olden times for Tommy

[oohforeshadowing]

The great country pile isn't their speed, really.

Double had their lovely house in London, bought and paid for by their adoptive father - a High Fae of some high regard, who'd been fretting about their lands and accounts falling into strangers' hands when he passed on. It was a heartrending story, of course, and Double was...well, positively delighted to be anything the old man wanted them to be. For the right price.

Shapeshifters have long since had a bad reputation for sliding into the upper echelons this way. They hadn't been in penury to begin with, by any means, but 'lovely house in London' money and 'vast estates with mining wealth and hundreds of rate-paying tenants' money is not the same by some order of magnitude.

The old man died peacefully in his bed, well over a century old, and left the manor house and everything that went with it to their sole heir. Who is going to sell it all, eventually, but it feels tasteless not to even let their 'father's' body grow cold.

They move in after the last of their furniture has been transported, and lets the housekeeper give them the tour. They cut quite the figure: long blond hair pinned up in curls, a jacket and blouse tailored tightly to a corseted waist, the snug high-waisted breeches favoured by most males. Their tail is the most exposed part of them and the woman they're following keeps eyeing it like she's not sure if it's obscene or not.

"...show you the stables, your grace," she says, as she walks ahead to the outbuildings.

"Ah. I suppose we ought."

Comments

[oohforeshadowing]

"That's it," they murmur, no longer artificially cold, but without direct affection - not yet, not while he's working through that catharsis. "That's right."

They place their hands over his shoulders, covering some of the damage they've done, and press. Enough to redouble the pain, bring it up fresh - hopefully enough to push him over the edge and break any barriers he's still trying to maintain.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Fuck!" It turns out that the barrier he'd tried to maintain was sound - to be quiet and away from everything, to not make too much of a fuss where people can hear. Now he shouts, though he pushes up with his shoulders, not away. He wants it to last, wants that searing pain to rip through him.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop - "

[oohforeshadowing]

Double hums, just once, and straightens up - their weight still on their hands, bearing down onto him. They let go abruptly, letting blood rush back into his skin, and then step around his body and backhand him hard across the face.

It's a shock even to themself.

[bleak_midwinter]

The force of it almost topples him - he gasps, eyes wide, face coming up red. He can taste blood from where he bit down on his already-split lip, and he has to catch himself with one hand on the carpet.

He had totally forgotten his earlier arousal, but with the slap it comes rushing back up. When he looks back up at them his eyes are dark with sudden, surprising, intense arousal.

[oohforeshadowing]

The way that it knocks him off-balance, forcing him to steady himself; the vivid pink of heat rushing into his cheek. Even the smear of blood on his mouth. All of it gives them a savage, sadistic rush of arousal they can't compare to anything in their memory, prompts a hard throb of arousal between their thighs. And they can see in his dilated pupils, his slackened mouth, that he's there with them.

"Go to the bedroom," they tell him. "Crawl. I want to watch your back."

The movement of his arms and shoulders and hips, all of it will just add to the sting and burn.

[bleak_midwinter]

He opens his mouth, almost like he might protest, but he tastes his own blood on his tongue and just can't. If they tell him to crawl, he's going to fucking crawl. It's genuinely humiliating, and he genuinely feels himself grow hard when he turns around to do just as he's told.

He even feels like he could take another whipping, if it's going to feel so perfect when he moves afterwards. He's aching and his welts feel like they're being pulled every which way, and he's so - he's so -

He's getting to pour all his energy into just this, right here. He moves, hearing them follow behind him, his head bent.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Good," they tell him, in a murmur - stalking after him, heels clicking lightly on the polished floorboards. He looks so fucking good, so beautifully subjugated, and it's all they can do not to just push him down onto his back and ride him there and then.

Instead, they just use their tail to throw the door shut behind them.

"Lie down on your back, knees up," they order. "I don't care about the sheets."

[bleak_midwinter]

He climbs onto the bed (comfortable, big, sheets clean, mattress so comfortable and yet still so painful against his wounds) and lies back with a gasp. Even the air had been enough for his back to hurt, the sheets feel abrasive.

Still. He's on his back. He puts his knees up. He looks at them, chest heaving, feeling a bit like they have him on a string.

[oohforeshadowing]

Their smile, all teeth and wickedness, does nothing to dispell this. They push his knees apart, kneel between them, looking all the while like a predator over its prey.

"You're hard," they murmur, hand sliding up between his thighs, tightening just a little too hard around the telltale bulge they find there. "I beat you to blood, and you'd just take more if I hadn't stopped it, wouldn't you?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Yes," he gasps, immediately. He arches his hips into their hand, pushing down, eager for that too-hard touch. He knows he would have, despite the fact that his cheeks feel tight from the tears that dried there.

