a girl possessed
Horrible Histories fic! A de-anon of all my Charles II/Sotherby fic from hhanon, because this fandom has taken over my brain and I'm writing ridiculous amounts. what even. :D
heroes aren't born (they're built)
Charles II/Sotherby pre-slash; G
for this prompt: Iron Man AU. Charles as Tony. Sotherby as Pepper.
"Really, Sothers, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."
"Are those scorch marks?"
"Well, I couldn't let the blasted fire party on without me, could I? And the Royal Armourer, well, he hasn't had much to do and he rustled up this marvellous suit for me a little while ago - it's clockwork, look, it does the most splendid things, I must show you sometime - although the damn thing must have got a bit dented when that beam collapsed and, well, now I appear to be a little bit stuck."
"That- that metal man was you? Your Majesty, you could have been killed!"
"Yes, yes, but I wasn't, and more importantly a lot of my lovely subjects weren't," Charles dismissed it with a lazy wave, the staccato click of gears in the gold-plated suit turning the movement into something jerky and forceful. "Are you going to help me out of this wretched thing or not? It's rather starting to chafe."
"Right," Sotherby said, taking a step forward, and then another one, until he could reach a hand out to touch the metal plating covering Charles's shoulder. It was slightly warm under his palm. "You idiot," he said, suddenly, before he caught Charles's eye and inhaled sharply, dropping his hand. "Apologies, sire, I wasn't-"
Charles's gaze was soft, considering him, as he touched a gloved hand to Sotherby's arm. "I'm quite alright, Sothers," he said, quietly. "Now find something to prise this thing open, would you? I fear we have quite a lot of work to do."
Sotherby stared at him in open shock for a brief moment, before shaking himself and hurrying to the fireplace to grab a long poker. "Ah, excellent idea," Charles said, watching him. "It's the catch under the left shoulder plate, seems to be a bit jammed." Sotherby grimaced as he pushed the tip of the poker between the back plate and the dented sheet curving over it, wedging it apart enough to force the poker down and break open the catch. Charles grunted at the jolt, then hummed happily as Sotherby dropped the poker and tucked his fingers under the shoulder plate to pull off the entire metal arm, revealing thick leather padding over his skin and intricate clockwork woven through the armour.
"It is a rather ingenious system," Charles marvelled, before falling silent as Sotherby set his mouth in a hard line and diligently worked through the rest of the hidden clasps and fittings, pulling off the suit piece by piece as his hands quickly blackened with soot. "Although it may need a bit of redesign," he admitted a short while later, when Sotherby finally lifted the chest piece off and over his head.
"A redes-- you can't possibly be thinking of doing this again?" Sotherby said, his voice hitching. "Sire, I cannot allow you to!"
"Nonsense, Sotherby," Charles said, rolling his aching shoulders. Sotherby immediately started unlacing the thick padding that covered his limbs and torso, the leather worn and pinched - he brushed his thumb over a deep scratch too close to his neck and swallowed, a bubble of nausea settling heavy in his chest.
"Please, sire," he started, low and distraught, and then Charles had pulled off his glove and was curling a bare hand over the curve of his neck, forcing him to meet his gaze. There was a smudge of charcoal over his cheekbone, a sheen of sweat glistening over his pale skin, his eyes wide and bright and focused - he looked alive, sober and glittering with excitement.
"Really, Sothers," Charles said, softly, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate skin over his pulse point. "You can't expect me to party on while my city is burning down, can you?"
Champagne
Charles II/Sotherby; PG-13
for this prompt: Charles has a rather intriguing, and sensual, encounter with a masked stranger during one of his balls
i used the ancient method of ipod-on-shuffle to quickly find a title for this. the second song to come up, out of over five thousand, was charles II: king of bling.
"Sothers, you must come. There's going to be all sorts of people who I'm sure are very important and I need you to keep them busy while I enjoy the party, otherwise it will be an utter bore while they drone on about... politics, or whatever it is they do, and expect me to listen, and dear Nell's going to be there tonight and really, Sotherby, I'm sure you have nothing better to do. Please come. Say you'll come."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Sotherby said, priding himself on the calm, level tone he almost managed to hold on to.
"Oh, and you can borrow something from the royal wardrobe, I've found these fabulous masks from Venice, everybody simply must wear one, and I'm sure those boring people will appreciate it if you make a bit of effort. Is there anything else in the diary for today?"
Sotherby glanced at the book briefly, knowing exactly what was there and exactly what the King would want to do about it. "An Irish diplomat has requested an audience, sire," he said, already making a note in the margin to rearrange.
"Bother. Tell him to come back tomorrow - or, no, hmm, the day after tomorrow. I fear tonight is going to rather major, you know how pointless it is to have me doing anything after a good party."
"Indeed, sire," he said, slightly distracted as he considered whether slotting him between the French ambassador and a lord's dispute would the best idea.
"Good Lord, Sothers, was that a smile? We'll have you dancing with all the lovely ladies in no time at all! Do make sure there's plenty brought up from the wine cellar, won't you?"
"... Ladies, sire?"
Charles swatted at his arm, chuckling. "I do like you when you loosen up a little. It was a brilliant idea of mine to invite you tonight. It's going to be marvellous."
"Very good, sire," Sotherby replied coolly, visibly straightening and schooling his previously fond expression into something more professional. "Will that be all?"
"What? Oh, yes, yes, fine, go do whatever you have to," Charles waved him off, already considering his grand entrance to the ball. "Do we have any doves handy?" he asked, but Sotherby had already hurried out of the throne room, and so Charles shrugged and went back to his planning.
The Grand Hall looked splendid. Everyone glittered in dresses and jackets of golds and scarlets and silver, twirling down the centre of the room in a lively dance or mingling around the edges as the wine and laughter spilled freely. The masks were universally beautiful, wildly decorated with feathers and sparkle or intricately detailed with fine gold leaf and masterful metalwork, all in a delicate white or the most sumptuous colours.
Charles was delighted with it all, happily tipsy and resting for a moment by the windows, watching the revellers with a wide, drunk smile - he did so love the air of anonymous debauchery the masks gave. He watched as a voluptuous young woman glided past, her mask a dazzling silver and her plump lips drawing up into a leering smile as she caught his eye and winked. Oh, hello--
"Your Majesty," a familiar voice caught him just as he was about to chase after her. He turned, frowning, and then the girl was entirely forgotten as he took in the sight before him.
