to note that Delicious Darcy had that guy beat hands down in terms of
looks and style.

Interrupting my reverie, Mark drew my attention back to him. "River? Cat
got your tongue?"

"No, it's.." It was at the tip of my tongue to confess my woeful tale but
I remained silent. There was hardly any cause to burden him with the
story of a careless heartbreaker who'd literally stomped on my heart and
pride - and the worst of it all, I doubt the man in question had any
recollection of what he'd done. The painful but thankfully maturing
experience didn't leave me with a blind, unswerving hatred of all men ala
Miss Havisham but it certainly left me with a certain guarded
watchfulness when it came to certain smooth, handsome charmers. They were
not to be trusted. A pity Darcy fit that description almost to a T.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he repeated, tapping me on the shoulder with a
drumstick.

"I think that's enough cliches from you for now." It was obviously the
wrong moment to bring up such an issue. And it certainly didn't concern
him at all. I was on holiday with a perfectly wonderful man and I needed
to forget my problems. Determined to enjoy the moment, I tried for a
lighthearted smile. "So, the watermelon thing, huh."

Not fooled by my quick change of subject, he looked at me closely, a
concerned look on his handsome face. "Look, River, you know you can tell
me anything."

From what he'd told me of our first night, I seemed to have told him a
little too much.

"It's nothing. Just thinking about the watermelon." I lied glibly.

"That's not it but I'll let it pass for now." Although I shook my head in
emphasis, he still didn't look convinced but he hesitated to pursue the
topic. Deciding to let it go, Mark returned to the earlier subject. "It's
not only the watermelon. Any man who can quote me Edward Nygma has got to
be worth something."

"You read comics?" I said with some amazement. The stereotypical image of
a comic reader was that of a bespectacled nerdy teenage boy and Mark
Darcy definitely didn't fit into that square peg. The six-footer more
closely fit my notion of the big bully who kicked sand in the nerd's
face.

Glancing around carefully, Mark hushed me. His blue eyes flashed with
amusement. "Shh.. Don't tell anyone but yes. Utterly obsessed. My mother
cowers with shame each time she sees a first edition Dickens sharing
space with the Bat in my father's library."

I suddenly had an image of the sexy, stylish Londoner huddling in the
dark depths of his study, hiding from his retainers, trying to read the
latest issue of the Bat. The odd picture had me smiling in spite of
myself and I blurted out impulsively, "I think we should get married."
Even as I said it, I winced. My tongue was evidently even looser than my
inhibitions around him.

His blue eyes gleamed. "I see you've been reading my mind. Should I get
the priest?"

"That's not what I.."

"You're not welshing on me, are you?" Pleased with himself, Mark Darcy
looked like the cat who'd gotten the cream. He leaned back on his
haunches and wrapped his arms protectively around himself like a wronged
virgin. "Oh, how could you? I feel so.. so.. used."

"Ha ha."

A quick, disarming grin split his handsome face. "God knows you shouldn't
take advantage of me.. I'm just a poor simple English farmboy with my
heart on my.."

It wasn't the first time he'd spoken of his feelings for me and I doubt
it would be the last. A dangerous part of me didn't want him to stop.
Seeing him rattle off in that lighthearted vein had me laughing again and
I gave him a quick shove that had him sprawled on the ground. "Shut up."

Easing up on his powerful arms, he continued smiling easily even as he
spoke to me. "I like the fact that I rattle you, River. Nice to know I'm
apparently irresistible."

With the almost-hypnotic quality of his sky-blue eyes, I found it hard
that anyone could even hold a decent conversation with him. It was hard
not to focus on that amazingly beautiful face and forget all about what
he said. The glow of those perfect, vividly blue eyes, the thick, lush,
dark lashes, the perfection of his sculpted, aristocratic nose, those
sot, sensuous lips that could so easily quirk up into a devastating
smile.

Startled by my close scrutiny, Mark asked curiously. "What? Do I have
cream on my face?"