"Yes, Your Grace. I have to. I want to."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Such a greedy thing," they tut, and open his breeches up with a delicacy they're not feeling. If they'd talked before about it, they would like nothing more than to take a knife to them, or shift into the sharp talons their nails can become when not prevented.

"Lucky for you that I'm not done."

They strip him the rest of the way off, with rough, careless tugs at his clothes.

"Now. Will you keep your eyes closed, or must I blindfold you?"

[bleak_midwinter]

If they ever decide to tell him this he'll consent enthusiastically, forever - on the premise that they'll get him something now afterward, of course. For now the way they're stripping him is enough to get him a little harder still.

The request is unexpected, and he has to take a breath before he can think of a reply: "Blindfold."

He doesn't want to have to control himself. He doesn't know why he's not going to be allowed to see them, but if this is what they want he can't be expected to really be in control.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Good."

They find a cravat they rather like, in dark plain silk, and lean over to bind it around his head, carefully tying it at the back. They've been on the receiving end of this kind of treatment before, and found it to be....intense. The fewer senses he can use, the more he has to concentrate on the others - pain and pleasure among them.

It'll be straightforward enough for him to follow what happens next: the shifting of their weight off the bed, footsteps, a drawer opening and closing, their return in between his parted thighs.

"I'm going to fuck you, Mister Shelby," they promise, in a low purr. "But I'm sure you've figured that out already."

[bleak_midwinter]

"I knew the moment you came into the room wearing this." This, which he currently can't see, being the absolute lack of an outfit. He's watched it enough to know what they must look like, though, and the mere thought has him licking his lips.

The anticipation alone is enough to have him breathing faster.

[oohforeshadowing]

They chuckle, a low rich sound.

"Not wearing this, more like," they agree. Two fingers delve behind his sac, wet with something cool and slick, and one digit breaches him deep with very little warning.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Fucking hell!" He draws one leg up further to give them easier access, transparently not complaining but accepting. The movement bothers his welts, and he squirms away from something he can't get away from, impaling himself deeper on their finger.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Good. Good boy."

They fuck him slow and deep, finger curling in to press against his prostate every few strokes, not in any kind of pattern. The second finger joins the first only a little less abruptly, when they're confident he can take it. He's not relaxed by any means but his body has at least grown accustomed to the intrusion.

"You're so lovely when you're taking it like this."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Hnn." He's biting his lip in concentration, sure he would have looked by now if the blindfold hadn't been on. It feels just right for them to be fucking him now too, now that his anger has passed and he can come down to a different leven with them.

[oohforeshadowing]

"You're so hot inside."

They would enjoy it very much, sinking into him, enjoying that hot tight press around their cock - but that isn't the plan today. The plan is to overwhelm. So it's not warm flesh but chill, uncompromising metal that replaces their fingers, sliding slow and deep into Tommy's body.

[bleak_midwinter]

He'd expected the action, but hadn't been able to anticipate the feeling. His hands clench in the sheets when he feels cold on and inside his body, his mouth dropping open to moan when his body tries to clench and absolutely nothing gives.

It's a gorgeous feeling. He draws his legs up wider to give them space to work, his body telling them go on.

[oohforeshadowing]

It's all they need, the pleading of his body for them to continue. Maybe it would be a kindness to fuck him for a little while like this, to let his body and the steel toy adjust, before ratcheting up the sensation they're giving him.

So they don't. Instead, with an unusual abruptness, they shift their body forward and impale themself on his prick with an abruptness that's a little uncomfortable for them.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Double!" All pretenses and Your Graces are apparently out the window. He grabs up, knowing exactly where their waist is from sheer experience by now. He doesn't need to see them to know their frame, and to hold on to them tightly as his mind tries to make sense of what they've just done. His head is absolutely reeling, and his hips push up instinctively while he can't think to stop.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Thomas," they reply, voice taking a soft panting register now as they start to ride him in time with his own impulsive movements. Their hand works between his thighs in tandem, forcing fucking him deep with the toy every time his hips drop, making sure that there isn't a moment that he isn't fucking or being fucked.

To do this without spraining their wrist they're facing away from him, the press of his cock into their body at a different angle that feels strange but very good. Their tail sprawls across his stomach, pinning him just enough that he can't get away from the press of the sheets into his welts.

[bleak_midwinter]

His hand slips up their back as they start to move, planting between their shoulder blades like he might if he were fucking them on his knees. It doesn't give him an ounce of control, but it gives him something to hold onto as they quickly take him apart.

If they hadn't just beaten bloody he probably wouldn't be going crazy quite so fast, but he's got no inhibitions left. He fucks them hard and impulsive, pushes his body down to meet the steel toy.

[oohforeshadowing]

They feel a little mad, a little wild, helplessly aroused - still needing more.

They look over their shoulder at him.

"Raise your hand if you need it," they gasp, a reminder, and then wrap their tail around his neck and apply just enough pressure to stop his breath.