"My, don't you look impressive!" Charles declared, glancing over the man's dark velvet costume and his black and gold mask, covering his face from his hairline to the tip of his nose. The stranger deliberately stood at an angle to the nearest candle, casting a shadow over his eyes.
The stranger smirked in reply, bowing his head for a moment. Charles clapped his hands in delight.
"Dark and mysterious! It must be my birthday. Tell me, have we met before?"
Charles looked him over again, trying to place anything familiar about him and catching on his hands for a moment, long fingers, before the stranger swooped close and nudged the corner of Charles' jaw with his lips, his tongue flickering over his earlobe before he whispered, "Follow me."
The man turned on his heel and strode across the ballroom. He paused at the entrance, his mask entirely obscuring any delicate expression but he caught Charles' eye and smiled, the twist of his lips something like a dare, or an invitation, before slipping out the door and disappearing.
Well. Charles was certainly never one to turn down something that might be exciting, and he wasted no time in dashing across the hall and through the door, pulling it shut behind him. For a brief, disappointing moment the hallway seemed entirely empty and oddly quiet after the ruckus of the ball - and then there was a sharp noise, like a boot tapping against a wooden floor, and he glanced over to see his mysterious man turn with a flourish down the corridor that led to the gardens.
He obviously knew his way around the palace, Charles noted. How intriguing!
Charles followed, as quick as his slightly unsteady limbs would let him, and soon found himself stepping out into the palace gardens, through a door that had been left slightly ajar. The night was clear and cold, and he could hear the orchestra playing faintly, the sweet swell of music enough to send him spinning down the path in a dance that possibly only existed in his head, full of sudden side-steps and arm waving, the stranger momentarily forgotten.
He stepped, and twirled, ducking through the shadows cast by a tall hedge and suddenly he was swept up into the arms of his mysterious man. "Oh, hello," Charles said, quite transfixed by the way the light was catching on the man's bottom lip. He draped his arms around the man's neck, slightly taller than himself, and gazed up at him.
A long, silent pause. The stranger seemed to be studying him, or perhaps coming to a decision, as finally the arms around his waist tightened and the man captured his mouth in a searing, crushing kiss, pulling him closer with a rough yank that had Charles gasping into his mouth. The stranger moaned, quiet and unbidden, and Charles grinned into the kiss before tilting his face and deepening it, licking into his mouth.
The kiss broke after an exquisitely slow minute of exploration, their bodies pressed impossibly close from chest to hip as the stranger splayed a hand over the small of Charles's back, their faces still a breath apart from touching, the man's mask digging into Charles's nose. His eyes were bright and colourless in the darkness. They stared at each other for an endless second, and then the man started trailing kisses from the corner of his mouth to his neck and Charles let his head fall back with a pleased sigh.
"Who are you?" Charles mused out loud, trailing off into a breathy groan as the stranger nibbled his earlobe.
"None of your concern," he murmured, with a low growl that was effective in both disguising his voice and turning Charles' insides to molten gold. The stranger guided his lips towards his own and plundered his mouth again, kissing him with a fierce desperation that Charles found absolutely fascinating.
"You're very good at that," he said, as the man pulled back for a moment. He just smiled in reply, those lips bruised and swollen and entirely unrecognisable, and Charles's eyes flashed with all the brilliance of a drunken plan. He rested his forehead against the stranger's shoulder for a moment, then shifted his face up to nuzzle against his neck, nipping lightly at the skin and delighting in the way the man shivered at that, going almost boneless at his touch, and then he latched his teeth over the skin and sucked.
The stranger moaned, a rolling vibration low in his throat that shot straight to Charles's cock, and then he yelped and roughly pushed him away, slapping a hand against his neck.
"Forgive me, sire," the man sighed, a low exhale of regret, before dashing off into the shadows and leaving Charles intrigued, confused, and most distressingly half-hard.
"I don't recall seeing you there last night, Sothers. Busy, were you?" Charles asked lightly, picking at some invisible lint on his knee as he sprawled on the throne. The late morning light was quite vicious against his eyelids.
"Quite, Your Majesty. Those very important people you were avoiding needed to be addressed accordingly. I ensured they were well cared for."
"I don't doubt it, Sotherby. Thank you."
Sothery glanced at him, surprised. "Just doing my job, sire."
Charles returned the look, studying him as he played with one of his rings, twisting it around his finger until suddenly, with a soft cry, he dropped it over the side of the throne. "Oh dear," he said. "Would you get that for me?"
Sotherby was good enough at his job to only raise an eyebrow after he had knelt down and closed his hand around the ring. He shifted his weight, leaning back onto the balls of his feet as Charles's hand suddenly curled over his shoulder, a clear command with the lightest pressure and said, "One moment, Sothers."
Sotherby froze, pressing the ring tightly into his palm. Charles reached over, tucking two fingers over the edge of Sotherby's high collar and gently tugged it down - just enough to see the small, distinct bruise blooming against his neck.
"Really, Sothers," Charles purred, brushing his thumb lightly over the mark and delighting in the way Sotherby shivered and closed his eyes. "You went to all that trouble for a kiss?"
Sotherby seemed rather lost for words, his lips slightly parted. Charles, for once, was silent, regarding him. "You did insist that I attend, sire," he eventually managed, his voice carefully steady, his eyes still closed.
"Indeed I did," Charles hummed, letting his hand slip round and begin massaging the back of Sotherby's neck, his fingertips light against his spine. "I do like it when you listen to me."
Sotherby swallowed. "Come up here," Charles commanded, soft. Sotherby rose slowly to his feet, keeping his head bowed, and then he took a deep breath and met the King's gaze. "Come here," Charles said, narrowing his eyes.
In an instant Charles was surging up and Sotherby was rushing down, meeting somewhere in the middle with a bruising kiss and then they shifted, Charles spreading his legs so Sotherby could rest one knee on the throne and tower over him, Charles grabbing him by the hips to yank him closer and Sotherby cupping his jaw gently, both letting the kiss drift to something a little softer, still overwhelming and brilliant and mad but a little less rushed.
"This mustn't change anything, you understand," Charles said, as Sotherby moved away from his mouth to nibble at his jaw.
"Of course, sire," he sighed, sounding somewhat distracted.
"This is just an excellent addition to our day," he declared. When Sotherby just moaned, Charles frowned and said, "Dammit, Sothers, why are you making me be the sensible one here?"
"Because your hand is in my breeches, sire," Sotherby whimpered, panting hotly against his neck.
