We Could Be The Embers

His mind burrowed deeper, allowing himself to sink into the feel of him, if only for a moment: Abe imagined those graceful fingers tracing the ridgeline of his bare hip, Robert’s gaze darkening with want. What would he look like? Hungry and unlaced from the confines of his daytime self? What would Robert look like when he begged for what he wanted?

Abe’s thoughts startled him, and he sucked in a breath, eyes shooting open. He stared into the blazing fire, unseeing and slowly forcing himself back to reality. A withered laugh rose up in his chest and Abe squeezed his fist to keep from throwing the rum into the flames. His pathetic daydreams were futile and would bring him nothing but madness and frustration. He glowered at the bottle in his hand and then roughly set it down on the table, staring at it as if it had caused some unforgivable offense.

All of a sudden, Abe felt a draft assault the side of his body, making him shiver as the door blew open with the wretched winter wind. Standing in the doorway to the frosty night, stood Robert. He was cloaked in gray wool, hand still resting on the door warily. His cheeks were slightly wind-burned and wisps of straw colored hair were blown about his face from where his braid was pulled back underneath his wideawake hat. Abe felt his ears burn and the hair at the back of his neck stand on end at the sight of him, terrified Robert heard what he had just been thinking. 

“Oh, hello-” Abe breathed, straightening his back and stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Good evening, Woodhull,” Robert greeted him solemnly, glancing about the room. Abe twitched under his scrutiny and shifted his weight, feeling awkward. 

“You’re here,” he announced stupidly. 

“So I am."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86143221/chapters/227800136#main

Chapter 1: The Phone Call

Philadelphia, 2002

Will awakes with a start, Henry's deep voice still in his ear and his heart pounding in his chest. Another bad dream. They still haunt him more than he'd like to admit. Even now, over a decade later. He groans, scraping his hand roughly across his sweaty face. He's on his belly, fully clothed and above the covers.

Will blindly feels his back pocket where it's tight and uncomfortable. His wallet is still there, from when he braved slipping out into the storm to the corner store (not bodegas, as his kindly old neighbor had informed him) for a shitty cup of coffee and a pack of smokes.

He pulls the wallet from his jeans and throws it onto the bedside table next to his opened pack of Camels, his keys, and the rest of his mess; an impressive collection of anxiety and depression pills, sleep aids, the muscle relaxers he never finished when he tweaked his back carrying a dresser up his new apartment stairwell. And then there's the lovely gift he received just in time for his thirtieth birthday last March, a bottle of high blood pressure medicine.

He sits up, stretching and groaning into the sullen room. The rain is still pounding at his window, the plain bedroom he hasn't had a chance to unpack his life into yet, still smothered in gray.

His stomach growls, and he sleepily makes his way to the small kitchen. The fridge rattles when he pulls it open revealing a pitiful display of food: an expired carton of milk, a bag of wilted grapes, an old pizza box, and a tin of leftovers he made for a terrible date when he first arrived in Philly a few weeks ago. He has no interest in opening that to even attempt washing it. Will bites his lip, debating on whether he should just throw the entire thing in the trash can when he notices the answering machine blinking on the counter.

Six messages. He pouts. Weird.

Before Will can reach out to press the play button, the phone rings again. The shrill clamor startles him so badly he jumps.

"Jesus," he hisses, heart clamoring in his chest. He picks it up after one ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, kid."

Chapter 8: First Truth

“So many scars,” he noted softly, humming to himself. He sat up, mirroring Will with his back against the headboard. His eyes roamed over Will’s legs, his well shaped thighs, how the hair grew darker and thicker as it coalesced between his legs. He admired his pretty length now sitting soft along one thigh, the taut muscle of his belly and chest. 

He was surprised when Will took hold of his hand where it rested between them, tentative at first but then he laced his fingers through Mike’s and it made something full and warm rush over him. Something Mike had never felt before. 

They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the fire crack and pop, and it was when Mike finally took full stock of the mess they’d made. 

The bed cover was torn, a rip in the fabric where Will’s hand had gripped it so desperately. 

White and gray down oozed from the gash, caught in the torn threads. 

Will’s eyes followed Mike’s to it. He appeared agonized by the sight of the damage, brows knit and mouth tight with guilt. 

“Why do you do that?” Mike asked, his tone quiet with the demand of an answer. 

Will did not respond at first. Will did not lift his eyes from the back of Mike’s hand. 

“Do what?” he finally asked, his voice small. 

Mike reached out his unclaimed hand, reaching out to hold Will by the jaw, redirecting his gaze firmly on him.  

Dominion Chapter 7: The Maiden of Sherwood Forest

Like clockwork, Mike’s bell rang. 

Will weaved through the clamor of bodies and made his way to the staircase. 

