Victorian spider nonsense

[propatriamori]

Being injured on the battlefield and permanently crippled by it wasn't insult enough. No, that alone Edward might have been able to bear. It would have been a battle, getting his family to accept him again and taking his place as the rightful heir and oldest son, but it would have been possible. He's still young, after all, has an education his brother never bothered to receive, and their father is still bluff and hale and healthy; he could have worn them down over time. A well-placed marriage wouldn't have hurt his chances, and he was always popular with the ladies (he admittedly doesn't know why, he barely gave them the time of day, but perhaps the society women are bored and enjoy a challenge themselves). Given a few years to adjust, to make connections and alliances in London, and Edward could have presented himself back home as a man in full control of his faculties, ready to take on the management of the estate.

It wasn't only blindness that he brought back with him from the furthest reaches of the Empire. It was the curse as well, the curse that is changing him beyond what anyone in England knows or recognises, that sends Edward into reclusiveness in the family's London estate.

Hybrids are not entirely unknown in England; humans and half-humans travel in and out through the Empire, and it's not unusual to see the occasional sphinx in the British Museum, or a mermaid sunning herself on the banks of the Thames. The hybrids are not exactly beloved, but they're tolerated with a certain amount of benign amusement, much the same way immigrants are; they're not British, but they have their uses, and as long as they're not trying to rise above their stations, they are folded into society. Some even manage to make names for themselves, like the centaur who races himself and is campaigning to enter the Derby.

But there are no hybrids like Edward. He wasn't even aware that hybrids like himself existed, until it was too late and he was turning into one. Now he's sequestered away, hidden and spoken of in hushed tones, as he goes through the slow, torturous changes alone.

It's enough to give anyone insomnia, which is why Edward feels it when someone enters the house late at night.

It would have woken him up anyway, had he been sleeping; the slow, nearly imperceptible creak of a window opening rattled throughout the entire house, setting the entire thing vibrating, and Edward slipped down from the hammock--it's a hammock, not a web, and if he tells himself that enough times, it will have to be true--he's made in the corner of his room and glides out into the hallway on silent spider feet. Whoever it is, they've found the safe in the room off the dining room and are tinkering with it, trying to get it open.

Edward positions himself in the doorway, blocking the exit. "What are you doing?"

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ICONS SOON

[amauteur]

A.J. Raffles doesn't look much like himself. He's in a mask, soot blackening his face, and his clothes are worn and disreputable. The one person expected to be in the house tonight is blind, but that was no reason to take any chances with zealous or wakeful servants.

He was not expecting the master to be awake. Or quite so silent. It was the breathing Raffles heard first, and by the time he did, it was too late; he goes very still, spotted and he knows it.

Carefully, Raffles turns around, slow, ready to slip into a Whitechapel affect and vocabulary, which should be more than enough to keep his identity a secret, when he sees Edward Courtenay himself and understands suddenly, perfectly, why the young man has become a recluse.

This changes matters. Raffles would not fall upon blackmail as his first option, certainly not against a gentleman who had done him no wrong, but it means Courtenay's personality turns upon different axes than before, and avenues are open to Raffles that weren't, before.

And his animal curiosity, his impish inability to leave well enough alone, is piqued.

"Why, as I live and breathe -- Edward Courtenay!" he says, in his own voice. "It really has been some time, hasn't it?" Raffles' tone is as friendly and carefree as it might have been in a pavillion beside the cricket-pitch, noting that Courtenay has come into money, or grown a beard. The lockpick he had been using on the safe slides deftly into a jacket pocket.

[propatriamori]

A beard? A.J., please, Edward would never be so gauche. Plus, his beard looks terrible when it comes in, all patchy and sparse.

"... Raffles?"

Edward is completely thrown by that voice, so much so that he doubts his own senses for a moment. Surely it isn't A.J. Raffles in his flat, digging around in his safe. The very idea is preposterous. But Edward also knows that voice--has spent more time than he'd ever admit daydreaming about that voice, and the man attached to it--and as strange as it might seem, Raffles is in his flat.