"So it is," Charles said, and gave an experimental rub. Sotherby growled, and then Charles scrapped his teeth over the curve of his neck and Sotherby melted against him. “My, that might come in handy,” Charles mused, before Sotherby effectively shut him up with a kiss.
Never Having To Say You're Sorry
Charles II/Sotherby; NC-17
for this prompt: After the whole coronation mug debacle, Charles sulks. He sulks, and ignores Sotherby until he gets him something good.
the things mentioned in this are totally real: a wine bottle with Charles II's image and the Juxon chair! clearly i put far too much research into shameless porn :|
"You asked to see me, sire?" Sotherby said.
Charles, sprawled over the chair by his writing desk, glanced at him, before sniffing and turning back to the window. Silence reigned.
After a long pause, Sotherby gritted his teeth and said, "Sire, if you don't need my assistance I have rather a lot to do in order to prepare for your coronation-"
Charles huffed regally, and shifted so he was almost sideways in his chair and completely turned away, his back facing him. Another pause, as Charles tossed his head and started studying his fingernails.
"Is this about the mug?" Sotherby said, his briskness hinting at his annoyance - he quickly stomped it down, and cleared his throat.
Charles shrugged, pursing his lips.
Sotherby glared at the ceiling, allowed his face to contort into something frustrated and incredibly unprofessional for a brief moment, before taking a deep breath and clenching his hands, steadying himself. "Sire," he started, too sharply, before biting his lip and wincing. He tried again, softer, "Sire, if there's anything I can do to-" and he paused, because make it up to you sounded far too much like he should be the one apologising, "-to please you, you only have to ask."
Charles sucked in his cheeks, sneering.
An uncomfortable minute passed, as Sotherby mentally ran through the lists of the stewards he still had to brief and how much champagne they had in stock and how little sleep he was likely to get between then and the end of Charles’s reign. With a quiet sigh, Sotherby eventually said, "With your leave, Your Majesty, I have some rather urgent things to attend to."
"Sotherby," Charles said, just as he reached for the door handle. He pressed his lips together then turned around, his face calm and restrained.
"Yes, sire?" Sotherby said, finding Charles had finally turned around enough to see his profile, his chin raised and haughty, and he was looking over Sotherby out of the corner of his eye before glancing away again and sniffing.
"How about a portrait by Rembrandt?"
"I'm afraid he's rather busy at the moment, Your Majesty. We did try to get in contact with him but I believe he's currently working on something quite large in Amsterdam."
Charles huffed, pouting. "Blast. I don't see what's so difficult about all this, Sotherby."
"Well, I think a lot of our craftsmen are busy preparing Westminster Abbey and the streets for your procession, Your Majesty. There's a rather high demand at the moment."
Charles pulled a face. "Surely there's something you can get made that the people can remember me by? Something wonderful, of course."
"Of course, sire," Sotherby agreed, automatic and placating, and then snapped his head up, eyes wide.
"Splendid, Sothers! I knew you'd sort it out. Now do run along, I'm sure you've got lots to be getting on with," Charles said, suddenly beaming and shooing him out the room.
"Bugger," Sotherby said quietly, when he was on the other side of the doors.
"How about a wine bottle with your image on it?" Sotherby asked, gingerly holding it out.
Charles flicked his eyes up to his, his lip curled in disbelief, before taking the bottle and turning it over in his hands. "It's empty. You've given me an empty bottle of wine with a terrible painting of me on it."
"It's to commemorate the glorious day, Your Majesty," Sotherby said, wincing at the indelicate way Charles was holding it. "So your subjects have someth-"
The bottle thunked heavily as it hit floor, rolling for a second before it tipped over onto its side, entirely unbroken. "Oh," said Charles, watching it for a moment.
"Right," Sotherby said, knocking his fingertips together briefly before he bent down to pick it up. Charles sniffed and turned back to his desk, ignoring him.
"Has it got terrible reproduction of my face on it?"
"No, sire," Sotherby said, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Splendid! Well, go on, show me," Charles waved towards the mysterious covered thing sitting in the middle of the royal apartments, blocky and a few feet high and hidden under a thick dark cloak.
Sotherby straightened his shoulders and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, stalling, before he caught sight of Charles's raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye and briskly crossed the few feet to tug the cloak off, revealing--
"A chair?" Charles said, his eyes narrowed, his lips twisted to the side. Sotherby's shoulders dropped.
"A throne for your coronation, You Majesty," he said quickly, picking up the velvet gold cushion and clutching it in front of him like a shield. The chair was gold and purple, a thick velvet seat surrounded by gold trimmings and with a matching footstool in front, plush and extravagant and surely impressive enough - but, he realised, looking it over again in the mid-afternoon light, there weren't any diamonds or rubies and it certainly wasn't encrusted with anything sparkly and oh God he was going to have to find something else--
"Sothers," Charles said, as Sotherby dragged his gaze away from the chair and up to his smirking mouth, his eyes bright and happy. "It's splendid."
"Oh," Sotherby said, his tone drenched in relief as Charles bounded across to him and flung himself into the seat, draping himself over it and beaming up at him. Sotherby stood by his side and grinned back, feeling almost giddy with the knowledge that Charles would stop sulking.
"My dear Sothers," Charles murmured, his smile softening to something quieter, more intimate. "I'm afraid I've been quite horrid to you recently."
"Not at all, sire," Sotherby said, enjoying the moment too much to ruin it by expecting an apology.
"Still," Charles said, his voice soft and thoughtful, and Sotherby only had a moment to be suspicious before he had jumped up and was in front of him, tugging the cushion from his stiff fingers and throwing back onto the chair before curling a hand over his shoulder and looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, sire," Sotherby smiled, and Charles grinned back, before ducking his head and looking up at him through his eyelashes, his mouth twisting into something sly and teasing, and oh.
"It is most appreciated, Sothers," Charles whispered, close and warm and pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet as his hand slipped under Sotherby's wig to the base of his skull, tugging him forward as Sotherby sucked in a sharp breath, lips parted, and Charles caught his eye, his smirk widening to something brighter and honest. "Sotherby," he said, his breath hot against his mouth.
Sotherby swallowed. "Sire," he managed, and Charles wrapped his other arm around his shoulders and kissed him, pressing irresistibly close as Sotherby closed his eyes and clenched his hands, tense and solid and unmoving until Charles tilted his head, his tongue brushing along his lower lip before licking into his mouth and Sotherby groaned, powerless and pinned, and grabbed Charles by the waist as he pushed back into the kiss.
