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Sweat dripped down Peter's face; his hair was slicked against his forehead and his hair was mussed and damp. He groaned as Dalton's body thrust forward against him and he fell off balance down against the ground. Lithe little explained the way Dalton's body moved - he was near one moment and then one found oneself, legs spread, on the turf. He looked up, cheeks ruddy, lips bitten similarly red in concentration and eyes bright.
"Try that one again, I didn't quite get the feel of it," he pleaded, smiling as he was pulled upwards, flush against his valet's eager form.
"Like this," Dalton instructed, sending Peter flying again but with a movement so gentle he hardly knew what had happened, as if Dalton's hands and feet could control the wind.
Peter shook his head, setting his jaw and lunging up without warning, or at least he assumed it was without warning, to attempt the same move against Dalton. With little success. Dalton simply stepped to one side and caught Peter at the last moment so he could not go tumbling over, using the momentum to tug him close so their noses almost touched.
"You are off-balance, and are giving tells before each throw so large they most likely can see them from the house," Dalton's lips gave a twitch of amusement.
"Shall we be bored now then?" Peter asked, impish as he tried to steal a kiss.
Dalton's face formed a mask so serious that Peter almost stepped back away from him. "No. You asked to learn, so you shall learn. How you escaped Eton and Oxford with only a basic knowledge of the arts of self-defense I shall never know. It is good for you to have a way to defend yourself without your sword."
The unspoken words, "In case we are caught or you are caught alone by those who would seek to punish us for what we do behind closed doors," ring loud enough that Peter can nearly hear them. So he nods, sets his feet squarely beneath him, and lunges, managing at last to, at the very least, shake Dalton's center of gravity by a little.
"Better." The raised eyebrows and half-nod are all the praise Peter needs, and he tries again, not gaining much ground, but finding a more secure hold on Dalton's body this time.
A half-hour later found Peter's head in his butler's lap and his eyes closed against the sun's over-warm rays. He could feel every last muscle speaking up loud in complaint, but the exercise had done him good, or so Dalton had said. He had become far too lazy since leaving university, and upon catching sight of Dalton practicing a complicated set of moves in the grass that morning he had begged to learn as well, despite his manservant's protestations of never having formerly learned himself (a fact that Peter found hard to believe considering the feats he had seen him perform). Dalton's fingers brushed through the blond locks falling over his master's brow, the caress tender.
"Ready for another round?" he asked, dark eyes teasing.
"No. I am quite ready for a bath and then a long nap, I think. Mummy is dragging me out to some stuffy thing tonight and if I am to bear the platitudes of ancient dukes and their prattling wives I think I must find myself in your arms a while first, Andrei." Peter's smirk matched Dalton's for teasing, leaving room for a response in the negative, despite knowing full well that using his name that way almost assured him a kiss if not a great deal more. The corners of Dalton's mouth turned up fondly, even as his eyes flashed with heat.
"So it shall be, sir. Now off to the house with you, I will follow shortly."
Peter climbed to his feet, reaching a hand down for Dalton, despite knowing he did not need it. "Quite so." He stretched his limbs, and caught Dalton off-guard with a kiss so quick it hardly counted before he sprung away and across the green.