wondrousplace | abo nonsense

abo nonsense

Some clubs are, of course, only for humans or only for non-humans - not that there's ever official rules about these thing, but people tend to just know. A place has a certain name, a venue in a certain part of the city, and these things alone make it clear who is and isn't welcome.

Crimson, on the other hand, has always been for customers of all varieties - although it tends to only attract the most adventurous Betas. Double Trouble has been a co-owner for the past couple of years now, but that does not mean they're about to avoid availing themselves of the client-facing experience.

So to speak.

They're lounging alone - holding a glass of wine, lightly scented with cologne and Alpha sweat - when they first spot the newcomer.

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"Can't resist a begging Alpha," he breathes, looking up at them. Sure, maybe that's not fully what they are, but right now they look and smell like one.

He fists a hand around the base of their prick, and sucks the head into his mouth. It's big, tastes just a little different than he's used to, but it's good. It's big and wet and fits just right in his mouth.

"Fuck-"

Right now, they're enough of an Alpha that this feels a little bit wrong, that they're resisting the urge to throw Thomas down onto his belly and take their fill of him, but that wrongness is deeply arousing in and of itself. Speaking of wrong, they know it's a little disobedient to reach down and touch his hair but they go and do it all the same.

Oh, he's fine with that hand for now. But they can get something in return, in that case. Tommy sucks a finger into his mouth, next to the thick cock already there, and then reaches down to feel what he's working with there.

Trouble's breath hitches. The tight little hole hidden between a small, tight sac and the base of their tail gives just a little under that pressure. Again, in a few weeks it'll be a different situation, but right now it feels very little different to Tommy's. Their whole body tightens up a little, knees hitching, as they moan softly.

"So - so bold."

He sucks hard in encouragement, then pulls back briefly to say: "Why would I deprive you of something I know can feel so good?"

But it may be easier to take if he's sucking them again. So he starts bobbing, very slowly, as he gently presses at their hole.

"Why - mm, why indeed," Trouble murmurs, bearing down a little - all the easier for Tommy's finger to slip inside, where they're tight and just a little wetter than might be expected. They bare their teeth on a moan, hands going back to the upholstery before they do something untoward to Tommy's hair.

That doesn't go unnoticed, and it leaves Tommy flushing again. Jesus, this is so much better than he'd thought it would be.

He decides to reward them for their obedience, their good behavior. If there's anything Tommy Shelby is good at it's multitasking and strategizing, and he wants them coming hard. He crooks his finger, sucks his cheeks hollow, and with his second hand starts playing with their piercings.

"Fuck!"

It's a loud, sharp cry, and gets them all the more attention. They're getting so close it's awful, terrible, the idea that this much pleasure might end.

"I'm close," they manage to get out, cognisant even now that filling his mouth with come seems...rude.

Maybe not this first time, no. He wonders if they come as much as any other Alpha, spends a second sucking harder and considering whether he'd let them fuck him and come inside-

And just before they come, he pulls off, starts jerking them as he crooks his finger deep. "Come on," he urges. "Come for me, let me see it--"

Their audience is holding a collective breath.

Trouble makes a high, urgent sound, stuttering as their breath hitches; they come hard and intense into Tommy's fist, inner muscles clenching almost too tight around that intruding finger. It's not quite as copious as your average Alpha, but it's certainly enough to look filthy, pornographic.

And Tommy is still half-dressed, shirt hanging open, pants low and open on his hips. When the first jet of come hits his fist he lets out a whimper and squeezes them for all they're worth.

Jesus Christ, that's hot. He's honestly considering coming back again, and his finger isn't even out of them yet.

Trouble whines, back arching, nails digging dents into the leather that might not come out - it hurts now and they're still getting off, the last few dribbles of come slicking Tommy's hot skin.

"Oh," they moan, "oh, my," their fingertips slowly drifting down to Tommy's wrist - that was very nice but hands off now, please.

He laughs and easily pulls off. He kisses their stomach one last time, and them straightens up. He feels gloriously filthy as he sprawls out, leaned against the opposite wall of the booth, and looks it too.

And Trouble looks glorious between his legs. Tommy is glad to look, as long as Trouble needs to recover.

They slide in close, snuggling against Tommy's side - as affectionate, as submissive as any Omega. They're not always so amenable to this kind of affection, especially not at this point of their cycle, but Tommy...well, sufficient to say that he's earned it.

"...Is this alright?" they murmur.

It surprises him, but he warms to it right away. He's got a soft side to him, and Trouble has earned this as well. So he tucks his arm around their shoulders and noses their hair.

"Perfectly so," he promises. "You're really quite something."

"Likewise." Their voice has taken on a low, purring register; absolutely the cat with the canary. "I'm glad that mine was the club you decided to scope out tonight, darling."

Maybe they could return the favour. The Garrison and the Gold Club are both distinctly human-friendly, but that's not a barrier to entry for the likes of them.

"And perhaps I could scope it out again," he says, in turn, thinking along the same lines. His fingers comb through their hair.

"Or you'd be more than welcome at one of mine."

"I remember being underwhelmed when I visited the Gold Club last year. It'd be nice to see if it's improved under your watch."

They hum with pleasure, tilt their head.

He presses a kiss to their temple, affectionate in the warm afterglow.

"Well. It's still very gold, but the liquor is much better." What can he say? He's still from Birmingham.

"Priorities are so important," they agree. "Maybe I'll do a mystery shop, darling. We'll have to see if you can spot me."

"I haven't even seen what you can do yet," he points out. "And in either case, I think I prefer you like this."

"I'm flattered," they tell him. "But I don't want to go attracting any undue attention in your human club, do I?"

Which isn't to say they're expecting hostility. Just that their presence might kill the mood.

"Hmm. I thought you were fond of a little attention, actually."

People have wandered off, but still. They were there.

"I like people watching me and jerking off," they say mildly. "Not looking at me and wondering why I wandered into the wrong club. I could look just like I..."

They blink languidly, and with a black silvery shimmer there's another Thomas Shelby. This one is fully dressed.

"...belong."

"Fucking hell," he breathes. He knows he's attractive, but he's not that into himself. It's impressive and quite disturbing.

"You've done some damage doing that, haven't you?"

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