The realisation comes at the exact moment when Edward realises that Raffles can see him, and what he's become, and he takes a few panicked, skittering steps backwards into the shadows. Even the servants don't know what he's become; Edward stays in his rooms during the day and sends them away at night. He'd rather they think he's become a vampire than suspect the actual truth.

"What..." Oh god, his voice is coming out too high-pitched and strangled, and Edward takes a moment to try and modulate it, get it back into the hearing range of human beings and not dogs. Even now, even in this bizarre set of circumstances, he wants Raffles to like him. "I say, good man, what are you doing here? It's a bit late for a social call, don't you think?"

He has a horrifying moment where he thinks it might actually be appropriate visiting hours and he just hasn't realised it, but then Edward remembers hearing a clock chime twice recently. No, it's the middle of the night, and Raffles is in his flat, and what the hell is going on?

[amauteur]

He is ashamed of the change in his physical form. Raffles feels two things at once: a pity he feels shame about it and I am perfectly safe.

"Easy there, Courtenay!" he says, holding up his hands. "There's no need to skulk in the hallway. I won't put too fine a point on it, but I've already seen you -- as you have done much the same to me! Now that two gentlemen know each other's secrets, it's better to talk in the same room, face to face like men, than to shout awkwardly through a doorway. Don't you agree?"

It's a winning tone, coaxing without being condescending, an invitation to speak as equals -- as gentlemen. Courtenay is behaving like a guilty child or a lady caught undressed, and so, Raffles offers him honor and normalcy, even if it is half past two in the morning.

[propatriamori]

Why wouldn't he be ashamed? Look at him, he's turned into a monster. A centaur or a sphinx or something vaguely recognisable would be bad enough, but a spider? Even his own family doesn't want to be around him any longer.

Which is why Edward slowly, reluctantly steps forward, at Raffles's bidding. This is the first kind, friendly voice he's heard in weeks, the first time someone has spoken to him in a voice not tinged with horror, and he is thirstier for it than he'd realised.

He still doesn't completely enter the room, choosing instead to linger in the doorway. The spider half of his body is still reasonably couched in shadows, with his human half being closer to the light coming in from the window.

"I haven't seen you." Edward gestures at his face, at his scars and wasted eyes. "I won't be seeing anything, ever again."

Which doesn't explain how he knows Raffles is there, but that's not a secret Edward is too eager to divulge.

"What are you doing here?" He gestures at the window. "If you wanted a social call, you could have come in through the front door. No need for this skulking about business."

[amauteur]

"I'm afraid," Raffles says with a smile, a precise balance of wry humor, caught-in-the-act self-deprecation, and wouldn't you do the same? in his voice that comes off as both harmless and charming, "I was made aware of something in this house that called irresistibly to me. Rumor had it you brought back a unusual statue of peerless beauty, and that you had invested in quite the modern safe to keep it locked away in!

"The moment it was mentioned in front of me, I was quite doomed, Courtenay. I had to see it for myself, and test my mettle against this uncrackable defense. Do come further inside," he adds, "and stop dithering in the doorway, there's a good chap. I promise you, I shan't scream, nor do something so shameful as to give you away if you mean to continue hiding your condition."

[propatriamori]

The explanation, spoken in that charming, roguish tone of voice that makes Edward go slightly weak in all four knees, is both ridiculous and completely plausible. It's what Raffles says next that has all the colour bleaching out of Edward's face.

"Good Lord, Raffles, you're not supposed to just say it like that!" Edward showed him his eyes! Wasn't that good enough? Now he's going to go around just openly talking about Edward's condition, instead of pretending he doesn't notice and slipping away as soon as possible?

... wait. Wait, this is actually better. Raffles has seen him, and doesn't seem overly bothered. If anything, he's acting as though Edward is perfectly normal and the most interesting thing in the room is the safe.