Charles pulled away an inch, beaming at him before unwinding his hands and grabbing Sotherby by the thick of his arm, guiding him swiftly to the side, saying, "it's simply wonderful, here, you must try," pushing him down by the shoulders and Sotherby suddenly found himself sitting on the chair, sinking into the soft cushions and blinking up at Charles's devious smirk.
"Sire! I can't possibly-" Sotherby tried to protest, tried to rise to his feet, but suddenly he had a lap full of royalty and Charles's smirk far too close, his eyes wicked and glittering.
"Mmm," Charles hummed, wrapping his arms around his neck, a moments warning before kissing him again. Sotherby sighed helplessly, kissing back even as he placed a hand either side of his ribs and tried to gather the willpower to push him away - thoughts of duty and treason and the insufferable way Charles tended to sulk until he got what he wanted, of the hand that was sliding down his chest and over his groin, delicious insistent friction as Charles moaned into his mouth and said, "I can hear you thinking. Stop it."
"Sire, the chair, we can't possibly-" Sotherby said, his tone entirely unconvincing and then disappearing under a choked gasp as Charles nipped at the line of his throat, working downwards until he could nuzzle in to the crook of his shoulder.
"Nonsense, Sothers," Charles said casually, tugging his collar away with one finger and flicking his tongue over the hot skin of his pulse point, delighting in the way Sotherby shivered beneath him, rolling his hips up into his exploring hand. "It's my present, I can do what I like with it, and with whatever is on it."
"Sire--" he tried to protest, but then Charles was slithering down out of his lap, slipping a knee between his thighs to steady himself as he began flicking open the catches of Sotherby's waistcoat, pulling it open to reveal the thin, plain shirt underneath. He brushed a hand over his chest, warm and trembling under his palm as his thumb stroked over a nipple and Sotherby gasped, a sharp breath that he immediately regretted as Charles flashed him a devilish grin and circled his thumb over the nub, stiff and sensitive even through the coarse fabric of his shirt. Charles pressed his tongue behind his teeth and marvelled at the way Sotherby moaned and let his head fall back as he rubbed two fingertips over the nipple, alternating light and teasing with rough and relentless strokes, Sotherby's hips almost imperceptibly jerking upwards as his erection grew and he desperately sought the friction of Charles's thigh, so tantalisingly close between his legs.
Delighted, Charles eventually slid down further, careful and utterly in control as he landed on the footstool, kneeling in front of him and looking up with wide, dark eyes and a rakish twist to his mouth. Sotherby watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze, too breathless to protest anymore as Charles deftly undid his breeches, biting his lip as he released Sotherby's cock: standing stiff and dark red and the sheath of skin covering the head flushed pink. Sotherby watched him run his tongue over his top lip, holding his gaze as Charles gently wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and slowly, almost reverently, leant in to push his lips over the head, tasting him with a long swipe of his tongue over the top.
Sotherby threw his head back and groaned, an endless sigh of utter abandonment as his hands flew forward to settle on Charles's wig, not daring to drag him closer or tangle his fingers in the expensive curls, but Charles smirked anyway and drew back, just enough to make sure Sotherby was still watching, that he could see the shine on his swollen bottom lip and the dark glitter of his eyes as he slid his mouth down and down until his lips were touching his fingers, his cock entirely enveloped by his slick hand and hot mouth - with one strong suck Sotherby grunted, rolling his hips up without thinking; with another he bucked and Charles gagged, pulling back so he could give Sotherby a warning glare.
"Your Majesty, I'm so sorry-" Sotherby said, and then his eyes flew wide and his face blanched, staring down at the debauched picture in front of him - Charles with his cheeks flushed pink, his open mouth bruised and swollen and slick with saliva, his wig askew and his pupils blown wide and his breeches pulled achingly taut across his groin, looking wanton and ravished and desperately turned on and I did that, said a quiet, distant thought. "Your Majesty!" he started, panicked, but Charles darted up and covered his mouth with his own, swallowing down his protests as he carried on fisting Sotherby's erection with one hand and convinced him with his tongue, licking into his mouth with such fiendish promise that Sotherby looked quite dazed when he pulled back to study him.
"No more of that, Sothers," Charles murmured, kissing him closed-mouthed briefly before dropping back to the footstool, Sotherby's hands drifting from their grip on his arms to delicately touch either side of his jaw, staring at him in amazement. Charles, in return, watched Sotherby through his eyelashes; the way he bit his lip as Charles flicked his tongue over the head, his jaw falling slack as Charles sucked the tip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as Charles slid his mouth down and pressed the flat of his tongue up against the underside of his cock - Charles hummed, a sweet vibration low in his throat and Sotherby keened in response, trailing into a breathy gasp as Charles wrapped his hands tightly around his hips, his fingertips painting his skin white as Charles held him still and tipped forward, sucking most of his cock into his mouth. Sotherby cried out, his torso contracting as he suddenly came with a shuddering moan and spurted into Charles mouth, who worked him through his orgasm with light sucks along his length before pulling back and cleaning him off, lazily drawing patterns on his dusky skin with the tip of his tongue.
Sotherby's chest was still heaving when Charles glanced up from his delicate work, his gaze fixed unblinking on the ceiling, until Charles sat and did nothing for a few moments and Sotherby gathered the wits to look down at him in awe and surprise. "Charles," he said, lifting his heavy arm from where it was lolling over the side of the chair to brush his thumb over the corner of Charles's lips. Charles grinned, still bright and devious and achingly hard, pressing a quick kiss to the pad of his thumb before pushing himself up and clambering back into Sotherby's lap, pressing chest to chest with his legs spread wide, dangling over the side of the chair, and he pulled Sotherby in for a long, desperately slow kiss as he guided Sotherby's hand down to his breeches.
Sotherby's fingers were still quick and clever in his blissful haze, swiftly freeing Charles's neglected cock from the damp fabric and encircling it in his hand, the silky heat beneath his palm encouragement enough to quickly begin fisting it with long, measured drags. The slide of Sotherby's tongue against his own, the taste of Sotherby still in his mouth as he kissed him deeply, the friction and shifting pressure of his hand as he jerked him off soon had Charles gasping into his mouth and coming, spilling over his fingers.
They kissed as Charles came down from his explosive high, light and sloppy and utterly unable to stop grinning at each other. "Marvellous chair, Sotherby," Charles said, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"I'm glad you think so, sire," Sotherby breathed.