"You're too damn good-looking." And it was true. Some guys looked great
but there was always one small flaw. A mouth too wide, a nose just
slightly off-center, a barely noticeable squint in one eye. Damnably,
Mark had none of those, just one of those flawlessly handsome faces I
associated with comic-book heroes. The heroic, lantern-shaped jaw, the
blue-black tint of his hair, the marvellous width of his shoulders.

"That's just the pretty wrapping. It's not all I am," he answered simply.

There were no fervent denials, no embarassed posturings, no vain,
self-conceited preenings. There was just plain acceptance of the fact and
I found I liked him the more for it. "I think you underestimate yourself.
Somehow I think you're beautiful inside too."

My honest reply had him moving closer to me with a gusty sigh. "Doc, are
you trying to drive me crazy?" Reluctantly, Mark finally smiled - a 1000
watt smile that would have knocked me over if I was standing. Even on the
ground, I felt my arms give way. "Damn you. You're not really helping
much with keeping my libido in check."

I grinned. "You're the sex maniac."

"Says the man who couldn't get quite enough last night. Crying out for
more, more, more."

"Don't remind me." I chuckled weakly, shaking my head. My memories of
that night were scanty to be sure but with each lurid comment he made, I
regained a small recollection and the accumulation of memories made me
blush. Had I really done all those things he hinted at? Was I the same
man who'd accosted him in the club and dragged him to the hotel room with
me? Such a wild, crazy notion seemed almost foreign to me right now in
the light of day and reason. And yet looking at Delicious Darcy lazing on
the picnic cloth before me, I could see how anyone could lose their heads
when he was around.

Taking a drink of Perrier, Mark swallowed deeply before speaking again.
His deep voice was tinged with something approaching awe. "I don't think
I'm likely to forget being tied up and ordered to perform."

I stared at him. His blue eyes looked innocent.

"It's true. You want to see your bitemarks on my arse?"

As he reached for his waistband, I caught his hand. It was a tempting
thought but I resisted. Another look at the perfection of his taut
bubble-butt and I might fall on him like a ravenous beast - even without
the alcohol.

He eased his hand away and caught my hand in his. Giving me a look at the
edge of his eyes, he said primly. "Oh, sorry, I forgot all about the
strict embargo on the sex talk."

I laughed as he knew I would. "You're funny."

"You bring that wicked side out in me." He smiled.

"I always wanted a boyfriend with a keen sense of humour."

His dark brow flew up in surprise. "Flirting with me, Doctor Chen?"

"Would it be so wrong?"

He grinned.

As I munched my way through foie gras, fried chicken and scones, we
talked about everything except the growing attraction between us. Even
so, I could hardly keep my eyes on the food when my gaze kept on straying
to the man himself. Delicious Darcy, so much more stimulating than
English scones. Every move he made brought into motion the stunning
musculature of his body, drawing my ogling eye even as I tried to
concentrate on his words.

Sitting crosslegged on the ground, Mark told me about some of the
attractions in London that I shouldn't miss while my bewitched eyes were
hopelessly fixed to the attractions of his crotch. The tight,
spray-painted dark blue 501s he wore did nothing to hide the nicely
abundant package at the apex of his well-muscled thighs. I tried to deny
my feelings but I couldn't deny the feelings stirring in my dick. Trying
to avoid drooling over his crotch, I shifted my attention back to food.
"These scones are the best."

"I like the taste of you even more," Mark said quietly.

The sudden change of topic again shocked me and I paused in the act of
biting into a cracker. "You said you wouldn't talk about sex."

"I lied. You make me hot." Breaking the embargo, Mark only grinned
unabashedly. He then proceeded to point out the obvious. "And you're not
helping any - staring at my crotch and licking your lips."

His words brought my gaze back to what I'd been trying to avoid. If my
estimations were correct, something large was stirring inside Darcy's
pants. "I don't think I can help myself too."

"I've been wanting to fuck that sweet arse all morning."