Edward decides to test that theory and comes fully into the room, exposing himself. He even lifts his second set of arms, which had been tucked carefully behind his back, so Raffles can see them. The second left hand--the cheeky one, the one the least under Edward's control--flips Raffles a flirty little wave before Edward can grab it with his first left hand and push it down. Besides the extra arms, from the waist down, he has the body of a spider, his human pelvis and legs completely gone. He walks forward on four legs which somehow manage to coordinate themselves and not trip him.

"It's not as beautiful as whatever you've heard." Edward stops a few feet away from Raffles and the safe before waving a hand at it. "I imagine it has value to the right person, but it has no place in an art gallery. You're welcome to get it out, if you like."

Edward never wants to see the damn thing again, and he blames the statue itself for taking that choice away from him.

[amauteur]

Oh, how beautifully strange. Raffles's eyes rake over the spider's body, the additional hands -- one of which seems to be behaving on reflex, how marvelous -- and he could swear he's never heard of a hybrid quite like this.

The other man's attraction has always been obvious, and Raffles has always been good enough to deflect politely away from it, but it has clearly not gone away, and...four arms, hm?

"No," Raffles murmurs, suddenly sounding rather distracted. "I've quite lost the mood for safe-cracking, I'm afraid."

He doesn't sound disgusted. Not at all.

"If you'll forgive one more indelicate reference to your current state of affairs," Raffles remarks, "the change rather suits you! Now, don't take me wrong," he adds, quick and meant to forestall the misunderstanding he knows is coming. "I mean that in the most complimentary way a fellow can. There is an elegance to it that I find most remarkable."

Does he mean it? Is he spinning a web of his own? Yes.

[propatriamori]

No one in England has heard of a hybrid like this, which is one of the reasons Edward has stayed hidden away! London's high society is not what anyone would call welcoming when it comes to foreigners and oddities, and Edward might as well be both now.

The range of emotions Edward goes through is wide-ranging and fierce at Raffles's comments. Before his heart has a chance to entirely break apart--which it nearly does, when Raffles says the change suits him, which can only be the most cruel and cutting of insults--he's reassured that it's meant as a compliment, and called elegant. It's certainly better than being called a monster or a freak, and Raffles's tone is, strangely enough, approving.

Edward wonders if Raffles hit his head on the way in through the window.

"It does me no good to be lied to, Mr. Raffles," he finally answers, his tone having taken on several degrees of frost. "I'm perfectly willing to ignore that you broke into my home and were attempting to rob me, but don't you dare lie to me and tell me things contrary to what I know is true."

Which is, to wit, that Edward is now a freak who will be forever alone.

"Break into the safe. Take the statue. Take the silver too, for all I care. Take whatever you want, but go away and take your lies with you."

Edward starts to retreat back into the shadows, to leave Raffles to do whatever he's going to do. As he does, though, his second left hand--the damnable second left hand, the one that never listens--reaches out, stretching towards Raffles like Edward is drowning and he's the only one who can pull him back.

[amauteur]

And, of course, Raffles catches it.

He could leave now. But the thing in the safe is no longer his target.

"You seem to be of two minds about whether to believe me," he remarks, taking a step forward so that he can bring the left hand up toward his mouth. "Have you ever known me to be so dishonorable as to tell a lie out of anything but necessity, to preserve life or honor?"

He places a kiss, light as air, on the knuckles of the rebellious hand.

"As you said, you'll forgive my burglary. Therefore, what reason would I have for empty flattery? It's a better look at you I'm after, Courtenay, you fascinating creature -- if you'll only indulge me."

He keeps hold of the autonomous hand, though his fingers shift their grip as he talks to give Edward's a deft, winding caress. It's simultaneously perfectly decent and intimately familiar.

[propatriamori]

It's both the warmth of Raffles's hand and what he says that stops Edward dead in his tracks. He hasn't known Raffles to lie; even when caught red-handed, trying to get into the safe, he never actively denied what he was doing. He changed the subject, certainly; tried to lead Edward to a different set of assumptions, definitely. But he didn't lie.

