creepy!ukxsomeonexus request is creepy
anonymous
June 27 2009, 00:40:14 UTC
UK and US, fetish being the incestuous connection (be it blood related or no, UK is America's father figure and brother figure and was the one to raise him)- to the point where they won't touch each other: speak to each other, perform for each other, but no touching.
Cue third person!
I want UK sitting back and 'directing' the scene at least at first ('touch there, lean him that way, good boy'), but then him coming over, grabbing on to this poor 'someone', and using them basically as a puppet as he maneuvers them to do what he wants to America.
Shota's fine, country/human name fine, it being a 'scene' and thus not exactly their usual interactions (and poor third person getting some comfort) is fine, them both being 'real' and completely dysfunctional is fine, them snapping and finally going at each other in the end is fine. Whatevah.
(More bonuses for UK acting Imperialistic, America playing at innocence, getting US to beg (+ for 'daddy'), and for both of them being assholes and ignoring the pleasure of the third person as they're completely-obsessive on each other.)
And I Shall Be There [1/?]
anonymous
July 9 2009, 02:46:17 UTC
OP!anon said that them playing out a scene was all right, as well as giving some attention to the go-between person. If it isn’t, I apologize.
I was originally going to go with Canada for this fic, but decided to do something a little less cliché, since there’s already a fantastic threesome fill (several, by the same author) with Canada/US/UK. ___
Toris isn’t surprised when Alfred’s number comes up on his caller ID. Well, all right, maybe a little bit. But since Alfred’s new boss came into office, he’s at least been making an effort to call Toris on a regular basis and get his name right the first time. It’s something he’s come to expect and enjoy.
No, it’s not the call that surprises him.
It’s the request.
“So, um, Tony -”
“It’s Toris, Alfred.”
“Right, same thing. Anyway, I, um, I have something I wanted to ask you. Since, um, you spent all that time with me before your depression….”
Toris frowns as he hears Alfred’s blush in his stammering. It’s not like Alfred. Not like Alfred at all.
“Alfred, if you’re not comfortable speaking to me, then you don’t have to.”
Silence on the other end. One, two, three beats of his heart, contract, expand. Alfred’s sigh sends static rippling through the mouthpiece.
“That’s the thing, though. I’m talking to you because I feel comfortable with you. I…I have a favor to ask of you, Tori.”
“Toris, Alfred.”
“Right, right.Anyway. Um. I…I want you to come over sometime. To, um, my house. Arthur will be here, too.”
Toris’ frown deepens. To Alfred’s house? “I’d love to, Alfred, but aren’t you busy? I’d hate to be an imposition.”
“No! No, you won’t. Um…Arthur will be here as well.”
Ah. Arthur. He’s well aware of the situation between the two of them - well, as aware as anyone else is. “Wouldn’t you like to spend some private time with Arthur, Alfred?”
More silence. Toris pictures Alfred chewing his lip.
“Alfred?”
“…Arthurwantstotrysomethingnewwillyouhelp.”
Toris blinks, his mind trying to unscramble the stream of letters and syllables. “I’m…sorry, Alfred. Would you mind repeating it?”
Shaky, sharp breaths. Alfred steeling himself. “Arthur wants to…he wants to try a scene with me,” Alfred murmurs, keeping his words separate and slow. “He…he told me to ask someone I trust to participate, and - I can’t do it with Matthew, Tanya. I just can’t. It’d be…I don’t know, weird, doing that with my brother.”
Wait, what’s “that”? What is Alfred -
…Oh.
Oh.
Toris feels his mouth dry up and his mind go blank. Memories of warm nights sleeping beside Alfred, helping around the house, fill his mind - along with a dream he never really realized before Ivan snatched him away with childlike selfishness. “Alfred,” he whispers.
“I - I totally understand if you don’t want to do it! Listen, I have a few other people I can call, I just -”
“Wait.” Toris licks his lips, catches the bottom between his teeth for a moment. “Arthur will be there with us?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what he has planned, but - I’d really appreciate this. I think - I think I -” Alfred breaks off, and Toris doesn’t force him to finish the sentence. “Toris, please.”
Toris takes a sharp breath at the high, uncertain note in Alfred’s voice, the desperation sandwiched in those syllables, the fact that Alfred got his name right. Something strange and uneasy stirs in his belly. Something that calls out and beckons to him. Toris thinks for a few seconds.
“…If you need me, Alfred. If I can make you feel better by being there, I’ll come.”
Toris lets his body go on autopilot; he doesn’t really listen to or register the shape of Alfred’s words, giving what few details he knows. He just wallows in the sound of Alfred’s relief, the slow unwind that weaves thank you into that voice. Toris thinks it’s one of his favorite sounds.
If I can make you feel and sound like that, Alfred, Toris thinks, then I’m sure that everything else will be fine. ___
Total title failure, I know. I’ll have more up tomorrow, time and fills permitting. Until then, dear anons!
Re: And I Shall Be There [1/?]
anonymous
January 13 2011, 00:23:30 UTC
Yes! I totally love USUK and USLit! Putting them together in this kind of situation is the best! XD (Although, I wish America would be more memorable with Lithuania~ I mean, you know you loved his outsourcing too! D: )
And I Shall Be There [2/?]
anonymous
July 12 2009, 02:31:59 UTC
It’s a week after that call that he gets a second one from Arthur.
