#phoenix commissions

Their living room was expansive and the silk ropes that bound Neal’s wrist were tight in the best way possible.  His theatrical hatter had cooked up something special for the evening, briefly giving Neal a rundown of the scene, stripping him, binding him to the chair, and exiting the living room.  Anticipation prickled up and down his bare arms as he glanced at the entryway eagerly.  He couldn’t get the image of Jefferson lazily unbuttoning his shirt, kicking away his trousers, fastening his wrists together out of his mind.  It was an intoxicating image. 

Jefferson waltzed into the room, holding something in his hands.  Neal’s eyes gleamed at the bit of leather, as Jefferson’s fingers toyed with the connecting ball.

“Well, well, well,” Jefferson sauntered over, brushing his fingers through Neal’s hair. “Looks like I caught a little thief in my house.”

“And you go overboard, jackass,” Neal retorted. “Was just a little silver. You’d have barely missed it.” 

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started,” Jefferson kneeled, pressing his forehead to Neal’s, giving him a Cheshire cat grin.  His breath smelled like Lucky Strike cigarettes and Neal inhaled deeply, relishing the scent.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Neal attempted to mask the desire in his voice with faux fear.  Fear, anticipation, and lust were so interconnected—it wasn’t hard to act.

“Hm, haven’t decided yet,” Jefferson said behind him fondly, fingering the soft ropes against his wrists. “It’s just so nice to have company…” His long fingers stroked Neal’s bare shoulders luxuriously.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Neal demanded, hiding a smirk. 

Jefferson blanched.  “Neal, please. Let’s keep our language civil, shall we?”

“Maybe if you untie these ropes, I’ll fucking consider it,” Neal retorted. “What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

Jefferson’s eyes glinted.  “So be it,” He murmured, withdrawing the ball gag.  Neal groaned a little as his mouth filled with a rubbery texture and Jefferson gently clasped it around his jaw and neck.  He paused for a moment, but when Neal did not snap his fingers, he resumed.

“Now how does that feel?” Jefferson purred. “No one to hear your filthy mouth.”

Neal snarled something into the gag and Jefferson smirked, his hand burying themselves in Neal’s soft curls.  Neal shivered—his scalp had always been particularly sensitive, rivulets of pleasure tingling down his neck—and Jefferson’s grin widened.

“How does that feel?” He wanted to know. “Answer or I’ll be cross.”

Neal attempted to swear, choking a little against the gag.  He closed his eyes, wishing it was Jefferson’s hot cock in his mouth—

“You’re drooling,” Jefferson noted. “Filthy little slut, aren’t you?”  He jerked Neal off the chair, shoving him against the coffee-table.   

“Kneel,” He hissed into his hair and Neal obeyed, falling to his knees, whimpering against the gag.  Jefferson’s long tapering fingers found his way around Neal’s waist. 

Jefferson bit Neal’s neck savagely and his veins filled with fire.  Neal squirmed against him, groaning against the ball-gag, while Jefferson copped his bare ass. 

“Well, well, well,” Jefferson murmured, his hand winding around Neal’s waist, gripping his length. “You’re so hard. And I haven’t even touched your cock yet. Why do you suppose that is?”

Neal whimpered, his fingers digging into the coffee-table.  Jefferson uncapped a small plastic bottle, and Neal felt something cool and slimy slide across his ass.  He shivered at the sensation and cried out against the gag when Jefferson’s two fingers slipped inside him, rubbing in small circular motions.  He shook like a leaf in the storm, trying to keep his wits about him. 

“Graugh,” Neal moaned against the gag, his chin slick with saliva.  Jefferson’s fingers wound into Neal’s dark curls, jerking his head upwards as he guided his stiff cock towards him. 

“That’s right,” Jefferson whispered in Neal’s ear, leaving threatening little nips along his throat. “I want you to beg for it. I want to hear those beautiful little whimpers, begging me to fuck you.”

Neal moaned again, his fingers scratching along the coffee-table, begging for release.  Pleased, Jefferson gripped Neal’s hips, sinking into him easily.

“Look at you,” Jefferson gasped. “Tied up like the little thieving slut you are, completely helpless…oh, fuck yes…” He thrust up into the slick heat of Neal’s body as Neal arched to meet him at each stroke, writhing shamelessly.  

“That’s right,” Jefferson’s voice was hoarse as he wrapped his hand around Neal’s cock, pulling him in time with his motions. “Dirty little thieving slut, you fucking love, this don’t you?”

Jefferson’s rhythm increased more sharply.  “Come for me. Come for me now, you little thieving slut.” 

Neal’s head threw back, his harsh cry muffled by the gag, shuddering as pleasure and lust overwhelmed him.  His violent spasms pushed Jefferson over the edge and white lightning exploded through his mind as he emptied himself deep inside Neal’s body, pulsing over and over, climaxing with a triumphant cry.

Neal sagged against the coffee-table.  Jefferson slipped quickly out of him, tipping him towards his chest as he unfastened the ball-gag.  They both collapsed against the couch with a contented sigh. 

“Feeling sufficiently unwound?” Jefferson murmured against his lover’s skin and Neal chuckled deliciously.

“You could say that,” He grumbled, wiping moisture away from his chin. “Might need a new gag for next time, I nearly bit this one in two.”

“That’ll be a fun shopping trip,” Jefferson snickered to himself, stroking Neal’s shoulder lazily.

“Mmph,” Neal said in agreement.  Jefferson’s hand groped for the throw rug they kept on their couch, tugging it off, covering them both. 

“So you don’t catch a cold,” