[Fraxus] The Demon Of Drenchwich Moor: Chapter Eight
Summary: In the quiet moors of England, at the turn of the nineteenth century, a lowly coachman catches the desire of a man who is anything but gentle. Laxus finds himself haunted by the bones of infernal creatures, a house of impossible architecture, and enchanting eyes that are always on him. Terror is logical, and yet under the gaze of Lord Freed Justine, there can only be desire. Endless, morbid, wonderful desire.
Notes: Hi All. Time for Laxus to get some control over the situation at last. Hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think.
Links: Ao3
Chapter Eight: Games
Perhaps emboldened by the morning’s earlier performance, Laxus walked into the house using the front door. He strode through lavish hallways without hesitation, trudging mud onto the carpet from his boots, his back straight and his jaw set. His stride was purposeful and his goal was single-minded and steadfast. There was one thing and one thing only Laxus needed to do today, and it wasn’t mucking out the sheds or resting after his fever. It was becoming himself again.
Laxus was a lot of things, but more than anything else, he was a pragmatic arsehole.
He had needed to be like that to survive in the streets or even survive in his family. He took things on headfirst, by the horns, and he didn’t cower. He didn’t let the world kick him without kicking back. He stormed forward and forged his own pathway, no matter what.
Except he hadn’t been doing that for a long time. Ever since he found himself under Mard’s heel, he had been slowly losing himself to his indentured servitude. He’d been trapped in a position that destroyed his sense of power, little by little, day after day, like a drop of water eroding a stone. It had happened so slowly, but so surely, that Laxus hadn’t known when he’d given up hope. There was a point where he’d gone from thinking his employment as a coachman was a temporary roadblock, to the best he had got. He had turned from a man who would tear down a city to get what he wanted, to a grovelling, shit-shovelling spec of nothing.
Then he’d arrived at Albion House. A damn near microcosm of who he had become. A house where he was more a passenger than a participant. Where things happened to him, instead of because of him. And he had allowed it. Made excuses or denials, or simply let the madness around him happen without question.
No more.
No more ignoring that his bedroom was bigger than it should have been. No more dreams that felt too real and were too vivid to fade like all his other dreams would. No more dismissing the fact he happened to find a hidden passage at the exact right time for him to see his honour being defended. No more accepting a house that shifted and changed and made no damn sense. No more pretending he hadn’t seen a fucking demon in the moors!
Complacency wasn’t working. It was time to take life by the balls, dammit, and that would start with the lord of the house.
Knowing where to go despite never having stepped foot in this part of the house, Laxus found himself at the door to the main sitting room. He didn’t knock before entering, and charged into the room to see Lord Justine with a teacup half raised to his mouth. He turned, and watched silently as Laxus walked towards him.
Laxus towered over Freed. He towered over most people, but standing just too close to him, casting a shadow over him as he sat in his chair, Laxus truly felt how much bigger he was than Freed. The man was not small in any way, and yet in this moment, Laxus truly felt the worth of his bulk and height. Something about making Freed look up – forcing the issue and being the reason the lord had to cast his eyes upwards – had Laxus’ blood burning in a way he greatly enjoyed.
They looked at each other for a moment, and Freed raised an eyebrow as if telling Laxus to speak first. Laxus happily complied.
“It’s not just that you want to fuck me,” he stated, and saw the beginnings of forced shock bloom on Freed’s face. “Don’t. I’m not in the mood to be toyed with, so why don’t we just speak as men rather than playing whatever weird fucking games you’ve been playing.”
Freed seemed to consider the motion, then nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. What is it exactly what you wish to talk about?”
“Everything. I want to know what you want out of all of this, because I don’t think it’s just that you want me in your bed.”
“’Just’?” Freed repeated. “For such an illegal, and often considered immoral act, you seem awfully confident in accusing me of wanting it.” He leant back in his chair, still looking up at Laxus, a self-satisfied smile forming on his face. He spread his legs just a little wider, and Laxus was distracted by the movement for a second. “What exactly has given you such confidence?”
“You ain’t the first lord who wants a rough night with a man like me,” Laxus stated, and it was true. He had been subtly propositioned and looked upon by many men, all lusting for a roll with some rough man. “And you didn’t exactly look away this morning, did you?”
“Ah, that’s what that was? I did wonder,” Freed laughed slightly. “You cut a handsome figure, Mister Dreyar. If a little test allows he to see you in your entirety – and soaking wet, no less – then please test away.”
“That’s not what that was,” Laxus scoffed, then grinned a little. “I just wanted to get in your head.”
“Well, you succeeded. I’ve been thinking about it all day, truth be told,” his eyes skittered down Laxus’ figure, shamelessly lingering on his crotch just a second longer. “You’ve a body that is… resplendent. As you insist we speak plainly, I think I’ll find it difficult to think of anything else for quite some time.”