In that interval, Toris dreams of things he hasn’t entertained since the 1930’s, when Ivan took him back into the Union. He dreams of blue eyes and glasses, of a toned body and lips smeared against one another as they roll about on the bed.
His dreams are as frequent as his nightmares, as his visions of violet eyes and punishment and a childlike smile. The worst dreams are where he’s with Alfred still, and everything’s normal; but caresses turn into burns, and Alfred’s hugs and hands on his hips leave bruises and scars and blood, they make him want to scream and cry and beg for mercy.
It’s in the middle of one of those dreams that his phone rings, jolting him from where he’s napping on the couch. He sits up, orienting himself and frowning at the feel of sweat and grime and trembling in his muscles before picking up his phone. “Hello…?”
“Toris? Is that you?”
Toris frowns and tries to place the voice. “I…yeah. Who’s calling?”
“Ah - I’m sorry. This is Arthur Kirkland.”
Ah. Right. Now he recognizes the voice. Toris swings his legs over the side of the couch and smiles. “Ah, that’s right. I’m sorry, Mr. Kirkland, I didn’t recognize your voice. How can I help you?”
“Ah, no, I’m quite fine. It’s just…Alfred just told me.”
“Told you…?”
“That he…that he called you last week. About….”
Toris feels himself flush as he remembers. “Ah…that.”
“Toris, I…I apologize. I gave Alfred a good scolding for -”
“Wh - wait, no!” Toris sputters, then takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Thank you, Mr. Kirkland, but it’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. Especially considering what you’ve gone through in the past. It’s just…Alfred is just so thoughtless sometimes.”
Toris doesn’t say anything for a moment. He thinks of childlike smiles and a high, innocent voice crooning how he was the beloved, the favorite in his ear, that he just had to learn to behave for his own good….
“I thank you, Mr. Kirkland -”
“Arthur, please.”
“ - Arthur, then, but I think I’ll be all right.” He smiles. “I know that Alfred certainly isn’t Ivan, and from what I know, you aren’t either.”
Silence, broken by the static of Arthur’s sigh. “I just don’t want to trigger…unpleasant memories for you. Did Alfred tell you what this scene would be about?”
“Ah…no. No he didn’t.”
“Figures, the idiot. Well, in that case, I’m glad I called. I want to go over the general idea of the scene with you, and I want to give you a chance to back down if you want.”
“Arthur, I already said I -”
“Please, Toris, just hear me out. Make your decision after you know what you’re getting into.”
Toris frowns, considers protesting. He sighs, relenting anyway - simply because he’s like that. “All right, Arthur. I’m listening. Tell me, please.”
And Arthur tells him. Tells him of the role Toris will have to fill; tells him exactly how Alfred will act, what Arthur will say. Hints at the toys and the things that will be at Toris’ disposal, only to use at Arthur’s command.
It’s a brief explanation, only a minute long. Even so, it has Toris frozen in his seat, staring into the cold fireplace with blank eyes.
“..is…Toris?”
Toris blinks back into himself. “Ah - forgive me, Arthur, I -”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Toris, I already said that. I just want to make sure you’re absolutely certain that you can go through with this.”
For a moment, Toris considers saying that he doesn’t, that Arthur was right, that he’s sorry for the inconvenience and hopes Arthur will have a nice day.
“ He…he told me to ask someone I trust to participate, and - I can’t do it with Matthew, Tanya. I just can’t. It’d be…I don’t know, weird, doing that with my brother.”
“Toris, please.”
Alfred’s voice in his memory cements his resolve.
“Arthur…I’ll be there.”
Silence on the other end.
“I’m not doing it because I feel obligated,” he explains. “I’m doing it because - because it’s Alfred. Because Alfred gave me a place to be, made me belong.” He swallows. “It’s the least I can do to thank him.”
“…I at least want you to think of a safeword. And let me know of any limits you have.”
Re: And I Shall Be There [2/?]
anonymous
July 12 2009, 08:02:08 UTC
GJ author!anon. I love how thoughtful sort of Al was in asking Toris, and then Arthur following up with the phone call. I'm on edge for what's to happen, Toris and his feelings...
And I Shall Be There [3/?]
anonymous
July 12 2009, 15:15:10 UTC
“I can do that.”
He hangs up after a quick promise to think of something by the time they meet and a quiet goodbye. He sinks into sleep after that. He is thankful upon waking that he did not dream. ___
One month later, Toris swallows the spit welling up in his mouth as he walks up the stairs of Alfred’s porch.
It’s been so long since he’s walked on this wood, since he first knocked on this door with a ratty suitcase in hand and asked for a place to stay. The door and the knocker are new, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel that different.
Well, it doesn’t feel any different aside from the nerves coiling in his gut and beating through his blood.
It takes a few moments, but Toris hears the locks on the door clicking undone, save for a single gold chain that stays in place as the door cracks open and a green eye peeks out to look.
He knows Arthur’s already seen him. But this is part of the deal.
“Safeword?” he murmurs, voice muffled behind stained oak wood.
