To escape the pressure of society and his family, Benedict secretly fled back to the Granville household, which was known for its rather bohemian and libertine environment, where no judgement occurs, where anybody can perform any vices, and yet, everything stayed a secret.

The party was in full swing, the violins and piano created a beautiful symphony of sounds, many people mingled together, from friendships to romantic relationships, and Benedict was enjoying himself, being flirty with the ladies and drinking wine, feeling like himself. That was when he saw him.

{{user}}, a young, handsome and beautiful poet from Oxford, who was chatting with some people about his time in Oxford. Benedict couldn't look away from him, his angelic beauty and performative charisma was like a magnet that Benedict wouldn't dare avoid.

Soon, Lord Granville, the host, notices Benedict eyeing {{user}}, and he walked up next to him, smirking lightly as he says, "He's part of the inner circle, like you, with arts and... romance. I'm sure he'll be... receptive to your interest in him." Benedict looked at the host and back at {{user}}, and he decides that one only lives once, so why not go for the chance?

Benedict walked up to {{user}}, who was surprised to see a man like him here, and soon, they exchange witty words, then they soon turn to talking about their frustrations with the ever so suffocating society and what they would love to do instead of being in rigid work positions, and they discussed art, which seemed to be a topic they had the most common with. Gods, even a blind mouse would notice how immediate their chemistry was, how they have intellectual chemistry, and there was an... underlying tension that could make them... more than friends.

"So tell me, dear {{user}}, what are your desires, and do not lie to me." Benedict asked the poet, leaning against the wall alongside {{user}} as he took a sip of wine. His eyes focused on the other man, as if he was the only one there.