“It’s what you deserve, after that little dream you gave me,” Laxus crossed his arms, and didn’t miss the small intake of breath that the movement brought out of Freed. He’d forgone a jacket, and his shirtsleeves strained against his biceps. He flexed them a little, and grinned at the slight dilation of his eyes.
“How exactly does one give a person a dream?” Freed asked, and his smirk was almost subtle.
“Thought we weren’t playin’ games anymore,” Laxus huffed, and his arms tightened. The way Freed followed the movement was a slight balm for his irritation. “But I’d guess you’d do it the same way you do all the other… cultish things that happen around here.”
“Cultish? I feel we’re winding up for an accusation, Mister Dreyar,” Freed leant forward slightly, and Laxus felt the man’s scent with the closeness. “One that perhaps you’re not ready to deal with the implications of.”
“Not an accusation, but a lot of questions,” Laxus said plainly, flexing and unflexing a fist. “And I’m done waiting for all this makes sense, so don’t make assumptions about if I’m ready or not for the answers.”
“And if I don’t wish to give you the answers you want?” Freed asked, leaning back again. “The wrong thing said in the wrong place can have rather… ugly consequences sometimes. Perhaps it’s best to be cautious.”
Laxus stepped back, irritation flaring at the almost condescending tone Freed had spoken in. It was part of Freed’s game, being obnoxious and getting under Laxus’ skin. Laxus had realised this earlier in the morning, finally understanding what Freed had meant when he’d said he wanted to stoke a fire inside of Laxus. After a dream of having Freed at his mercy, and the realisation that Freed was the kind of man who liked men with rough hands and rougher fantasies, it became obvious that Freed was being antagonistic on purpose. He couldn’t let him be dragged into Freed’s side of the game until he knew what the end point would be.
But, fuck it would be satisfying. Just to reach down and grab him by his shirt. Maybe throw him to the ground, or split his lip, or make him crawl just for the hell of it. Slap him around and make him thank Laxus for the pleasure of it, just because he could get away with it, and maybe even because Freed would enjoy it.
No. Not now. Not yet.
“I’m gettin’ sick of being cautious. And I’m sick of rich pricks telling me what to do, actually,” Laxus said, turning back to face Freed. It looked at is Freed hadn’t for a moment looked away from him. “But you’re right about one thing. This ain’t the place to be having this conversation.”
He turned and left the room, his pulse thrumming hard and heavy as adrenaline coursed through him. He walked down the main hallway, not looking back but somehow trusting that Freed would be following him. He saw no reason to linger and hold the doors open for Freed, nor did he think it was appropriate to let Freed know where they were going. Laxus had been swept up in the tide of Freed’s control and whims for over a week now, a little revenge was allowed.
In the courtyard, Laxus pivoted and walked towards the stable yard, grinning a little at the scent of unfettered animal hit him. It wasn’t a nice scent, and the warmer weather of the day would only make it worse. He stepped into the yard and grinned; it was a mess.
After bathing in the lake, Laxus hadn’t done any of his work. He hadn’t done much of anything, really. He had lied on his bed and thought about everything. He had indulged in picturing how his little performance, as Freed had put it, might have affected Freed. He’d enjoyed the breakfast that Bickslow had brought him, which seemed to be twice the size as his regular breakfast at the house, and found himself smugly satisfied with the turn of events. As such, the stable was covered in manure, straw, and was altogether awful.
Lord Justine needed to be uncomfortable, Laxus decided. He needed to be in a place he had never been in control of, even if he might have thought he had.
There was a small, rickety old set of table and chairs tucked in the corner, with smatterings of moss growing over it and wood that might not be able to hold all that much weight. Laxus hauled them up and set them in the centre of the yard, looking back towards where Freed was for the first time. The lord wore an expression of indulgent curiosity, which Laxus didn’t mind. While there would be satisfaction in seeing him unsettled, but Laxus knew that the expected result of something would never actually happen with Freed.
Sitting in the sturdier looking chair, Laxus motioned for Freed to take the other. Freed acquiesced, walking through the yard with a bit of an upturned nose. He sat carefully, managing to still look elegant despite the surroundings.
“So,” Freed said as he straightened his waistcoat. “You have me, how do you intend to use me?”
“I’ll ask questions, you’ll answer them.”
“And if I don’t.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
A look of surprise, then displeasure, then confusion flashed across Freed’s features. It was the most honest emotions he had ever seen from him. “No.”
“You’d stop me?” Laxus challenged, hackles rising slightly.