Toris has given this some thought. His eyes drift over to the gate on the left side of Alfred’s house, to the bushes and vines overflowing the edges. He remembers the 20s, of spending warm summer days sitting out there with Alfred. “Coffee,” he says, and imagines the rich flavor flooding his mouth.
The green eye glints and appraises him before Arthur grunts and disappears from sight again. One more sharp, defined click, and the door swings open to reveal Arthur.
Arthur, who is dressed in a fancy red coat with all manners of buttons and embroidery, who wears a cravat fastened just below his Adam’s apple, who wears thigh-high boots and white, tight gloves. “Any limits that I need to know about?” he asks, raising his voice, and Toris realizes the gentleness in Arthur’s voice was just his quiet tone, and nothing more.
He licks his lips. “Only Alfred,” Toris says, and his voice falls flat. He draws breath. Tries again. “Only Alfred can…can touch me,” he says, his voice picking up in pitch and panic. “…I’m sorry.”
“What did I tell you, boy? You have nothing to be sorry for. If you don’t want me to fuck you, Alfred shall do it instead.” He gives Toris a quick smile that isn’t quite reassuring, but still manages to set his face aflame. “I can do that much.”
“I - all right, I -”
“If you’re ready,” Arthur says, “then step over the threshold and put your duffel bag over there.”
Toris swallows, arms himself with the knowledge that he has his safe word, and steps into Alfred’s house. Alfred’s carpet was different before, and he’s pretty sure Alfred didn’t have that shoe mat the last time he came here. But it’s just the same, Toris thinks, smiling as he removes his shoes and drops his duffel. “It’s like coming home,” Toris says, smiling over his shoulder at Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at him.
Toris feels his smile fade as his confidence flickers; he shakes his head and firms his face. He warned me it would be this way, he thinks. I know what I’m up against.
Arthur doesn’t say a word as he starts walking down the hall, towards the staircase. Toris frowns, because he thought Alfred’s room was on this floor. But no, he’s not the one in charge here; whether things have changed, whether they haven’t, is irrelevant to the scene.
Toris follows him up the stairs, swallows as they climb into growing darkness. Even Toris has to admit Arthur’s done a splendid job with making the area completely black.
In a room off to their left, Toris sees flickering light. Arthur walks towards that room and its light, beckoning Toris to follow with a slight tilt of his head.
They turn and walk into the room, and Toris feels his mouth go dry when he sees Alfred. He’s so used to associating Alfred with strength and noise. To see him so quiet and complacent is…different.
Toris lets his eyes drift over the ropes that bind Alfred’s wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles to the chair. Alfred’s dark gray vest is unbuttoned, parted; the long-sleeved shirt underneath that is undone for the first few buttons. His eyes trail down to the dark pants, to the unmistakable bulge between those legs.
Re: And I Shall Be There [3/?]
anonymous
July 13 2009, 04:54:31 UTC
Oh, wow, anon. Wow. OP is very happy, and very much still looking for more. Toris's point of view makes this seem both surreal and raw, I think, even at this point in time. Lovely!
And I Shall Be There [4/?]
anonymous
July 14 2009, 03:25:50 UTC
He looks on the floor to find a three-corner hat at Alfred’s feet.
He’s dressed as a colony, Toris realizes, and completely and utterly at their mercy and whim.
“Alfred,” Arthur murmurs, and his commanding voice draws both sets of eyes up to him. Arthur stands tall, back straight and shoulders drawn back, looking down on Alfred. So this is what he was once, Toris thinks, and as Arthur walks over to retrieve a riding crop leaning on the wall, he shivers under the aura of the British Empire.
“Alfred,” Arthur says again, walking around to Alfred’s side. “What is it that you want?”
Alfred’s face goes hot with flush and maybe anger; Toris doesn’t really know, but it fascinates and draws his attention.
“I…I’m not going to answer that,” he grits out.
Arthur chuckles, but Toris sees the leather gleam and shift in the candlelight as Arthur’s fists tighten and shake. “Oh, yes you are,” Arthur says, kneeling beside Alfred, who turns into his gaze. (Toris wonders for just a moment how someone can look down on someone even if they’re the one looking up.) “Even if you don’t, you stubborn child, I’ll know. I’ll know what you want. You’re merely a part of me, after all.”
Alfred’s flush deepens across his cheekbones, glows in the wan candlelight.
“…W’nt you,” he mutters at last, dropping his face to his lap.
Twist and flinch of skin beneath leather gloves. Arthur’s tongue pokes out to lick his lips.
“You want me?” Arthur purrs, and Toris sees one of those devious, deceptive hands uncurl. “Well, that’s not very specific, is it? What is it you want, Alfred?”
No answer. Toris feels moisture collect under his sleeves and skin, swallows and feels the thickness of saliva as it slides down his throat.
“So stubborn,” Arthur chuckles, and lifts the riding crop, tilts Alfred’s chin ever-so-slightly upwards. “Well, let’s rephrase that, then. What is it you think about?” The crop slides down under his chin, over his Adam’s apple. “What do you think of at night, all alone?”
“Your…your hands….” Alfred stammers out, then gasps and swallows as the crop pokes into the skin beneath his throat. “On me…touching me all over, want you to touch me….”
