Ever since Alcuin could remember – and his memory was quite long indeed – he moved within a rigid design not of his own making. The pattern and weave of his life had never truly been his own doing. His life had always been dictated to him by those who had walked the earth long enough to know better than to leave him to his own devices, young and foolish as their errant heir apparent had been. Even now he felt the sting of his own foolishness like a cold blade against his ribs and longed to be told what to do – what was not only appropriate, but expected of him in this situation. Scott had never said he couldn't lay hands upon the boy, but just because a master didn't specify this, or that didn't mean they wouldn't be enraged by it. It was a loophole; therefore, an egregious breach of trust. Alcuin couldn't risk it.
It was bad enough he had been so bold as to succumb to those soft, loving lips where they might well have been caught at it.
“It is not you who should be apologizing...” Alcuin murmured, his fingertips vanishing in the soft hair at the nape of his companion's neck. “I do love you, my dear, and someday I will prove it to you – only not here, not now. I am sorry.”