“No. I suppose not. If you wanted to leave then I wouldn’t… entrap you here,” Freed looked entirely annoyed at the prospect, and his hands fidgeted in his lap. The movement was small, but Laxus noticed it. “Would you really leave, if I don’t answer you?”
“I suppose we might find out,” Laxus shrugged, and decided he wouldn’t allow Freed to dither him to distraction. “First question: why are you so shocked that I might want to leave?”
Freed ran his hands down the front of his thighs, a small nervous gesture that might almost look bashful on another man. “Well,” he said, then swallowed as if he needed the second to consider what he might say next. “Have I not made your stay here a nice one? I thought I had. I made sure your room was warm, and your baths were prepared without asking, and your meals were both hearty and well flavoured. I would have liked to do more, of course, but within the confined of this country’s rules, giving you much more of what I wanted might have shocked you.”
“Shock me how?”
“I’m given to understand that, when a person is not born into a family that has institutional power, giving them luxuries and kindnesses are seen as either mocking or inappropriate,” he scratched at his finger with his thumb. “I didn’t wish for you to feel like I was… setting you up for some sort of test simply by spoiling you. Nor did I want you to face ire by other people for the luxuries I provided you.”
Even now, Laxus felt like he was being manipulated. Just slightly. Not being lied to, nor being laughed at. But it felt like he was being guided one way in the conversation, as not to look elsewhere. Mentions of being spoiled, and hints at the injustice of the country were conversation starters, and distractions. Mulling what Freed had said told him what he was being distracted from.
When Freed spoke of people, he didn’t speak of himself. Laxus let that settle, and decided he would play Freed’s game. For now.
“So, if we didn’t live in a country that treated men like me as if were dirt, what would you have done?”
“I shall have liked to treat you like a king,” Freed said, and the steadfast gaze in which he held with Laxus almost made Laxus believe him. “I should have lavished you with all the luxuries this world has to offer. I will have had you served by the finest men you could imagine, if only so you had something nice to look at. I should have made sure you want for nothing and never had to lift a finger, should that be how you find pleasure.”
“So you wanted to make me feel good?” Laxus asked, almost mockingly. The idea that anyone would want to do anything for Laxus simply out of some sort of kindness was a flight of fancy Laxus had long since given up on. “Then what the hell was that first conversation we had? You were fucking nasty.”
“I was,” Freed conceded. “I wanted to give you the space to be angry, and not keep that anger inside. People are all as good as they are bad, within the rules and thoughts of the moral world. I believe anger, and resentment, and cruelty are an important part of a person, and should be allowed to fly as freely as the more… acceptable emotional reactions. I admit I acted hastily, and without forethought of how you might be affected, but I wanted you to feel comfortable being yourself.”
Laxus scoffed out a laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. “And what, you’d do that for any man who works your stables?”
“No. You’re unique.”
“Why? What would you do all that for?”
Freed looked considering. “In a word,” he said carefully. “Courtship.”
A laugh slipped out, nasty and disbelieving. “What, you want to marry me?”
“As a start, yes,” Freed said plainly, and raised hands in surrender when Laxus shot him a vicious look. “You wanted honesty, Mister Dreyar. I don’t want to risk you leaving the house before time, therefore I am being honest.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” Freed stated, and he sounded offended to have to say it. “I know you are strong, and beautiful, and angry, and twisted, and moral. I know you have a vicious sense of honour that isn’t in line with your countrymen, and that if you were allowed to act how you wish rather than how you are told, you would be one of the most impressive men ever to live.”
“You don’t know anythin’ about me. We haven’t even had a conversation, and you’re discussing fuckin’ courtship. You’re just… saying shit to get in my head.”
“Since I have sat down, I have not lied. I promise you.”
“Then you’re fucking deluded then. We’re not courting. We’re not getting married. We’re not anything. We’re two people who have been… somewhat close to each other for a week and now you’re saying whatever you feel like you have to get in my head, or get me into bed, or some other twisted fucking thing. You’re a… a damn stranger to me.”
A stranger who had a house that didn’t make sense. A stranger who had infested dreams that Laxus was unable to forget. A stranger who had defended Laxus while he seemed to know Laxus could hear. A stranger who didn’t seem possible.
Fuck it; Laxus had promised himself he would be the one in charge again. No more dancing around the topic.
“What the hell are you?” He demanded, and the moment the question burst from him, he found himself unable to stop. “Because you don’t make any sense, and you speak about people like you aren’t one, and this house keeps fucking with my head, and the thing I saw in the moors was a damn demon, and I’m not stupid just because I learned not to ask questions in places like this. I know that there’s more to the world than most people know about – I’ve seen Mard casting spells, and sacrifices and people being dragged into portals, so I’m not some stupid fuckin’ kid who-”
“Laxus,” Freed spoke with a calm authority that cut Laxus off entirely. “I am what you think I am.”