"I'm sure no one will notice the stain," Charles said, casually, and seized his mouth in an intense kiss before he could even think about being scandalised.
heroes aren't born (they're built)
Charles II/Sotherby pre-slash; G
for this prompt: Iron Man AU. Charles as Tony. Sotherby as Pepper.
"Really, Sothers, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."
"Are those scorch marks?"
"Well, I couldn't let the blasted fire party on without me, could I? And the Royal Armourer, well, he hasn't had much to do and he rustled up this marvellous suit for me a little while ago - it's clockwork, look, it does the most splendid things, I must show you sometime - although the damn thing must have got a bit dented when that beam collapsed and, well, now I appear to be a little bit stuck."
"That- that metal man was you? Your Majesty, you could have been killed!"
"Yes, yes, but I wasn't, and more importantly a lot of my lovely subjects weren't," Charles dismissed it with a lazy wave, the staccato click of gears in the gold-plated suit turning the movement into something jerky and forceful. "Are you going to help me out of this wretched thing or not? It's rather starting to chafe."
"Right," Sotherby said, taking a step forward, and then another one, until he could reach a hand out to touch the metal plating covering Charles's shoulder. It was slightly warm under his palm. "You idiot," he said, suddenly, before he caught Charles's eye and inhaled sharply, dropping his hand. "Apologies, sire, I wasn't-"
Charles's gaze was soft, considering him, as he touched a gloved hand to Sotherby's arm. "I'm quite alright, Sothers," he said, quietly. "Now find something to prise this thing open, would you? I fear we have quite a lot of work to do."
Sotherby stared at him in open shock for a brief moment, before shaking himself and hurrying to the fireplace to grab a long poker. "Ah, excellent idea," Charles said, watching him. "It's the catch under the left shoulder plate, seems to be a bit jammed." Sotherby grimaced as he pushed the tip of the poker between the back plate and the dented sheet curving over it, wedging it apart enough to force the poker down and break open the catch. Charles grunted at the jolt, then hummed happily as Sotherby dropped the poker and tucked his fingers under the shoulder plate to pull off the entire metal arm, revealing thick leather padding over his skin and intricate clockwork woven through the armour.
"It is a rather ingenious system," Charles marvelled, before falling silent as Sotherby set his mouth in a hard line and diligently worked through the rest of the hidden clasps and fittings, pulling off the suit piece by piece as his hands quickly blackened with soot. "Although it may need a bit of redesign," he admitted a short while later, when Sotherby finally lifted the chest piece off and over his head.
"A redes-- you can't possibly be thinking of doing this again?" Sotherby said, his voice hitching. "Sire, I cannot allow you to!"
"Nonsense, Sotherby," Charles said, rolling his aching shoulders. Sotherby immediately started unlacing the thick padding that covered his limbs and torso, the leather worn and pinched - he brushed his thumb over a deep scratch too close to his neck and swallowed, a bubble of nausea settling heavy in his chest.
"Please, sire," he started, low and distraught, and then Charles had pulled off his glove and was curling a bare hand over the curve of his neck, forcing him to meet his gaze. There was a smudge of charcoal over his cheekbone, a sheen of sweat glistening over his pale skin, his eyes wide and bright and focused - he looked alive, sober and glittering with excitement.
"Really, Sothers," Charles said, softly, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate skin over his pulse point. "You can't expect me to party on while my city is burning down, can you?"
Champagne
Charles II/Sotherby; PG-13
for this prompt: Charles has a rather intriguing, and sensual, encounter with a masked stranger during one of his balls
i used the ancient method of ipod-on-shuffle to quickly find a title for this. the second song to come up, out of over five thousand, was charles II: king of bling.
"Sothers, you must come. There's going to be all sorts of people who I'm sure are very important and I need you to keep them busy while I enjoy the party, otherwise it will be an utter bore while they drone on about... politics, or whatever it is they do, and expect me to listen, and dear Nell's going to be there tonight and really, Sotherby, I'm sure you have nothing better to do. Please come. Say you'll come."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Sotherby said, priding himself on the calm, level tone he almost managed to hold on to.
"Oh, and you can borrow something from the royal wardrobe, I've found these fabulous masks from Venice, everybody simply must wear one, and I'm sure those boring people will appreciate it if you make a bit of effort. Is there anything else in the diary for today?"
Sotherby glanced at the book briefly, knowing exactly what was there and exactly what the King would want to do about it. "An Irish diplomat has requested an audience, sire," he said, already making a note in the margin to rearrange.
"Bother. Tell him to come back tomorrow - or, no, hmm, the day after tomorrow. I fear tonight is going to rather major, you know how pointless it is to have me doing anything after a good party."
"Indeed, sire," he said, slightly distracted as he considered whether slotting him between the French ambassador and a lord's dispute would the best idea.
"Good Lord, Sothers, was that a smile? We'll have you dancing with all the lovely ladies in no time at all! Do make sure there's plenty brought up from the wine cellar, won't you?"
"... Ladies, sire?"
Charles swatted at his arm, chuckling. "I do like you when you loosen up a little. It was a brilliant idea of mine to invite you tonight. It's going to be marvellous."
"Very good, sire," Sotherby replied coolly, visibly straightening and schooling his previously fond expression into something more professional. "Will that be all?"
"What? Oh, yes, yes, fine, go do whatever you have to," Charles waved him off, already considering his grand entrance to the ball. "Do we have any doves handy?" he asked, but Sotherby had already hurried out of the throne room, and so Charles shrugged and went back to his planning.
The Grand Hall looked splendid. Everyone glittered in dresses and jackets of golds and scarlets and silver, twirling down the centre of the room in a lively dance or mingling around the edges as the wine and laughter spilled freely. The masks were universally beautiful, wildly decorated with feathers and sparkle or intricately detailed with fine gold leaf and masterful metalwork, all in a delicate white or the most sumptuous colours.
Charles was delighted with it all, happily tipsy and resting for a moment by the windows, watching the revellers with a wide, drunk smile - he did so love the air of anonymous debauchery the masks gave. He watched as a voluptuous young woman glided past, her mask a dazzling silver and her plump lips drawing up into a leering smile as she caught his eye and winked. Oh, hello--
"Your Majesty," a familiar voice caught him just as he was about to chase after her. He turned, frowning, and then the girl was entirely forgotten as he took in the sight before him.
"My, don't you look impressive!" Charles declared, glancing over the man's dark velvet costume and his black and gold mask, covering his face from his hairline to the tip of his nose. The stranger deliberately stood at an angle to the nearest candle, casting a shadow over his eyes.