Alfred starts squirming, hands clenching and unclenching on the armrests. Arthur’s chuckle sounds like indigo and silk, like tobacco and all the raw, rich goods he once harvested from Alfred’s lands.
“Where would you like me to touch? Here?” The crop circles around a nipple underneath Alfred’s shirt. “Here?” He swipes down in one quick movement, and Alfred yelps at the feel of the crop on his cock. “Or even lower than that?”
“Anywhere,” Alfred whimpers. “Please - please, just touch me….”
“I can’t do that, Alfred.”
Arthur stands, lets the crop slide along the inside of a strong thigh and off the leg. He turns his head and meets Toris’ eyes, acknowledging his presence for the first time that night.
“But you are my colony, and you’ve been behaving so well. It’s only fitting that I give you some sort of release, right?” Arthur breaks their gaze, looking towards the corner of the room. “Of course, I can’t have you wriggling out and hurting the hired help, or making me submit to your perverse fantasies. So I’ll be watching over here.”
Toris feels the bootsteps in his bones as Arthur walks into the dark corner of the room, just out of sight of the shadows.
Toris knows what he has to do. For a moment he hesitates, starts to shiver.
Alfred shuts his eyes and bows his head, whimpering, humiliated, and that just decides it for him. Toris crosses the room, takes Alfred’s face in both hands, and kisses those lips.
“Harder.” Toris’ body jolts at the unexpected voice. “He likes it rough.”
Rough. Okay. Toris opens his mouth, shoves his tongue into Alfred’s; he presses, presses deep and hard, and tries not to think and just complicate everything.
“Yank his hair. I want to hear what kind of sound he makes.”
Toris threads his fingers through Alfred’s hair, bits of sunlight and amber waves of grain under his fingertips. His hand flinches and he yanks, jerks Alfred’s head back and bites down on Alfred’s throat to feel his cry. It vibrates through his teeth, his mouth, and his blood.
And I Shall Be There [5/?]
anonymous
July 14 2009, 22:53:57 UTC
Arthur takes one sharp breath. “Lovely,” he breathes, a whisper of wind from the darkness of the room.
Alfred whimpers and mewls, presses his throat into Toris’ waiting teeth. A weak wolf submitting to the alpha. Toris feels something flood his mind, and he begins to float.
Arthur doesn’t instruct him to move, so Toris keeps lavishing Alfred’s neck with kisses, nips, and bites. He finds out that Alfred’s favorite place to be molested is the dip in skin below his throat; it makes him sigh and turn into jelly, purring and relaxed as he slumps against the chair.
Toris smiles to himself, a little private, and just lingers on that area. He loves listening to Alfred’s moans, light and soft as air.
“Toris.”
Arthur’s voice. So Arthur doesn’t like this lingering and tenderness. Toris sees that as he lifts his head to meet Arthur’s bored gaze.
Toris sees Arthur’s shoulder twitch, follows that movement down his arm, to his hand, and…oh.
Perhaps he’s not as bored as Toris thought.
“Don’t you think Alfred has beautiful skin?” Toris can’t answer, struck dumb by Arthur’s teeth as it catches his lip. “All muscle and smooth and taut skin - ‘s bloody beautiful, don’t you think? And it’s mine.”
Mine to control. Mine to claim and to plunder. So don’t go getting any funny ideas. Toris hears these words in what Arthur doesn’t say. Alfred hears it too, and Toris knows this from the hitch in his Adam’s apple.
“It is. It really is,” Toris replies. “Beautiful, I mean.”
Arthur makes a low, rumbling, possessive sound, something between a purr and a growl. “I’m glad we agree,” he whispers. “Don’t you want to see more of it, Toris?”
“I -”
“Unbutton his shirt.”
The words, sickly-soft as they are, leave no room for argument or negotiation. Toris nods, his hair brushing over Alfred’s lips, and reaches down with both hands to the front of his linen shirt.
“No. One hand. One button at a time, Toris.”
Toris glances up at Arthur again, feels the softness wrap around the both of them, around he and Alfred. He’s powerless against it.
Toris kisses back up Alfred’s neck, mouths the skin along his jawline. It feels good, comfortable. His fingers fumble and finger the mother-of-pearl buttons, celebrating in his mind when he manages to undo one.
“Alfred’s got a sensitive spot just behind his earlobe,” Arthur says. “Try biting it.”
“Ah -” Alfred starts, but Toris is already there, licking the skin before biting, making Alfred scream and his hips piston. “Daddy,” he begs, and looks across the room with tears in his eyes. “Daddy, please.”
“I can’t do that, Alfred.” The hunger in those dark green eyes says otherwise.
Toris feels something twist and quake in his gut. He forces it down. He can do this. He can do this for Alfred. He smoothes his tongue over the reddening mark, the apricot-colored bruise on his skin, and he continues to work at Alfred’s shirt.
“Stop,” Arthur says when he has five unbuttoned. Toris’ fingers freeze. “Touch his neck, and go down to his chest.”
He tries to keep his fingers from shaking as he reaches up, presses fingertips to Alfred’s bruised and abused neck. Alfred moans, turns his head; when Arthur doesn’t protest, Toris presses his lips to Alfred’s in a chaste kiss.
