Work Text:
Favourite Part - II in The Appeal Series
Utterson sometimes wondered what his favourite part of Henry Jekyll was. Yes, he loved all of the man, everything about him, but could he say if there was one thing in particular that captivated him the most?
Perhaps, it was the doctor’s home - Jekyll had always made it clear to the lawyer that he was welcome anytime in the grand building. Rich furnishings and beautiful wallpapers decorated each room; the house breathing quiet luxury. Jekyll’s bedroom in particular held a fond place in Utterson’s memory. They had spent many special nights together in that room - tangled up in the smooth, cotton sheets of the grand four-poster bed, laughing, kissing, hands roaming over each other's bodies, foreheads and lips pressed together between snatched breaths.
Maybe it was Jekyll’s clothes - the doctor always looked well-dressed and stylish. Utterson often caught himself simply gazing at Jekyll, admiring how his well-cut clothing clung to every curve and accent of his body. While he was at work with his chemicals, he would discard his jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves, baring his forearms. It was Utterson’s guilty pleasure to observe him in this casual state; no one else was allowed to see Jekyll like this, save his closest staff, and the thought of this private show belonging only to the doctor’s lover set Utterson’s heart aflutter. The sight of those same beautiful garments tossed upon the floor during a moment of passion often occupied Utterson’s inner eye, the memories both delightful and risque.
There were so many aspects of Jekyll’s body that fascinated Utterson. His legs, for example, so long and lean. Sometimes, when Jekyll quickened his pace, his longer stride had Utterson struggling to keep up with him. Taller than the average man, Jekyll’s height often had him towering over other individuals. Utterson himself only came up to Jekyll’s ears at his highest point, but that in itself was alluring. He enjoyed the height difference; it allowed him the privilege of getting to drag Jekyll down to his level, either with his arms round the doctor’s neck or a hand on his collar. Yes, Utterson certainly loved Jekyll’s legs, especially when they were clad in well-fitting trousers, or tangled around his own during moments of intimacy.
There were his hips, as well. To some, that may seem a strange part of one’s lover to be enthralled by, but Utterson had his own private reasons as to why he was so drawn to Jekyll’s pelvis. When a kiss had pulled them together, Utterson revelled in being able to grab hold of Jekyll’s hips and pull him closer. It never failed to elicit a choked gasp from the esteemed doctor, breaking his carefully constructed composure in an instant.
Utterson had to admit that Jekyll’s chest was also a pet fancy of his. The doctor’s upper body was broad and well-built, with wide shoulders and a sturdy midriff. Utterson luxuriated in slowly peeling away the layers of clothing until he could run his hands over that beautiful chest, lean in and kiss each soft, white hair. When Jekyll’s chest was pressed against his, clothed or otherwise, Utterson relished the feeling of their hearts beating against one another; it reminded him of how fragile his own flesh was, how beautiful it was to be alive and to be loved.
Utterson was also rather fond of Jekyll’s shoulders. They were wide and solid, and Utterson loved how they flexed beneath his grip when he pulled the doctor down into a deep kiss. He had found purchase upon them many times during their deeper moments of passion, clinging to them like a precious handhold upon an unforgiving cliff-face. He often felt that without them in his grip, he would simply fall away into nothingness. Despite their power, Utterson also treasured them for tamer reasons; when in Jekyll’s arms, his forehead often found its place upon the doctor’s shoulders. There, he could rest his weary head and breathe in the familiar scents of his lover; ay, there was home.
Middle-age had brought about a softness to Jekyll that he had lacked in his youth. He was less quick to anger, but more prone to doubting himself. There was still a great passion within him, for his work, to answer all the unknown questions of the world, but time had chastised the doctor somewhat. The instants of fire and near mania of his younger years had all but disappeared, though sometimes they still blazed on in his eyes.
There were other elements of softness too, particularly in his body. Jekyll was not overly fond of the way his stomach had spread as he reached his older years, gloomily putting it down to a diet of too rich food and not enough exercise. Utterson felt much the opposite though: he loved how the soft flesh yielded beneath his hands, so warm and downy with white fur. When Jekyll lay asleep beside him, Utterson would often wrap his arms around the doctor’s middle, enjoying the softness pressing against his hips.
One of Utterson’s favourite parts of Jekyll were his arms. He had sought refuge in them now more times that he could count. The way they wrapped around him, so tightly, so reassuringly, he felt as though nothing could touch him, that he would come to no harm under Jekyll’s protection. They were also the parts of Jekyll that Utterson touched most - when in public, before prying eyes, a touch of the arm with one’s hand was innocent enough, but it also served as something more. It was the only way he could connect his skin to his lover’s without scorn, without condemnation. It was a promise: that once they were alone again once more, they would return to their usual intimacy. Until then, it was an affirmation of love, the only one they could give each other when others could see them.
Now, Utterson was reaching the parts of Jekyll that he treasured most, the ones that were most often on the lawyer’s mind when they were apart.
Henry Jekyll’s hands were an intrinsic part of the doctor. They were capable of creating volatile chemical compounds, curing illness, administering medicine and allowing him to express himself in his most impassioned moments. Utterson was entirely guilty of quite the fixation on said hands; even before he and Jekyll were romantically involved, he had found them to be worthy of comment on multiple occasions.