The stranger smirked in reply, bowing his head for a moment. Charles clapped his hands in delight.
"Dark and mysterious! It must be my birthday. Tell me, have we met before?"
Charles looked him over again, trying to place anything familiar about him and catching on his hands for a moment, long fingers, before the stranger swooped close and nudged the corner of Charles' jaw with his lips, his tongue flickering over his earlobe before he whispered, "Follow me."
The man turned on his heel and strode across the ballroom. He paused at the entrance, his mask entirely obscuring any delicate expression but he caught Charles' eye and smiled, the twist of his lips something like a dare, or an invitation, before slipping out the door and disappearing.
Well. Charles was certainly never one to turn down something that might be exciting, and he wasted no time in dashing across the hall and through the door, pulling it shut behind him. For a brief, disappointing moment the hallway seemed entirely empty and oddly quiet after the ruckus of the ball - and then there was a sharp noise, like a boot tapping against a wooden floor, and he glanced over to see his mysterious man turn with a flourish down the corridor that led to the gardens.
He obviously knew his way around the palace, Charles noted. How intriguing!
Charles followed, as quick as his slightly unsteady limbs would let him, and soon found himself stepping out into the palace gardens, through a door that had been left slightly ajar. The night was clear and cold, and he could hear the orchestra playing faintly, the sweet swell of music enough to send him spinning down the path in a dance that possibly only existed in his head, full of sudden side-steps and arm waving, the stranger momentarily forgotten.
He stepped, and twirled, ducking through the shadows cast by a tall hedge and suddenly he was swept up into the arms of his mysterious man. "Oh, hello," Charles said, quite transfixed by the way the light was catching on the man's bottom lip. He draped his arms around the man's neck, slightly taller than himself, and gazed up at him.
A long, silent pause. The stranger seemed to be studying him, or perhaps coming to a decision, as finally the arms around his waist tightened and the man captured his mouth in a searing, crushing kiss, pulling him closer with a rough yank that had Charles gasping into his mouth. The stranger moaned, quiet and unbidden, and Charles grinned into the kiss before tilting his face and deepening it, licking into his mouth.
The kiss broke after an exquisitely slow minute of exploration, their bodies pressed impossibly close from chest to hip as the stranger splayed a hand over the small of Charles's back, their faces still a breath apart from touching, the man's mask digging into Charles's nose. His eyes were bright and colourless in the darkness. They stared at each other for an endless second, and then the man started trailing kisses from the corner of his mouth to his neck and Charles let his head fall back with a pleased sigh.
"Who are you?" Charles mused out loud, trailing off into a breathy groan as the stranger nibbled his earlobe.
"None of your concern," he murmured, with a low growl that was effective in both disguising his voice and turning Charles' insides to molten gold. The stranger guided his lips towards his own and plundered his mouth again, kissing him with a fierce desperation that Charles found absolutely fascinating.
"You're very good at that," he said, as the man pulled back for a moment. He just smiled in reply, those lips bruised and swollen and entirely unrecognisable, and Charles's eyes flashed with all the brilliance of a drunken plan. He rested his forehead against the stranger's shoulder for a moment, then shifted his face up to nuzzle against his neck, nipping lightly at the skin and delighting in the way the man shivered at that, going almost boneless at his touch, and then he latched his teeth over the skin and sucked.
The stranger moaned, a rolling vibration low in his throat that shot straight to Charles's cock, and then he yelped and roughly pushed him away, slapping a hand against his neck.
"Forgive me, sire," the man sighed, a low exhale of regret, before dashing off into the shadows and leaving Charles intrigued, confused, and most distressingly half-hard.
"I don't recall seeing you there last night, Sothers. Busy, were you?" Charles asked lightly, picking at some invisible lint on his knee as he sprawled on the throne. The late morning light was quite vicious against his eyelids.
"Quite, Your Majesty. Those very important people you were avoiding needed to be addressed accordingly. I ensured they were well cared for."
"I don't doubt it, Sotherby. Thank you."
Sothery glanced at him, surprised. "Just doing my job, sire."
Charles returned the look, studying him as he played with one of his rings, twisting it around his finger until suddenly, with a soft cry, he dropped it over the side of the throne. "Oh dear," he said. "Would you get that for me?"
Sotherby was good enough at his job to only raise an eyebrow after he had knelt down and closed his hand around the ring. He shifted his weight, leaning back onto the balls of his feet as Charles's hand suddenly curled over his shoulder, a clear command with the lightest pressure and said, "One moment, Sothers."
Sotherby froze, pressing the ring tightly into his palm. Charles reached over, tucking two fingers over the edge of Sotherby's high collar and gently tugged it down - just enough to see the small, distinct bruise blooming against his neck.
"Really, Sothers," Charles purred, brushing his thumb lightly over the mark and delighting in the way Sotherby shivered and closed his eyes. "You went to all that trouble for a kiss?"
Sotherby seemed rather lost for words, his lips slightly parted. Charles, for once, was silent, regarding him. "You did insist that I attend, sire," he eventually managed, his voice carefully steady, his eyes still closed.
"Indeed I did," Charles hummed, letting his hand slip round and begin massaging the back of Sotherby's neck, his fingertips light against his spine. "I do like it when you listen to me."
Sotherby swallowed. "Come up here," Charles commanded, soft. Sotherby rose slowly to his feet, keeping his head bowed, and then he took a deep breath and met the King's gaze. "Come here," Charles said, narrowing his eyes.
In an instant Charles was surging up and Sotherby was rushing down, meeting somewhere in the middle with a bruising kiss and then they shifted, Charles spreading his legs so Sotherby could rest one knee on the throne and tower over him, Charles grabbing him by the hips to yank him closer and Sotherby cupping his jaw gently, both letting the kiss drift to something a little softer, still overwhelming and brilliant and mad but a little less rushed.
"This mustn't change anything, you understand," Charles said, as Sotherby moved away from his mouth to nibble at his jaw.
"Of course, sire," he sighed, sounding somewhat distracted.
"This is just an excellent addition to our day," he declared. When Sotherby just moaned, Charles frowned and said, "Dammit, Sothers, why are you making me be the sensible one here?"
"Because your hand is in my breeches, sire," Sotherby whimpered, panting hotly against his neck.
"So it is," Charles said, and gave an experimental rub. Sotherby growled, and then Charles scrapped his teeth over the curve of his neck and Sotherby melted against him. “My, that might come in handy,” Charles mused, before Sotherby effectively shut him up with a kiss.