Alfred moans, and moves his lips. Toris tries to pull away, but Alfred follows, and Toris frowns as he feels Alfred’s lips. He’s not sure if Arthur will permit him to use his tongue right now, but the way Alfred’s moving his mouth -
No. Wait.
Alfred’s not trying to kiss him. He’s trying to speak to him.
You okay? Toris hears on his mouth, after kissing him a few moments more and letting his body remember the movements of Alfred’s English. And it’s so sweet and brief, Alfred’s question. He nearly weeps from the force of it.
Instead, he allows his hand to steady and slip down the curve of that kiss-tortured, beautiful neck. Alfred wriggles, tries to move up into those fingers, but Toris pulls back and tries to stay just out of reach.
“Such a good lad,” Arthur murmurs, and Toris isn’t sure if he’s talking about him or Arthur. “My boy.” Lustier and darker this time, and Toris realizes then that Arthur’s talking about Alfred, not him.
Cue third person!
I want UK sitting back and 'directing' the scene at least at first ('touch there, lean him that way, good boy'), but then him coming over, grabbing on to this poor 'someone', and using them basically as a puppet as he maneuvers them to do what he wants to America.
Shota's fine, country/human name fine, it being a 'scene' and thus not exactly their usual interactions (and poor third person getting some comfort) is fine, them both being 'real' and completely dysfunctional is fine, them snapping and finally going at each other in the end is fine. Whatevah.
(More bonuses for UK acting Imperialistic, America playing at innocence, getting US to beg (+ for 'daddy'), and for both of them being assholes and ignoring the pleasure of the third person as they're completely-obsessive on each other.)
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I was originally going to go with Canada for this fic, but decided to do something a little less cliché, since there’s already a fantastic threesome fill (several, by the same author) with Canada/US/UK.
___
Toris isn’t surprised when Alfred’s number comes up on his caller ID. Well, all right, maybe a little bit. But since Alfred’s new boss came into office, he’s at least been making an effort to call Toris on a regular basis and get his name right the first time. It’s something he’s come to expect and enjoy.
No, it’s not the call that surprises him.
It’s the request.
“So, um, Tony -”
“It’s Toris, Alfred.”
“Right, same thing. Anyway, I, um, I have something I wanted to ask you. Since, um, you spent all that time with me before your depression….”
Toris frowns as he hears Alfred’s blush in his stammering. It’s not like Alfred. Not like Alfred at all.
“Alfred, if you’re not comfortable speaking to me, then you don’t have to.”
Silence on the other end. One, two, three beats of his heart, contract, expand. Alfred’s sigh sends static rippling through the mouthpiece.
“That’s the thing, though. I’m talking to you because I feel comfortable with you. I…I have a favor to ask of you, Tori.”
“Toris, Alfred.”
“Right, right.Anyway. Um. I…I want you to come over sometime. To, um, my house. Arthur will be here, too.”
Toris’ frown deepens. To Alfred’s house? “I’d love to, Alfred, but aren’t you busy? I’d hate to be an imposition.”
“No! No, you won’t. Um…Arthur will be here as well.”
Ah. Arthur. He’s well aware of the situation between the two of them - well, as aware as anyone else is. “Wouldn’t you like to spend some private time with Arthur, Alfred?”
More silence. Toris pictures Alfred chewing his lip.
“Alfred?”
“…Arthurwantstotrysomethingnewwillyouhelp.”
Toris blinks, his mind trying to unscramble the stream of letters and syllables. “I’m…sorry, Alfred. Would you mind repeating it?”
Shaky, sharp breaths. Alfred steeling himself. “Arthur wants to…he wants to try a scene with me,” Alfred murmurs, keeping his words separate and slow. “He…he told me to ask someone I trust to participate, and - I can’t do it with Matthew, Tanya. I just can’t. It’d be…I don’t know, weird, doing that with my brother.”
Wait, what’s “that”? What is Alfred -
…Oh.
Oh.
Toris feels his mouth dry up and his mind go blank. Memories of warm nights sleeping beside Alfred, helping around the house, fill his mind - along with a dream he never really realized before Ivan snatched him away with childlike selfishness. “Alfred,” he whispers.
“I - I totally understand if you don’t want to do it! Listen, I have a few other people I can call, I just -”
“Wait.” Toris licks his lips, catches the bottom between his teeth for a moment. “Arthur will be there with us?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what he has planned, but - I’d really appreciate this. I think - I think I -” Alfred breaks off, and Toris doesn’t force him to finish the sentence. “Toris, please.”
Toris takes a sharp breath at the high, uncertain note in Alfred’s voice, the desperation sandwiched in those syllables, the fact that Alfred got his name right. Something strange and uneasy stirs in his belly. Something that calls out and beckons to him. Toris thinks for a few seconds.
“…If you need me, Alfred. If I can make you feel better by being there, I’ll come.”
Toris lets his body go on autopilot; he doesn’t really listen to or register the shape of Alfred’s words, giving what few details he knows. He just wallows in the sound of Alfred’s relief, the slow unwind that weaves thank you into that voice. Toris thinks it’s one of his favorite sounds.
If I can make you feel and sound like that, Alfred, Toris thinks, then I’m sure that everything else will be fine.