Professional in shape and size, large, firm, with long fingers, they were surprisingly adept at many things. Jekyll could play the piano, to some extent, and hold a delicate test tube with the utmost gentleness. If Utterson was sitting, studying in his office, Jekyll often announced his presence behind the lawyer by gripping the back of the chair firmly, leaning down to place a kiss upon his lover. The creak of Jekyll’s grip upon the oak wood was now embedded in Utterson’s mind as a precursor to his affections.
Utterson was also guilty of a need that pursued him daily, the intense want to feel the doctor’s hands upon his skin. He relished how they cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and brows, or slid down his neck, fingertips caressing the hollow of his throat. Whether those long fingers were running through the lawyer’s greying hair, or the palms pressed against his bare torso, Jekyll’s touch never failed to set him ablaze. Sometimes, it felt as though the whole world was grey before Jekyll’s skin touched against his - then, it would erupt in a riot of blinding colour, leaving Utterson fighting for his breath.
It had not escaped the lawyer either, that his and Jekyll’s hands seem to fit against one another perfectly. Fingers intertwined, palms laid over palms, it felt to Utterson as though he were a puzzle piece being slotted into place, as though he were finally completed.
Jekyll’s neck was also very special. It was where Utterson placed his most secret kisses, where they would remain hidden beneath the doctor’s shirt collar. This was where he bared his teeth against Jekyll’s skin, catching it between his lips, allowing his rarely indulged streak of possessiveness to come out, leaving marks upon his lover. Jekyll’s neck was also where Utterson’s hand found itself most, curling his fingers around the back of it, pulling the doctor down towards his lips.
Often, his hand would wander up into Jekyll’s hair, stroking through the white fronds, fingertips dancing over the few remaining brown strands left behind from the doctor’s youth. Jekyll washed his hair in bergamot oil, and the smell always surrounded Utterson when they were together. The doctor’s skin smelt of caustic soap and lavender, tasted of it. It lingered on Utterson’s clothes and slept upon his pillows. He lived in it, breathed in it. It lifted his soul and brought a smile to his face.
Jekyll’s eyes could hold the lawyer entranced in his stare, hypnotising him, his gaze burning through his body and staring into his soul. They were an icy blue, sharp with intelligence, but Utterson loved how they softened when Jekyll looked at him. He had seen them in many different lights now; bright with joy, black with fury, clouded in gloom, dark with passion.
When the two had first met, Utterson had been immediately aware of those eyes on him, studying him, trying to decipher him. To meet those intimidating irises had been quite the challenge, but upon their gazes locking, Utterson had seen them mellow and brighten. Jekyll had crafted himself quite the careful countenance to wear in public, but his eyes never failed to betray him. There were entire worlds in those eyes, his soul, his dreams and his thoughts that Utterson never tired to hear of. They lingered upon him in public, fixated upon him in private. Utterson loved those eyes.
Jekyll’s jaw was forever peppered with grey stubble; he never remembered to shave daily and the hair grew too fast. Utterson didn’t mind the rough texture, far from it. It was exhilarating to feel that familiar scruff against his skin, to brush it against his fingertips. He was well used to the scratchy sensation and if anything, he found it disconcerting when a clean shaven Jekyll would kiss him.
Oh, to be kissed, by Jekyll - Utterson so treasured the doctor’s lips.
Jekyll’s lips were warm, sometimes chapped, sometimes smooth. The sensation of his mouth pressed to his lovers’ never became mundane to Utterson. Everytime was as exciting as the first time, as breathtaking and impassioned. Jekyll was renowned for his sharp wit and even sharper tongue, but when he and Utterson were alone, that same tongue would set sparks ablaze in Utterson’s mind, spreading like wildfire through his flesh. Jekyll would kiss him like a man drowning, as if Utterson were his only lifeline, gripping the lawyer tightly, as if petrified he would suddenly run away. Utterson matched him for fervour, pulling him close, closer, as close as they could get without tearing into each other’s skin. They were utterly captivated by each other.
Utterson could never state to know what went on in Jekyll’s mind. The man had been troubled throughout his entire life, had become obsessed with fixing a blight upon his soul, convinced that he was hellbound, a filthy sinner. However, his mind was also insanely brilliant - he possessed knowledge of concepts that would forever elude Utterson, grappled with philosophy, performed amazing feats using vast arrays of chemicals. He could turn air to dust, dust to blood. Jekyll could manipulate elements with fire and water, he could cure a dying man, he could probably split a soul in two. Utterson found himself forever in awe of Henry Jekyll’s mind, sometimes compelled to breathe worship of him into his prayers, for like a holy man, he could even turn water into wine.
And yet, what Jekyll’s mind held most dear within it, was his thoughts of Utterson. He spoke of his shared memories of the lawyer with an unrivalled fondness, confessed to Utterson that he was near constantly on his mind when they were apart. It was astounding to Utterson, that such a great mind found itself most preoccupied with him of all things.
Utterson had never thought himself to be anything particularly special or unique, but Jekyll looked at him like he was a divine creation, as if he were blessed to merely be in the lawyer’s company. The doctor worshipped him when they made love, pressed kisses to his skin like prayers, whispered love and promises in his ears like fervent offerings. Utterson had never been loved or held like that before, never in his whole life, but Henry held him like that; held him like a precious piece of art, as if it was Utterson’s very own beating heart lying in his gentle hands.
No, Utterson could not say for certain that he had a favourite part of Henry Jekyll. It was the sum of those parts that had captivated him, that now loved him so dearly. He knew deep within him, within his very soul, that he would follow Henry Jekyll through every life they lived from now until eternity, following his blazing trail like a star across the sky.