Disobedience 8

Cal shook his head with a little laugh, taking another sip of his ruby ale. "You are a far braver man than I."

Morgan frowned at him, one finger absently circling the rim of his glass. "Surely being a tutor isn't that bad -"

Cal smiled again, amused at his friend's stunning naivete. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Who's the brat, anyway?"

"Lord Lynch's son," said Morgan smugly. "The famously pious, paragon of virtue."

Cal merely raised his eyebrows. "And you're sure that's not propaganda designed to get high-ranking noblewomen to fall in love with him?"

"Yes," snapped Morgan.

"Come back in a fortnight and tell me if I was right."

*~*~

Morgan's position as Richard Lynch's tutor began two days later, and Cal's mildly ominous words were still echoing in his mind as he sat opposite his new student.

The Right Honourable Richard Lynch was eighteen years old, with lustrous flaxen hair that fell in waves to his shoulders, and plump lips with a cupid's bow that had been designed by Aphrodite herself. He sat primly in his chair, slender manicured hands folded decorously on the table, waiting for his new tutor to speak.

Morgan swallowed. Suddenly, he felt a dark urge to throw him on the floor and hold him down and paint him in his cum.

When he still didn't speak, Richard said, "So, you're my new music tutor. How many instruments do you play?"

Morgan unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, that honey-sweet, dew-clear voice washing over him like a spell. "A slightly more complicated question than one might think -"

"Because you play the violin and, by extension, similar instruments such as the viola and double bass?"

"Yes, that's right. You're very quick." Richard gave a little smile at the praise, and Morgan's pulse stuttered. "I also play the harp, flute, and piano."

"Impressive," said Richard. "Violin is my favourite; may we commence with that?"

"Y-yes, of course."

To Morgan's utter lack of surprise, Richard played beautifully, as though he channelled .Orpheus through his delicate, gold-ringed fingers. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, as each note poured seamlessly from the stringers. The music seemed to augment his beauty a hundredfold, and Morgan had to sit down as a dizzying wave of lust came over him.

Despite Morgan's unforeseen attraction to his student, he thought that his new job was going rather way. Richard was as agreeable and polite as his reputation indicated, and he was finally succeeding in persuading himself that Cal had just been bullshitting as usual. Richard had a habit of standing unnecessarily close to Morgan when he was demonstrating a technique, which rendered Morgan's lust greater by every passing day, but other than that things were going perfectly.

Until they weren't.

Richard was being uncharacteristically petulant, acting like a child. "I don't want to play the harp, I want to play the violin," pouted Richard.

"Richard," Morgan began patiently, "you can already play the violin beautifully. I am not being paid to teach you things you already know."

"But I don't want to. The strings hurt my fingers."

"The strings - you play the violin, that has strings!"

Richard crossed his legs. "But only the harp's hurt my fingers. I won't play it."

"You'll do as I say," barked Morgan.

Richard took a step closer to him, and despite himself, Morgan felt a frisson of desire go down his spine. "No, you will do what I say. I am your employer!"

That was when Morgan's temper snapped.

He slammed Richard against the gold and scarlet brocade wallpaper, yanking his arms behind his back. Richard whimpered in fright.

"Stop being a brat," snarled Morgan. "You may be an adult, but your father put me in charge of you for our lessons, so you will obey me."

"Fuck you," spat Richard.

Anger and lust coursed through Morgan's veins, entwining and merging until one was indistinguishable from the other. All he wanted to do was hold Richard down and fuck him roughly with his hand around his throat, hissing that this was what happened when young men disrespected their superiors.

God, what the fuck was happening to him? When had he become so depraved?

"What are you going to do?" sneered Richard. "You can't punish me, my father will -"

With an animalistic growl Morgan pulled him away from the wall, sitting down heavily on the velvet chaise-longue and hauled him onto his knee, arse sticking up in the air. Richard struggled, making a noise of outrage, but Morgan held him fast. "Let me go!" he yelled. "How dare you! I am not a child -"

"If you don't want to be treated like a child, then you shouldn't fucking act like one." He pulled down Richard' breeches, exposing his arse to the coolness of the parlour.

He reached for the first thing he saw, the violin bow, and struck.

He jerked in Morgan's lap, a noise of pain or surprise - or possibly both - escaping him.

As Morgan continued to bring the bow down, Richard writhed, hands clutching at the fabric of the chaise as he gave a low cry with every strike. Morgan was unbelievably hard; he didn't think he'd ever been so turned on in his entire life.

He threw the bow to the ground and began slapping Richard's arse, now marred with angry pink-red stripes, with the palm of his hand. Richard' hips shifted, and Morgan felt the unmistakeable sensation of a stiff prick pushing into his thigh.