___
Total title failure, I know. I’ll have more up tomorrow, time and fills permitting. Until then, dear anons!
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In that interval, Toris dreams of things he hasn’t entertained since the 1930’s, when Ivan took him back into the Union. He dreams of blue eyes and glasses, of a toned body and lips smeared against one another as they roll about on the bed.
His dreams are as frequent as his nightmares, as his visions of violet eyes and punishment and a childlike smile. The worst dreams are where he’s with Alfred still, and everything’s normal; but caresses turn into burns, and Alfred’s hugs and hands on his hips leave bruises and scars and blood, they make him want to scream and cry and beg for mercy.
It’s in the middle of one of those dreams that his phone rings, jolting him from where he’s napping on the couch. He sits up, orienting himself and frowning at the feel of sweat and grime and trembling in his muscles before picking up his phone. “Hello…?”
“Toris? Is that you?”
Toris frowns and tries to place the voice. “I…yeah. Who’s calling?”
“Ah - I’m sorry. This is Arthur Kirkland.”
Ah. Right. Now he recognizes the voice. Toris swings his legs over the side of the couch and smiles. “Ah, that’s right. I’m sorry, Mr. Kirkland, I didn’t recognize your voice. How can I help you?”
“Ah, no, I’m quite fine. It’s just…Alfred just told me.”
“Told you…?”
“That he…that he called you last week. About….”
Toris feels himself flush as he remembers. “Ah…that.”
“Toris, I…I apologize. I gave Alfred a good scolding for -”
“Wh - wait, no!” Toris sputters, then takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Thank you, Mr. Kirkland, but it’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. Especially considering what you’ve gone through in the past. It’s just…Alfred is just so thoughtless sometimes.”
Toris doesn’t say anything for a moment. He thinks of childlike smiles and a high, innocent voice crooning how he was the beloved, the favorite in his ear, that he just had to learn to behave for his own good….
“I thank you, Mr. Kirkland -”
“Arthur, please.”
“ - Arthur, then, but I think I’ll be all right.” He smiles. “I know that Alfred certainly isn’t Ivan, and from what I know, you aren’t either.”
Silence, broken by the static of Arthur’s sigh. “I just don’t want to trigger…unpleasant memories for you. Did Alfred tell you what this scene would be about?”
“Ah…no. No he didn’t.”
“Figures, the idiot. Well, in that case, I’m glad I called. I want to go over the general idea of the scene with you, and I want to give you a chance to back down if you want.”
“Arthur, I already said I -”
“Please, Toris, just hear me out. Make your decision after you know what you’re getting into.”
Toris frowns, considers protesting. He sighs, relenting anyway - simply because he’s like that. “All right, Arthur. I’m listening. Tell me, please.”
And Arthur tells him. Tells him of the role Toris will have to fill; tells him exactly how Alfred will act, what Arthur will say. Hints at the toys and the things that will be at Toris’ disposal, only to use at Arthur’s command.
It’s a brief explanation, only a minute long. Even so, it has Toris frozen in his seat, staring into the cold fireplace with blank eyes.
“..is…Toris?”
Toris blinks back into himself. “Ah - forgive me, Arthur, I -”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Toris, I already said that. I just want to make sure you’re absolutely certain that you can go through with this.”
For a moment, Toris considers saying that he doesn’t, that Arthur was right, that he’s sorry for the inconvenience and hopes Arthur will have a nice day.
“ He…he told me to ask someone I trust to participate, and - I can’t do it with Matthew, Tanya. I just can’t. It’d be…I don’t know, weird, doing that with my brother.”
“Toris, please.”
Alfred’s voice in his memory cements his resolve.
“Arthur…I’ll be there.”
Silence on the other end.
“I’m not doing it because I feel obligated,” he explains. “I’m doing it because - because it’s Alfred. Because Alfred gave me a place to be, made me belong.” He swallows. “It’s the least I can do to thank him.”
“…I at least want you to think of a safeword. And let me know of any limits you have.”
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He hangs up after a quick promise to think of something by the time they meet and a quiet goodbye. He sinks into sleep after that. He is thankful upon waking that he did not dream.
___
One month later, Toris swallows the spit welling up in his mouth as he walks up the stairs of Alfred’s porch.
It’s been so long since he’s walked on this wood, since he first knocked on this door with a ratty suitcase in hand and asked for a place to stay. The door and the knocker are new, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel that different.
Well, it doesn’t feel any different aside from the nerves coiling in his gut and beating through his blood.
It takes a few moments, but Toris hears the locks on the door clicking undone, save for a single gold chain that stays in place as the door cracks open and a green eye peeks out to look.
He knows Arthur’s already seen him. But this is part of the deal.
“Safeword?” he murmurs, voice muffled behind stained oak wood.
Toris has given this some thought. His eyes drift over to the gate on the left side of Alfred’s house, to the bushes and vines overflowing the edges. He remembers the 20s, of spending warm summer days sitting out there with Alfred. “Coffee,” he says, and imagines the rich flavor flooding his mouth.
The green eye glints and appraises him before Arthur grunts and disappears from sight again. One more sharp, defined click, and the door swings open to reveal Arthur.