Leaning back, Laxus nodded. He ran a hand over his jaw, looked Freed in the eye and demanded, “Which is?”
“A demon.”
Laxus nodded again. “That was you in the moors?”
“It was.”
“Show me.”
Freed seemed to consider, before he rolled his jacket sleeve up to his bicep, then did the same with his shirtsleeve. Laxus glanced just for a moment at his forearm, noticed the strength of it, then schooled himself. Freed gave him a quick look as if to confirm he wanted this, then whispered a word Laxus had never heard before.
Purple lettering burned into his skin, and warped the flesh into jet blackness. Scales and feathers burst out, and Laxus winced as if he were feeling the inevitable pain of it himself. Freed’s fingers cracked and snapped, the bones breaking and reshaping into longer, sharper, gnarled claws. He flexed them and moved his arm, and rolled his shoulder, accommodating for the added weight. The scent of sulphur and ash filled the courtyard.
Instead of succumbing to the fear he felt building, Laxus fell back to fascination. He reached forward without thinking, running a nail through the groove between scales. He heard Freed breath in sharply, and smirked a little.
“You’re really a demon,” Laxus whispered.
“Yes,” Freed nodded slightly. “I would have fully transformed, but I rather like this outfit.”
Laxus turned Freed’s arm over to look at the underside of it. He tightened his grip, feeling scales digging into the palm of his hand, and grinned when he felt Freed tried to pull away just slightly. The demon could still feel pain. Good.
Being confronted with undeniable proof of what Freed was, it was as if his brain kicked into gear. Whispered conversations and explanations of forbidden tomes came back to him, and answers came to him without having to ask questions. For a demon, their home was their domain, and they had complete control over it. That explained the room that didn’t make sense, the passageway that can’t have been there the night before, and the hot baths and lit fired that appeared from nowhere. Demons had magics that made doctors look incompetent, which would allow Laxus to heal from such a terrible fever overnight.
“So,” Laxus said, still with a firm grasp on Freed’s arm. “Courtship?”
“That is my desire, yes.”
“I don’t know anything about you. Don’t know if you’re worth my time.”
“I’d like to prove that I am, now that I can be myself around you.”
Laxus considered, then released Freed’s arm and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small coin, which he flipped around his fingers as he thought through the best way to do this. Freed was still Lord Justine, even if he was a demon, and Laxus wasn’t going to forget that. He might be beautiful, and dangerous, and interesting in a way nobody else had been, but Laxus wasn’t going to fall for the tricks of a lord who might just want a shag with someone bigger than him.
But Laxus was smart, and he’d spent his whole life learning how to read people. Who he needed to be careful around, who he could pickpocket, and who he could trust not to waste his time. And if Freed was as desperate for a chance at Laxus’ attention as he seemed, then Laxus could bait him into a little test of sorts.
“This is a double-sided coin,” he said. “It’ll always fall on heads no matter what; won be a lot of bets and got me out of a lot of trouble when I was living on the streets.” He showed Freed the coin to prove he wasn’t lying. “I don’t know who you are; that’s the issue I’m havin’ right now. I don’t know you. But I believe that you can judge a man based on how he works and how true he is to his word. That’s all I need to know if someone’s worth my time. That make sense to you?”
“It does,” Freed nodded.
“Then I propose a wager,” Laxus released Freed’s arm and leant back, flipping the coin between his fingers again. He grinned a little, and found his legs spreading slightly, cocksure in a way he hadn’t been for years. “We flip this coin, and if it lands on heads, you have to clean the entire yard. You muck out the stables, change the water in the trough, brush away the hay. All of it. You do it to my standards, or I make a mess of it, and we start all over again.”
“An unwinnable wager with a threat of a task you yourself despite,” Freed surmised.
“Yessir.”
“I agree to the terms.”
Rather than giving him a chance to back out or debate terms, Laxus flipped the coin. It clattered onto the table, one of the two heads landing upwards. Laxus made a motion for Freed to get to work, and Freed did.
It was a hell of a sight, truth be told. To see a clean, beautifully dressed, demonic lord grabbing a shovel and cleaning up the worst a horse had to offer. Laxus had done this work time and time again, and hated it every time, and it was clear Freed wasn’t enjoying it either. But he put in the effort, allowed his clothes to be made dirty despite claiming he liked the outfit, and didn’t gripe. He was made a sweaty, ruffled mess by the end of it, and Laxus thought it might be the most beautiful form of the man.
“Well,” Laxus hummed. “You shut up and did the work. No complaining, no arguing the terms. You did better than I thought you would.”
“Thank you.”
Laxus turned his back on Freed. As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and grinned. “You have my permission to court me. Better make it count.”