Lord Roane called his hunting dogs with a whistle. The clicking of their nails and barks echoed down the stairwell. Will remembered seeing them as a child, the way they bounded back to the man across the length of the green field south of the house.

A pet, Troy had said. Was Will really all that different? Was he to be commanded like an animal, but expected to curb his lesser impulses with the piety of a monk?

The window in Mike’s bedroom was thrown open, and the perfume of overripe fruit and vegetation from the pear trees blew in from below. 

“Ah. Will,” Mike rose from his writing desk, tucking a book of papers into the back shelves and closing the lid. 

“How can I be of service, sir?”

“It’s the damn summer weather. My hair can’t cope with it. I would appreciate it if you could make it smart again for me.”

“Now, or before dinner, sir?”

Mike stopped at the looking glass next to his wardrobe, frowning. Mike’s hair could never lay flat in the heat, it had a natural curl that didn’t always yield to styling.

Will could still remember how it looked in the summer, soft like cotton wool curling around his head and shining as the feathers of a raven in the summer sun. 

Mike lifted his palm to smooth down his hair, then glanced nervously at Will, seeming to only then realize he had spoken. 

“Now. I will not be at dinner. I am once again summoned to Mirkwood, for what matter I do not know. Brenner is determined to settle even the most trivial matters.”

Will extracted a small case from the bureau, opening it and setting out a glass jar of pomade, a comb, hair oil. 

“I understand, sir. You want to look well for your fiancé.”

Mike sat down heavily in his chair, rolling his head back and scrubbing his face. 

“It will be important that you get to know El,” Mike announced.

“I’m sure I will in time.”

“Yes, but you must understand, she is a good woman.” Mike lowered his hands to his lap and stared at Will intently, watching him as he opened a jar of pomade and rubbed it between his palms. He felt as though there was some intent in Mike’s words that he was not quite picking up on.

“She’s an English rose,” was all Will said. 

Will ran his fingers through his hair, and Mike tipped his head back gently, closing his eyes as Will’s nails raked against his scalp. Will worked the product into his hair, weighing it down and slicking it back against his head. Mike’s breathing was slow and measured in a way that appeared almost unnatural. 

DOMINION by JustMyName & olliecoddle

They regarded each other silently for a long, excruciating second. 

Then Mike stepped forward. 

“I brought you these,” he lied, holding up the basket of mulberries. 

Will lifted an eyebrow. “You brought me fruit?” 

Mike drew closer, looming over Will. “Yes,” he said. Carefully, he plucked a berry from the basket. His whole body lit up when Will sighed, eyes watching Mike’s fingers. 

The warm wind blew through the corridor again and as if it guided Mike’s desire, he pressed the ripened fruit to Will’s plush mouth. 

“Eat,” he commanded. Will’s eyes darkened with want and he opened his mouth, taking the fruit from Mike’s hand. 

Slowly, he chewed, his gaze never faltering as he swallowed it down. Emboldened by Will’s submission, Mike grabbed a few more berries before discarding the basket. He invaded Will’s space completely and grabbed the back of his head. 

Will stiffened at the confinement for a moment, then relaxed under Mike’s hold when he offered him more fruit. 

Mike drug one of the berries over Will’s lips, squeezing just a little. Dark red juice dripped onto him, some of it melting on his tongue, some of it staining his lip and dribbling down his chin. 

Will opened his mouth wider at the offering, and Mike put all three in his mouth. 

“Good,” was all he could choke out, as he watched Will chew, lips stained as if he’d put on rouge. 

 What happened next was a blur of wildness Mike never thought himself capable of. He grabbed Will by his lapels and shoved him against the wall with a loud thud. Will made a noise that was a mixed up mewl of shocked pain and needy revelation. Mike dropped his hands around the back of Will’s thighs, lifting him up and pressing him flush against the wall. 

Will wrapped his legs around Mike’s waist, his grip tight at the back of his neck. Chests heaving and sharing breath, Mike roamed his gaze over Will’s face. His chin was still wet with fruit juice and his gaze dragged gently along his rounded yet defined jaw. He marveled at the way his nose was gorgeously curved and finely distinguished. As if he was carved in marble by one of the Italian masters. 

Mike had never been able to look at Will so closely before, not even the other night when he was writhing and whining into the down of his bed as Mike made him come undone piece by piece. His skin was smooth with a shadow of a beard threatening so late in the afternoon. He had a mole just above his pretty reddened lips, and another by his eye. And oh his eyes! They were painfully expressive with thick, dark lashes framing them and irises made of emerald and copper. 

Mike let go of Will, using his limbs and the wall to keep him up. He brought his hands to the waist of his trousers, undoing the buttons. Will sighed and keened, his hips rocking needily into him. Mike took great pleasure when he shoved his hand inside Will’s pants and his breath hitched. He was already half-hard for him and Mike had no difficulty finding the opening at the front of his drawers. He slipped his hand inside and took Will’s hard length into his firm grip. 