Arthur, who is dressed in a fancy red coat with all manners of buttons and embroidery, who wears a cravat fastened just below his Adam’s apple, who wears thigh-high boots and white, tight gloves. “Any limits that I need to know about?” he asks, raising his voice, and Toris realizes the gentleness in Arthur’s voice was just his quiet tone, and nothing more.
He licks his lips. “Only Alfred,” Toris says, and his voice falls flat. He draws breath. Tries again. “Only Alfred can…can touch me,” he says, his voice picking up in pitch and panic. “…I’m sorry.”
“What did I tell you, boy? You have nothing to be sorry for. If you don’t want me to fuck you, Alfred shall do it instead.” He gives Toris a quick smile that isn’t quite reassuring, but still manages to set his face aflame. “I can do that much.”
“I - all right, I -”
“If you’re ready,” Arthur says, “then step over the threshold and put your duffel bag over there.”
Toris swallows, arms himself with the knowledge that he has his safe word, and steps into Alfred’s house. Alfred’s carpet was different before, and he’s pretty sure Alfred didn’t have that shoe mat the last time he came here. But it’s just the same, Toris thinks, smiling as he removes his shoes and drops his duffel. “It’s like coming home,” Toris says, smiling over his shoulder at Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at him.
Toris feels his smile fade as his confidence flickers; he shakes his head and firms his face. He warned me it would be this way, he thinks. I know what I’m up against.
Arthur doesn’t say a word as he starts walking down the hall, towards the staircase. Toris frowns, because he thought Alfred’s room was on this floor. But no, he’s not the one in charge here; whether things have changed, whether they haven’t, is irrelevant to the scene.
Toris follows him up the stairs, swallows as they climb into growing darkness. Even Toris has to admit Arthur’s done a splendid job with making the area completely black.
In a room off to their left, Toris sees flickering light. Arthur walks towards that room and its light, beckoning Toris to follow with a slight tilt of his head.
They turn and walk into the room, and Toris feels his mouth go dry when he sees Alfred. He’s so used to associating Alfred with strength and noise. To see him so quiet and complacent is…different.
Toris lets his eyes drift over the ropes that bind Alfred’s wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles to the chair. Alfred’s dark gray vest is unbuttoned, parted; the long-sleeved shirt underneath that is undone for the first few buttons. His eyes trail down to the dark pants, to the unmistakable bulge between those legs.
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B...DSM? Is that what this is? Oh snap. OoO
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He’s dressed as a colony, Toris realizes, and completely and utterly at their mercy and whim.
“Alfred,” Arthur murmurs, and his commanding voice draws both sets of eyes up to him. Arthur stands tall, back straight and shoulders drawn back, looking down on Alfred. So this is what he was once, Toris thinks, and as Arthur walks over to retrieve a riding crop leaning on the wall, he shivers under the aura of the British Empire.
“Alfred,” Arthur says again, walking around to Alfred’s side. “What is it that you want?”
Alfred’s face goes hot with flush and maybe anger; Toris doesn’t really know, but it fascinates and draws his attention.
“I…I’m not going to answer that,” he grits out.
Arthur chuckles, but Toris sees the leather gleam and shift in the candlelight as Arthur’s fists tighten and shake. “Oh, yes you are,” Arthur says, kneeling beside Alfred, who turns into his gaze. (Toris wonders for just a moment how someone can look down on someone even if they’re the one looking up.) “Even if you don’t, you stubborn child, I’ll know. I’ll know what you want. You’re merely a part of me, after all.”
Alfred’s flush deepens across his cheekbones, glows in the wan candlelight.
“…W’nt you,” he mutters at last, dropping his face to his lap.
Twist and flinch of skin beneath leather gloves. Arthur’s tongue pokes out to lick his lips.
“You want me?” Arthur purrs, and Toris sees one of those devious, deceptive hands uncurl. “Well, that’s not very specific, is it? What is it you want, Alfred?”
No answer. Toris feels moisture collect under his sleeves and skin, swallows and feels the thickness of saliva as it slides down his throat.
“So stubborn,” Arthur chuckles, and lifts the riding crop, tilts Alfred’s chin ever-so-slightly upwards. “Well, let’s rephrase that, then. What is it you think about?” The crop slides down under his chin, over his Adam’s apple. “What do you think of at night, all alone?”
“Your…your hands….” Alfred stammers out, then gasps and swallows as the crop pokes into the skin beneath his throat. “On me…touching me all over, want you to touch me….”
Alfred starts squirming, hands clenching and unclenching on the armrests. Arthur’s chuckle sounds like indigo and silk, like tobacco and all the raw, rich goods he once harvested from Alfred’s lands.
“Where would you like me to touch? Here?” The crop circles around a nipple underneath Alfred’s shirt. “Here?” He swipes down in one quick movement, and Alfred yelps at the feel of the crop on his cock. “Or even lower than that?”
“Anywhere,” Alfred whimpers. “Please - please, just touch me….”
“I can’t do that, Alfred.”
Arthur stands, lets the crop slide along the inside of a strong thigh and off the leg. He turns his head and meets Toris’ eyes, acknowledging his presence for the first time that night.