He has had opportunities to in the past, as well, and didn't. Edward realises, even as his hand twists to try and caress Raffles's face, that Raffles has almost certainly realised and noticed Edward swanning after him. The thought fills him with sudden, red-hot embarrassment; he was nearly tripping after Raffles on the cricket pitch like a smitten schoolgirl, wasn't he? But Raffles was never cruel to him, always gently rebuffed Edward's awkward advances in such a way that Edward was never all that cognizant of being rejected. It had always felt more like "not now" instead of "not ever."

"But why?" Edward doesn't attempt to pull his hand back, even as Raffles's kiss burns on the back of his knuckles and the hand moves again to reach for Raffles's face. "Why now?"

Why come to him now, when he is this? Where were you, Raffles, when he was still young and handsome and whole?

[amauteur]

Raffles is absolutely a liar when it suits his criminal purposes. But his gentlemanly honor matters a great deal to him, and in dealing with Edward Courtenay, needlesss lies are not the order of the day.

The truth is that Courtenay stumbling after him beside the cricket pitch wasn't particularly interesting to him. There was no romance to it, no chase, no challenge. Now, though -- now, it's something unique, a beautiful new transgression in the name of personal pleasure that can be done without outward shame.

"Why not now?" Raffles asks, his voice low but clear. He doesn't quite let the hand caress his face, but he plants a fresh kiss on the fingertips. "You send the servants away at night, don't you? We're quite alone in this house. I don't think there has ever been a finer opportunity."

Bunny, keeping watch outside, is the only other person who knows where Raffles is. He'll be wondering what's taking so long, but that's not important. He can wait, and he will wait. It's not worth mentioning now.

a big handsome gay unicorn, yes!

[propatriamori]

"Yes, the servants all left hours ago." Most of them probably skived off early, in fact. Edward doesn't emerge from his rooms to check on them, so he has to assume at least some of them take advantage of that and leave whenever it suits them. It can't be a terribly enjoyable or engaging job, taking care of a recluse who never shows his face.

The kiss on his fingertips has all the tiny hairs that have grown there stand on end, like they're reaching for a ceiling to latch onto. Edward shivers at the sensation, and his other left hand, the one he was born with, drifts up to loop lightly around Raffles's wrist. His touch is hesitant and shy, but he makes a go of caressing Raffles's wrist the way he held Edward's hand.

"You're a very strange man, A.J. Raffles," Edward decides, but there's a tone of wonder in his voice rather than condemnation. He takes a step forward, until he's close enough that he swears he can feel the heat coming off Raffles's body, and tilts his face towards his. "You're going to have to show me what to do."

It doesn't seem like too wild or offensive an assumption to think that Raffles has more experience in these matters than Edward does. Beyond some very awkward and unsatisfactory fumbling during promenade season, he is a complete innocent.

[amauteur]

Oh, Edward's right about that.

Whether or not Raffles enjoys tutoring a novice, though, depends entirely on his mood. Sometimes, he doesn't want to, and deeply appreciates someone who knows what they like and knows what they're doing. Other times, it's good to be able to work from scratch, to nip bad habits in the bud and show them exactly how it's done.

The spider body makes this a little thornier, because Raffles will be doing the work for both of them if Courtenay doesn't know how to work it yet. Then again, he's here for the challenge, the love of the game, so.

He clicks his tongue. "I imagine we'll both be learning our way around something new," says Raffles, turning the inexperience into a point of camaraderie. "We can both be novice players tonight. Come here -- I'll throw you an easy pitch."

He reaches out to take Courtenay's shoulder, then slides his hand up the man's throat to his jaw and pulls him into a confident kiss. It's chaste enough for now, but there's the promise of more in the heat of his hand, in the angling of their faces. Raffles knows exactly what he's doing, and if there was any lingering doubts that he wasn't serious, this ought to exorcise them.

[propatriamori]

While Edward might be inexperienced and shy, his second pair of hands makes up for it with enthusiasm. When Raffles pulls him in for a kiss, Edward melts against his chest, eagerly returning the kiss with what little talent he's picked up. His first pair of hands rise and end up resting lightly on Raffles's chest. He's not holding onto Raffles's shirt; not yet.