Never Having To Say You're Sorry
Charles II/Sotherby; NC-17
for this prompt: After the whole coronation mug debacle, Charles sulks. He sulks, and ignores Sotherby until he gets him something good.
the things mentioned in this are totally real: a wine bottle with Charles II's image and the Juxon chair! clearly i put far too much research into shameless porn :|
"You asked to see me, sire?" Sotherby said.
Charles, sprawled over the chair by his writing desk, glanced at him, before sniffing and turning back to the window. Silence reigned.
After a long pause, Sotherby gritted his teeth and said, "Sire, if you don't need my assistance I have rather a lot to do in order to prepare for your coronation-"
Charles huffed regally, and shifted so he was almost sideways in his chair and completely turned away, his back facing him. Another pause, as Charles tossed his head and started studying his fingernails.
"Is this about the mug?" Sotherby said, his briskness hinting at his annoyance - he quickly stomped it down, and cleared his throat.
Charles shrugged, pursing his lips.
Sotherby glared at the ceiling, allowed his face to contort into something frustrated and incredibly unprofessional for a brief moment, before taking a deep breath and clenching his hands, steadying himself. "Sire," he started, too sharply, before biting his lip and wincing. He tried again, softer, "Sire, if there's anything I can do to-" and he paused, because make it up to you sounded far too much like he should be the one apologising, "-to please you, you only have to ask."
Charles sucked in his cheeks, sneering.
An uncomfortable minute passed, as Sotherby mentally ran through the lists of the stewards he still had to brief and how much champagne they had in stock and how little sleep he was likely to get between then and the end of Charles’s reign. With a quiet sigh, Sotherby eventually said, "With your leave, Your Majesty, I have some rather urgent things to attend to."
"Sotherby," Charles said, just as he reached for the door handle. He pressed his lips together then turned around, his face calm and restrained.
"Yes, sire?" Sotherby said, finding Charles had finally turned around enough to see his profile, his chin raised and haughty, and he was looking over Sotherby out of the corner of his eye before glancing away again and sniffing.
"How about a portrait by Rembrandt?"
"I'm afraid he's rather busy at the moment, Your Majesty. We did try to get in contact with him but I believe he's currently working on something quite large in Amsterdam."
Charles huffed, pouting. "Blast. I don't see what's so difficult about all this, Sotherby."
"Well, I think a lot of our craftsmen are busy preparing Westminster Abbey and the streets for your procession, Your Majesty. There's a rather high demand at the moment."
Charles pulled a face. "Surely there's something you can get made that the people can remember me by? Something wonderful, of course."
"Of course, sire," Sotherby agreed, automatic and placating, and then snapped his head up, eyes wide.
"Splendid, Sothers! I knew you'd sort it out. Now do run along, I'm sure you've got lots to be getting on with," Charles said, suddenly beaming and shooing him out the room.
"Bugger," Sotherby said quietly, when he was on the other side of the doors.
"How about a wine bottle with your image on it?" Sotherby asked, gingerly holding it out.
Charles flicked his eyes up to his, his lip curled in disbelief, before taking the bottle and turning it over in his hands. "It's empty. You've given me an empty bottle of wine with a terrible painting of me on it."
"It's to commemorate the glorious day, Your Majesty," Sotherby said, wincing at the indelicate way Charles was holding it. "So your subjects have someth-"
The bottle thunked heavily as it hit floor, rolling for a second before it tipped over onto its side, entirely unbroken. "Oh," said Charles, watching it for a moment.
"Right," Sotherby said, knocking his fingertips together briefly before he bent down to pick it up. Charles sniffed and turned back to his desk, ignoring him.
"Has it got terrible reproduction of my face on it?"
"No, sire," Sotherby said, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Splendid! Well, go on, show me," Charles waved towards the mysterious covered thing sitting in the middle of the royal apartments, blocky and a few feet high and hidden under a thick dark cloak.
Sotherby straightened his shoulders and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, stalling, before he caught sight of Charles's raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye and briskly crossed the few feet to tug the cloak off, revealing--
"A chair?" Charles said, his eyes narrowed, his lips twisted to the side. Sotherby's shoulders dropped.
"A throne for your coronation, You Majesty," he said quickly, picking up the velvet gold cushion and clutching it in front of him like a shield. The chair was gold and purple, a thick velvet seat surrounded by gold trimmings and with a matching footstool in front, plush and extravagant and surely impressive enough - but, he realised, looking it over again in the mid-afternoon light, there weren't any diamonds or rubies and it certainly wasn't encrusted with anything sparkly and oh God he was going to have to find something else--
"Sothers," Charles said, as Sotherby dragged his gaze away from the chair and up to his smirking mouth, his eyes bright and happy. "It's splendid."
"Oh," Sotherby said, his tone drenched in relief as Charles bounded across to him and flung himself into the seat, draping himself over it and beaming up at him. Sotherby stood by his side and grinned back, feeling almost giddy with the knowledge that Charles would stop sulking.
"My dear Sothers," Charles murmured, his smile softening to something quieter, more intimate. "I'm afraid I've been quite horrid to you recently."
"Not at all, sire," Sotherby said, enjoying the moment too much to ruin it by expecting an apology.
"Still," Charles said, his voice soft and thoughtful, and Sotherby only had a moment to be suspicious before he had jumped up and was in front of him, tugging the cushion from his stiff fingers and throwing back onto the chair before curling a hand over his shoulder and looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, sire," Sotherby smiled, and Charles grinned back, before ducking his head and looking up at him through his eyelashes, his mouth twisting into something sly and teasing, and oh.
"It is most appreciated, Sothers," Charles whispered, close and warm and pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet as his hand slipped under Sotherby's wig to the base of his skull, tugging him forward as Sotherby sucked in a sharp breath, lips parted, and Charles caught his eye, his smirk widening to something brighter and honest. "Sotherby," he said, his breath hot against his mouth.
Sotherby swallowed. "Sire," he managed, and Charles wrapped his other arm around his shoulders and kissed him, pressing irresistibly close as Sotherby closed his eyes and clenched his hands, tense and solid and unmoving until Charles tilted his head, his tongue brushing along his lower lip before licking into his mouth and Sotherby groaned, powerless and pinned, and grabbed Charles by the waist as he pushed back into the kiss.