Oh fuck... fuck...

He was so fucked.

He threw Richard stomach-first on the chaise, and he pulled a tiny vial of oil from the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd never been more thankful that he took that emergency oil with him everywhere. He poured it over his hand, mind only half-working as he kneed Richard' legs apart and shoved one slick finger, then another inside him and gave his own cock a slow pump.

"Time to teach you a lesson, my lord," snarled Morgan.

"Sir, please, I'm sorry, I -"

Morgan thrust into him, sheathing his cock to the hilt, and Richard let out a scream that melted into a high moan as Morgan shoved him down by the back of his neck, fucking him ruthlessly, Richard' body bouncing against the cushions like a doll. He was whimpering deliciously, and Morgan moved his hand to the front of his throat, pressing softly. "Have you learned your lesson yet?"

Richard made an incoherent noise, and managed to gasp, "Morgan, Morgan, oh fuck..."

"Answer me." Morgan's hand tightened, and the choking noise that Richard made nearly made him come there and then, but he forced himself to slow down his thrusts. He wasn't nearly finished with him yet.

When Morgan loosened the grip on his throat, Richard sucked in a gasping breath.

"What's the lesson, sir?" said Richard breathily. "That you're a degenerate?"

Morgan gave him a particularly brutal thrust, and Richard whined. "Don't pretend you don't like it, you little whore." His hand snaked under Richard' hips, hand curling around his hardened shaft, and began stroking him roughly. When he swiped a thumb over his glans, he found him already dripping with pre-cum. "Oh, you slut."

"Yes," Richard whined. "I am. I'm a slut. Your slut."

"Fucking hell," gasped Morgan, hand digging into Richard's hip as he came.

"Yes," moaned Richard again, voice reaching a fever pitch. "Thank you for your seed, sir, thank you -"

Morgan pulled out of him and flipped him onto his back, taking in Richard' flushed countenance and messy golden waves. "You're beautiful," whispered Morgan, a note of reverence in his tone. His anger had leeched out of him in the soft euphoria of post-coitus, and he suddenly wanted to taste Richard's swollen shaft. His head dipped down, taking him in his mouth.

Almost immediately, Richard's hand curled in Morgan's hair, forcing his cock to the back of his throat. Morgan's eyes flew up in shock, and he tried to jerk his head backwards only for Richard to push harder. "What?" said Richard, eyes glittering darkly. "Only you're allowed to be rough, is that it?" Morgan gave a muffled moan, eyes beginning to water. Richard snapped his hips forward, driving his cock even further down Morgan's throat, who gagged, eyes widening in panic.

"Don't worry, sir, you'll adjust." He held Morgan's head steady as he fucked his throat with the same pace that Morgan had fucked him. He choked again, louder this time, and he looked up at Richard pleadingly. He capitulated, pulling Morgan off him by the hair.

Morgan gasped, hand massaging his throat. "Richard," he said hoarsely. "You vicious little brat."

Richard smirked, pumping his cock desperately. "Open your mouth, sir."

"You don't give me orders -"

"Open," said Richard lowly, and Morgan found himself obeying almost automatically, tongue even lolling out in anticipation.

With a high moan, Richard came, ropes of cum landing over Morgan's face. A disappointingly small amount went into his mouth, and he ran his fingers over his face, sucking Richard's release off them.

Richard lunged forward, lips landing heavily against his, and Morgan realised this was the first time they were actually kissing. He responded with enthusiasm, cupping the back of Richard' neck.

They broke apart, staring at each other. "Well," said Morgan breathlessly. "That was intense." He swallowed, and looked down. "I'm sorry, I was too rough, and I -"

Richard put a finger to his lips, and Morgan quieted out of surprise rather than anything else. "I was baiting you."

"Wha - oh, of course you were, you incorrigible brat."

"I knew from the second we first met that you were attracted to me. It became clear that lust alone wasn't going to motivate you; I could have seduced you, but I'm tired of that. Everyone always treats me like a fragile little bird. I thought you had a vein of darkness in you, and I was right."

Morgan stroked his cheek, and then slapped him. Richard whimpered, looking up at him with hooded eyes. His spent cock managed to swell back to semi-hardness, and Morgan ran an appreciative finger down the side of his shaft.

"Ah, don't," whined Richard. "Really, don't, it's too sensitive -"

"Fine," murmured Morgan against his ear, causing Richard to shiver in his arms. "But I'm coming into your chambers tonight to fuck you senseless."

Richard hummed, pressing a kiss to Morgan's neck. "Is that a promise?"

"Oh, yes."

~*~*~

"Fuck you," said Morgan to Cal the following afternoon. "You were right."