The second pair of hands has no such qualms. The left one slips out of Raffles's grasp to drop to the small of his back, spreading wide there and pulling him in. The right one mimics Raffles's hand, touching his shoulder before sliding around behind his head and threading fingers through his hair. Raffles has such nice hair, and even though the hands are being a bit embarrassing, Edward moans softly as the hand glides through it.

As for the spider body, it isn't bothered by such things as human courtship and whether something is considered proper by society. The spider body is, as the very uncouth youths down by the river like to say, ready to fuck, and Edward can feel heat coiling deep in the spider abdomen.

[amauteur]

There they are, the four arms. Like kissing two people at once. It's as gratifying as Raffles thought it would be; Courtenay melts charmingly against him, and Raffles breaks the kiss as it runs its course, long enough to murmur:

"Good, good. Now, again, and I'll ask you to let me in this time."

-- as he picks up a second kiss, in which halfway through Raffles starts to gently lick his way into Courtenay's mouth, deepening the kiss slow enough to let the man get used to it, to leave him wanting it. Gentlemen don't shove tongues down throats; they ask to be let in, and don't overstay their welcome. Raffles' other hand sinks to Courtenay's waist, to feel out where his human torso ends and becomes strange and unfamiliar, but in a way that seems perfectly natural, rather than gawking.

[propatriamori]

Just wait until those four hands get more skilled and knowledgable. Now they're just fumbling instinctually; someday, they'll know exactly where and how to touch.

Edward pants softly when Raffles pulls back. He knows this is very mild behaviour, that they haven't even really done anything yet, but he also hadn't realised how much he missed other people touching him until Raffles did. Since his injuries and his curse, the only hands on him have been from rough and prying, more interested in him as either a curiosity or something to be fixed. Being touched softly, gently, is like a balm on his loneliness, and he thinks he would honestly be content if Raffles simply stood there and held onto him the rest of the night.

Of course, he won't complain about Raffles's tongue in his mouth, either. It's another new experience, and Edward lets Raffles lead the way, only using his own tongue with encouragement. He stiffens momentarily when he feels Raffles's hand stray to his spider half, but then all the tiny, soft hairs on the spider flesh rise to meet the touch, and Edward shivers, pulling back and breaking the kiss for a moment.

"Oh, that... that feels good?" The surprise is obvious in his voice. No one has ever tried to romance the spider half before (or the human half either, for that matter), and the spider half is responding in ways Edward didn't expect.

One of the forward spider legs moves out, the padded foot wrapping delicately around Raffles's ankle and stroking the back of his calf.

[amauteur]

"You'll have to keep that up," Raffles tells him, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Your first and most vital responsibility is to tell me in no uncertain terms what feels good--"

As he talks, Raffles slides his other hand down Courtenay's back, bringing them close, pressed together from chest to hip, until it also caresses the strange spider-flesh, and takes a more hushed, intimate tone, a heated whisper in close to Courtenay's panting mouth--

"...and what is disagreeable to you."

He's confident he'll be able to tell, frankly, but giving the man encouragement to talk about it feels like the way to go, poor new thing that he is.

[propatriamori]

Edward makes a soft sound of surprise when Raffles pulls him forward, but it's not a sound of protest. Quite the opposite; his first arms slide up from Raffles's chest to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding on with all their strength. The second left hand, pleased and saucy, slides from Raffles's back to the beginnings of the curve of his ass and lingers there. Apparently, that is a bit too much, even for the more aggressive second hand.

The spider body shivers under Raffles's touch, arching up into it like a cat being stroked, and the foot touching Raffles's leg curls more closely around it. The second front foot pads forward, brushing the side of Raffles's other leg, its knee leaning against his lower thigh.

Edward manages to break away long enough to catch his breath. "This is all very agreeable." Then he moves back in for another kiss, and this time, he'll be the one trying to cautiously explore Raffles's mouth with his tongue as three of his hands twine through his hair.