“But you are my colony, and you’ve been behaving so well. It’s only fitting that I give you some sort of release, right?” Arthur breaks their gaze, looking towards the corner of the room. “Of course, I can’t have you wriggling out and hurting the hired help, or making me submit to your perverse fantasies. So I’ll be watching over here.”
Toris feels the bootsteps in his bones as Arthur walks into the dark corner of the room, just out of sight of the shadows.
Toris knows what he has to do. For a moment he hesitates, starts to shiver.
Alfred shuts his eyes and bows his head, whimpering, humiliated, and that just decides it for him. Toris crosses the room, takes Alfred’s face in both hands, and kisses those lips.
“Harder.” Toris’ body jolts at the unexpected voice. “He likes it rough.”
Rough. Okay. Toris opens his mouth, shoves his tongue into Alfred’s; he presses, presses deep and hard, and tries not to think and just complicate everything.
“Yank his hair. I want to hear what kind of sound he makes.”
Toris threads his fingers through Alfred’s hair, bits of sunlight and amber waves of grain under his fingertips. His hand flinches and he yanks, jerks Alfred’s head back and bites down on Alfred’s throat to feel his cry. It vibrates through his teeth, his mouth, and his blood.
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Be gentle.
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Alfred whimpers and mewls, presses his throat into Toris’ waiting teeth. A weak wolf submitting to the alpha. Toris feels something flood his mind, and he begins to float.
Arthur doesn’t instruct him to move, so Toris keeps lavishing Alfred’s neck with kisses, nips, and bites. He finds out that Alfred’s favorite place to be molested is the dip in skin below his throat; it makes him sigh and turn into jelly, purring and relaxed as he slumps against the chair.
Toris smiles to himself, a little private, and just lingers on that area. He loves listening to Alfred’s moans, light and soft as air.
“Toris.”
Arthur’s voice. So Arthur doesn’t like this lingering and tenderness. Toris sees that as he lifts his head to meet Arthur’s bored gaze.
Toris sees Arthur’s shoulder twitch, follows that movement down his arm, to his hand, and…oh.
Perhaps he’s not as bored as Toris thought.
“Don’t you think Alfred has beautiful skin?” Toris can’t answer, struck dumb by Arthur’s teeth as it catches his lip. “All muscle and smooth and taut skin - ‘s bloody beautiful, don’t you think? And it’s mine.”
Mine to control. Mine to claim and to plunder. So don’t go getting any funny ideas. Toris hears these words in what Arthur doesn’t say. Alfred hears it too, and Toris knows this from the hitch in his Adam’s apple.
“It is. It really is,” Toris replies. “Beautiful, I mean.”
Arthur makes a low, rumbling, possessive sound, something between a purr and a growl. “I’m glad we agree,” he whispers. “Don’t you want to see more of it, Toris?”
“I -”
“Unbutton his shirt.”
The words, sickly-soft as they are, leave no room for argument or negotiation. Toris nods, his hair brushing over Alfred’s lips, and reaches down with both hands to the front of his linen shirt.
“No. One hand. One button at a time, Toris.”
Toris glances up at Arthur again, feels the softness wrap around the both of them, around he and Alfred. He’s powerless against it.
Toris kisses back up Alfred’s neck, mouths the skin along his jawline. It feels good, comfortable. His fingers fumble and finger the mother-of-pearl buttons, celebrating in his mind when he manages to undo one.
“Alfred’s got a sensitive spot just behind his earlobe,” Arthur says. “Try biting it.”
“Ah -” Alfred starts, but Toris is already there, licking the skin before biting, making Alfred scream and his hips piston. “Daddy,” he begs, and looks across the room with tears in his eyes. “Daddy, please.”
“I can’t do that, Alfred.” The hunger in those dark green eyes says otherwise.
Toris feels something twist and quake in his gut. He forces it down. He can do this. He can do this for Alfred. He smoothes his tongue over the reddening mark, the apricot-colored bruise on his skin, and he continues to work at Alfred’s shirt.
“Stop,” Arthur says when he has five unbuttoned. Toris’ fingers freeze. “Touch his neck, and go down to his chest.”
He tries to keep his fingers from shaking as he reaches up, presses fingertips to Alfred’s bruised and abused neck. Alfred moans, turns his head; when Arthur doesn’t protest, Toris presses his lips to Alfred’s in a chaste kiss.
Alfred moans, and moves his lips. Toris tries to pull away, but Alfred follows, and Toris frowns as he feels Alfred’s lips. He’s not sure if Arthur will permit him to use his tongue right now, but the way Alfred’s moving his mouth -
No. Wait.
Alfred’s not trying to kiss him. He’s trying to speak to him.
You okay? Toris hears on his mouth, after kissing him a few moments more and letting his body remember the movements of Alfred’s English. And it’s so sweet and brief, Alfred’s question. He nearly weeps from the force of it.
Instead, he allows his hand to steady and slip down the curve of that kiss-tortured, beautiful neck. Alfred wriggles, tries to move up into those fingers, but Toris pulls back and tries to stay just out of reach.
“Such a good lad,” Arthur murmurs, and Toris isn’t sure if he’s talking about him or Arthur. “My boy.” Lustier and darker this time, and Toris realizes then that Arthur’s talking about Alfred, not him.
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