Charles pulled away an inch, beaming at him before unwinding his hands and grabbing Sotherby by the thick of his arm, guiding him swiftly to the side, saying, "it's simply wonderful, here, you must try," pushing him down by the shoulders and Sotherby suddenly found himself sitting on the chair, sinking into the soft cushions and blinking up at Charles's devious smirk.
"Sire! I can't possibly-" Sotherby tried to protest, tried to rise to his feet, but suddenly he had a lap full of royalty and Charles's smirk far too close, his eyes wicked and glittering.
"Mmm," Charles hummed, wrapping his arms around his neck, a moments warning before kissing him again. Sotherby sighed helplessly, kissing back even as he placed a hand either side of his ribs and tried to gather the willpower to push him away - thoughts of duty and treason and the insufferable way Charles tended to sulk until he got what he wanted, of the hand that was sliding down his chest and over his groin, delicious insistent friction as Charles moaned into his mouth and said, "I can hear you thinking. Stop it."
"Sire, the chair, we can't possibly-" Sotherby said, his tone entirely unconvincing and then disappearing under a choked gasp as Charles nipped at the line of his throat, working downwards until he could nuzzle in to the crook of his shoulder.
"Nonsense, Sothers," Charles said casually, tugging his collar away with one finger and flicking his tongue over the hot skin of his pulse point, delighting in the way Sotherby shivered beneath him, rolling his hips up into his exploring hand. "It's my present, I can do what I like with it, and with whatever is on it."
"Sire--" he tried to protest, but then Charles was slithering down out of his lap, slipping a knee between his thighs to steady himself as he began flicking open the catches of Sotherby's waistcoat, pulling it open to reveal the thin, plain shirt underneath. He brushed a hand over his chest, warm and trembling under his palm as his thumb stroked over a nipple and Sotherby gasped, a sharp breath that he immediately regretted as Charles flashed him a devilish grin and circled his thumb over the nub, stiff and sensitive even through the coarse fabric of his shirt. Charles pressed his tongue behind his teeth and marvelled at the way Sotherby moaned and let his head fall back as he rubbed two fingertips over the nipple, alternating light and teasing with rough and relentless strokes, Sotherby's hips almost imperceptibly jerking upwards as his erection grew and he desperately sought the friction of Charles's thigh, so tantalisingly close between his legs.
Delighted, Charles eventually slid down further, careful and utterly in control as he landed on the footstool, kneeling in front of him and looking up with wide, dark eyes and a rakish twist to his mouth. Sotherby watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze, too breathless to protest anymore as Charles deftly undid his breeches, biting his lip as he released Sotherby's cock: standing stiff and dark red and the sheath of skin covering the head flushed pink. Sotherby watched him run his tongue over his top lip, holding his gaze as Charles gently wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and slowly, almost reverently, leant in to push his lips over the head, tasting him with a long swipe of his tongue over the top.
Sotherby threw his head back and groaned, an endless sigh of utter abandonment as his hands flew forward to settle on Charles's wig, not daring to drag him closer or tangle his fingers in the expensive curls, but Charles smirked anyway and drew back, just enough to make sure Sotherby was still watching, that he could see the shine on his swollen bottom lip and the dark glitter of his eyes as he slid his mouth down and down until his lips were touching his fingers, his cock entirely enveloped by his slick hand and hot mouth - with one strong suck Sotherby grunted, rolling his hips up without thinking; with another he bucked and Charles gagged, pulling back so he could give Sotherby a warning glare.
"Your Majesty, I'm so sorry-" Sotherby said, and then his eyes flew wide and his face blanched, staring down at the debauched picture in front of him - Charles with his cheeks flushed pink, his open mouth bruised and swollen and slick with saliva, his wig askew and his pupils blown wide and his breeches pulled achingly taut across his groin, looking wanton and ravished and desperately turned on and I did that, said a quiet, distant thought. "Your Majesty!" he started, panicked, but Charles darted up and covered his mouth with his own, swallowing down his protests as he carried on fisting Sotherby's erection with one hand and convinced him with his tongue, licking into his mouth with such fiendish promise that Sotherby looked quite dazed when he pulled back to study him.
"No more of that, Sothers," Charles murmured, kissing him closed-mouthed briefly before dropping back to the footstool, Sotherby's hands drifting from their grip on his arms to delicately touch either side of his jaw, staring at him in amazement. Charles, in return, watched Sotherby through his eyelashes; the way he bit his lip as Charles flicked his tongue over the head, his jaw falling slack as Charles sucked the tip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as Charles slid his mouth down and pressed the flat of his tongue up against the underside of his cock - Charles hummed, a sweet vibration low in his throat and Sotherby keened in response, trailing into a breathy gasp as Charles wrapped his hands tightly around his hips, his fingertips painting his skin white as Charles held him still and tipped forward, sucking most of his cock into his mouth. Sotherby cried out, his torso contracting as he suddenly came with a shuddering moan and spurted into Charles mouth, who worked him through his orgasm with light sucks along his length before pulling back and cleaning him off, lazily drawing patterns on his dusky skin with the tip of his tongue.
Sotherby's chest was still heaving when Charles glanced up from his delicate work, his gaze fixed unblinking on the ceiling, until Charles sat and did nothing for a few moments and Sotherby gathered the wits to look down at him in awe and surprise. "Charles," he said, lifting his heavy arm from where it was lolling over the side of the chair to brush his thumb over the corner of Charles's lips. Charles grinned, still bright and devious and achingly hard, pressing a quick kiss to the pad of his thumb before pushing himself up and clambering back into Sotherby's lap, pressing chest to chest with his legs spread wide, dangling over the side of the chair, and he pulled Sotherby in for a long, desperately slow kiss as he guided Sotherby's hand down to his breeches.
Sotherby's fingers were still quick and clever in his blissful haze, swiftly freeing Charles's neglected cock from the damp fabric and encircling it in his hand, the silky heat beneath his palm encouragement enough to quickly begin fisting it with long, measured drags. The slide of Sotherby's tongue against his own, the taste of Sotherby still in his mouth as he kissed him deeply, the friction and shifting pressure of his hand as he jerked him off soon had Charles gasping into his mouth and coming, spilling over his fingers.
They kissed as Charles came down from his explosive high, light and sloppy and utterly unable to stop grinning at each other. "Marvellous chair, Sotherby," Charles said, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"I'm glad you think so, sire," Sotherby breathed.
"I'm sure no one will notice the stain," Charles said, casually, and seized his mouth in an intense kiss before he could even think about being scandalised.