There was nothing to do after those words but to fall into his arms. What
can I say? I was obviously just as easy as he'd said. The man moved
exceedingly fast and he caught me in his strong arms, his fast hands
running down my back even as his lips met mine in a passionate kiss.
Eagerly joining in the kiss, I worked my tongue ino his mouth as I
followed his example and ran my hand down to grope his expanding crotch.
His taste, his smell, his warmth, they flooded my senses and I regained a
sense of what had happened that night.

The sudden surge of memory, followed by the emotions, emboldened me and I
nudged him backward onto the ground. As I ran my hands down his arms, I
found that Darcy certainly lived up to my expectations. His biceps and
delts were just as I imagined they would be, hard, thick and strong. And
as I tore open the top buttons of his shirt, the smooth, practically
hairless chest was broad and powerful, the solid, perfect mounds of his
pectorals sporting a pair of eraser-hard nipples that begged for my
kisses.

For a moment, he tugged away, his blue eyes no longer cool but ablaze
with an inner fire. "Motherfucker. You're really trying to drive me
slowly insane."

It was then that I heard it the slow, insistent throb of Kylie's Slow, an
apt song considering the situation. It was like a quick splash of water
to the senses as my heartbeat started slowing down to the beat of the
song. "I-It's your phone."

His large hand reached for me again. "Fuck the phone."

"It could be your mother," I warned him, my voice not quite steady.
Banking on the hunch that Mark would be too afraid to blow me while his
mother was ringing, I shoved away from him and landed on my haunches.

"Sod it," he fumed as he reached behind to retrieve his cellphone from
his back pocket. Kylie's music continued to fill the air and he cursed
fluently which made me smile in spite of my frustration. One glance down
at the cellphone confirmed the identity of the caller and Mark cursed
again. Then he pulled away, muttering a command to me with a familiar
gesture. "Stay. I'm not finished here."

He stepped away to answer his call and I took the time to piece together
my tattered clothes. As he released me, I realized that there should be a
warning tacked onto Mark Darcy's overly desirable form. The man was
obviously a menace to civilized society. One look at him and I
metamorphosed into an insane, sex-crazed mindless creature without higher
mental function, my one desire to fuck and be fucked by him.

Mark had gone around the oak tree to mutter incessantly into his
cellphone and I heard him mumbling a few curses. Shutting off his
cellphone and tossing it into the basket, he came back to me. "So where
were we?"

"We are.. I mean.."

"Damn." Mark cursed softly as he took note of my clothes, now primly
buttoned up to my neck. "You're just gonna leave me here like this?"

His narrowed gaze shifted down to his crotch and I followed. There was
something large still stirring in his pants and my mouth was watering in
reflex.

Standing above me with his legs spread wide, he let out a rollicking
laugh, and this time his laugh was a tad merciless. "You little bastard.
I should just toss you over my shoulder, carry you over to my bedroom and
fuck away like a madman .."

Oh my God, did he just read my mind again?

"But I won't."

Damn.

His smile was almost proudly smug. "I want you begging for it."

Any doubts I had about his nobility dissolved as I saw him standing proud
and haughty before me. The Wicked Marquis, that's what he was to a T, and
the marquis was demanding retribution. And I realized that he didn't have
to wait all that long to have me begging and I told him so.

His eyes glittered dangerously blue. "Doctor, you've got a dangerous way
of telling the truth."

"So you're going to toss me over your shoulder?" There was a tone of
hopefulness in my voice that I couldn't hide and he laughed again.

"You are a tempting pricktease but no." He grinned easily as he knelt
down on the picnic cloth. "We're gonna finish these lovely tea and scones
that Cook prepared."

"Oh. Okay." Vaguely disappointed, I turned back to the basket and pulled
out a glass. There was a champagne bottle somewhere deep inside the
damned basket and I suddenly felt thirsty like hell.

In a quick, savage move I didn't expect, he suddenly knocked the glass
out of my hand and threw me down. "Fuck the tea."

"But I thought.."

"Bugger it. It's my turn to stick my tongue down your throat, River."