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

[bleak_midwinter]

"I understand," he says, calmly. Really, he does.

"You don't have to talk about it, but as someone who's been on either end of this scenario I do find it best to be honest about some of it. It arouses me to be treated a certain way in these games, as you call them." And he likes that term, it's exactly what it is.

"Speaking about it beforehand not only makes it more arousing, it also prevents me from feeling strange about it afterwards. If I tell you I like something here, I don't have to worry you'll treat me that way out in the world."

Or, at least, he'd have to worry less.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double's pupils noticeably dilate at the mention of either end, which may be something to explore at a later date.

"...I think of it like the stage," they say. "We both have our roles to play, and in the playing we satisfy ourselves and one another, but at any time either of us can also say - no, this feels wrong, I need a new direction. And we can resume the scene or move onto another, as we need. And off the stage, I will still respect you."

[bleak_midwinter]

He smiles, a little wistful but happy, as he reaches to brush his fingers over their tail.

"You speak of it exactly in the manner I think of it. To think, I really did think you were a silly aristocrat when I met you."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Oh, I'm sure I'm still also that, in many ways that you'll learn to find annoying," they laugh. "A person can be many things, Mr Shelby, just as you are yourself."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Who knows I haven't already?"

He gives them a quick grin, then leans forward with his elbows on the table.

"Well, tonight I'd like to be one thing in particular." The insubordinate human servant who's forgotten his place in the world. "Is that something you could be interested in? If you like, you can beat me until I'm crying. But I don't cry easy."

[oohforeshadowing]

"I don't need you to cry," they decide. "But if what you want is for me to, ah...teach you your place, then I would be happy to do that."

They lick their lips.

"Is there anything that I shouldn't do, or say...?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He bites the inside of his cheek in anticipation, steepling his fingers.

"Hmm. No. I trust you to do what you think is right, and I trust myself to tell you if I don't like something. If it feels like the - the game is over, then perhaps you might be nice to me again. To build me back up."

[oohforeshadowing]

"All right. I - trust you, too."

It's clearly not something they say easily, or often; for a moment, they look a little surprised at themself.

They lean over to kiss his cheek.

"Don't let me hurt you in ways you don't care for, darling."

[bleak_midwinter]

"And don't let me pull you in somewhere you don't want yourself to go," he says, reaching up to run his knuckles over their jaw.

[oohforeshadowing]

"I'll do my best," they promise, and kiss his fingertips before straightening up. Sliding into character.

"But now, Mr Shelby, this table is looking extremely untidy. Stack the plates."

[bleak_midwinter]

He clears his throat and drums his fingertips on the table. To protest or not to protest?

He decides to meet them halfway. He's not going to dig his heels into the sand, but he can surely stand up and make eye contact with them while stacking the plates. He makes just a little too much noise. Jostles the cutlery just a little too much. Someone unwillingly put in the position to be ordered around, and who's sick of it.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double tolerates this. Until he's about halfway done.

"Oh, and by all means, continue manhandling this hotel's fine china as if you were raised in a barn."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Quite a thing, to look down on someone for having been raised in a barn," he says, flatly. There's a cart in a corner that he takes their plates to, leaving the little covered dishes of sweets for them to use later.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Quite a thing, to talk back to the person who pays your wages," they retort. "Or would you find the barn more comfortable?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He turns around to look at them, clenches his jaw. "Whatever you see fit, Your Grace. My apologies. I'm here to serve, of course."

He doesn't say it sardonically. He just says it with the pain and exhaustion of a man ground down enough to want to rise up. He knows the words and has said them so often that they've lost their meaning.

[oohforeshadowing]

"You are. But you act like you're here in chains, on some intolerable sufferance."

They get up and walk not to him, but to the sideboard where Thomas left their new purchases earlier.

"Is it truly so unbearable to show basic respect?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"I've known you barely a month - even you must admit you've hardly done a thing that warrants my respect. My obedience, you have."

Sort of.

"What does it matter to you if you have my respect, if I take care of your affairs?"

[oohforeshadowing]

"Because respect informs competence, as I'm sure you'd know if you read more than the occasional dirty pamphlet. You take care now, while I'm watching, but who knows what you do when my back is turned?"

They run their fingertips along the edge of the sideboard.

"Take off your boots."

[bleak_midwinter]

"What?"

He puts a glass down on the trolley, hard, clinking it against the china. He's very careful not to damage it, but he may as well have.

"I've never done anything behind your back. I've served the estate well for a decade. I'm competent."

[oohforeshadowing]

They act like they haven't heard him.

"Take off your boots."

[bleak_midwinter]

If he's going to refuse, he's going to prove them right. That he's not obedient, and not competent. He waits a beat, then takes them off. He puts them in a corner of the room, then stands there to look at them.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Thank you. Face the fireplace," away from them, while they look between their tools as if trying to choose a treat.

"As you said, you've been loyal for years. To the household. To my father. But I think it will take a little more to ensure your dedication to me."

[bleak_midwinter]

Not knowing what they're going to be choosing to hurt him with is - exquisite. He can't help the shuddered intake of breath as he turns around, back straight, hands stiff beside him.

"You should accept that it takes time. It took time for me to respect your father. It ought to take time."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Oh, well, yes, I could do that. Live with your muttering and sulking for - months? Years? Or I can accelerate matters."

They move as good as silent across the room, and the first thing Tommy will feel is a leather strap closing around his wrist and pulling snug. One side of the hobble. They reach for his other arm.

[bleak_midwinter]

He turns, but in the wrong direction for his own sake - it moves him right into their hands, purposefully, so they can snag the other arm.

"You're treating me like a - like a criminal!"