At the same time, he dipped his head forward, burying his face in Will’s neck as he pulled him closer, a little higher. Mike licked along his collar before sucking the thin skin there between his teeth, biting down hard. He smelled like sweat and the lavender from the garden.

Will shuddered and cried out, burying his face in his shoulder as Mike quickened his strokes. 

He tutted into Will’s ear as he brushed his thumb along his leaking slit, just how he liked it himself. “Your friends will be missing you,” he rasped. “What would they say if they knew what you were up to? Your cock in my hand, letting me ruin you in plain sight.” 

Will moaned, and Mike twisted and gripped him just a little bit harder. It was all that was needed. Will dug his fingers into Mike’s back and seized, coming with a silent exhale. He spilled hot into Mike’s palm and went limp against the wall, gasping for breath. 

They stood there like that, limbs tied up and slowly coming back to themselves. Mike’s arms ached, and Will was like putty in his hands, limbs loose and shaking. 

He slowly slid down the wall, feet finding the ground again. He stood, straightening his trousers and fixing his jacket. 

He was still gasping for breath when he finally looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mike interrupted. 

“Go,” he said, realizing he must have been off to the pub. It made a deep malicious satisfaction bloom in his chest knowing how he marked him. Mike did not let the feeling show in his voice.

“They’re waiting for you.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

here you are loves:

Dominion Chapter 5: A Worthy Creature

Will served, his skin tingling when his shoulder lightly brushed Mike’s, and then Mr. Ashby smiled, tapping his own lip.

“What happened there, my boy?” he asked Mike jovially. “Were you in a brawl?”

Will’s pulse ticked up, and he stiffened. Mike shifted in his chair, his eyes flashing towards Will briskly before wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Nothing so interesting,” he mused, keeping his voice light. He cleared his throat as he swallowed. “I pushed Artemis a little too far in the south field and she threw me.”

Lady Roane’s eyes widened with horror. “You did not tell me!” she scolded. “You said you had taken a spill in the garden!”

Mike rolled his eyes.“I did not wish to worry you, Mother.”

Lady Roaned huffed. Nancy glared at her brother disapprovingly. Holly was whispering and giggling close to Steve, who, in bad form, chose her as a companion over Lord Roane to his right.

“Besides,” Mike continued. “I am fine. It was nothing. Just a small…tribulation. She did not mean to do me any harm. She was a powerful creature driven to fright.

Dominion: The Fever

One sunny afternoon after luncheon was cleared, Will, bone-weary and too hot in his livery, was shooed to the attics by his mother for a non-negotiable hour of rest. She had stretched upwards and put the back of her hand to his forehead, tsking. Too warm, she said decidedly. Your eyes are clouded. Eddie will cover for the evening preparations. Go to your rooms. 

Will climbed the seven flights of stairs with lead feet, a little breathless when he finally made it to his bedroom. The air pressed in on him, stuffy and dreadfully warm when he entered, and he grimaced when he smelled the remnants of his own piss in the chamber pot. He needed to rinse it with vinegar, but the task seemed overwhelming at the moment. Will kicked off his shoes and trekked heavily towards the window, thrusting it open. 

After a quick, unsatisfying smoke, he removed his jacket and undid his vest, dropping heavily onto his bed. 

It was then that he noticed the little package resting on his quilt. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper, twine tied in a bow with a stem of lavender tucked prettily into the knot. 

Will stilled, breath hitching in his throat once he fixated on it. He shifted on the bed, reaching for it immediately. It was a small thing, the wrapping simple, but whoever had wrapped it had taken great care. Will let his fingers linger over the lavender and thick paper. He brought them to his nose, delighting in the soft, calming fragrance. He’d never been gifted such a fine thing.

Who could it be from? 

Will delicately unlaced the twine ribbon and slipped it off, then unwrapped the paper. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he discovered what was hidden. 

It was a miniature canvas and a rich violet pigment. Beside it, wrapped in a silk cloth was one thin, rather fine paintbrush. Will gasped softly. It was too much. Too fine. Too grand for the likes of him. What was hidden beneath simple wrapping would realistically cost an unfortunate like him a few months’ wages. To afford something like this for himself was an impossibility.

Will thought of the jolted expression lighting up Mike’s dark eyes and the smile he hid when he and Miss Hawkins had snuck him away into her abandoned artist’s studio. Will hadn’t thought much of it then. Maybe he was only surprised that his servant had a life outside of Mirkwood House. But things were different now, even though they had settled back into monotony and his master slipped into impassivity. Things were different. Mike had touched him – he had placed his hands upon his face, his thumb in his mouth. 

Will had tasted his skin and burned for him.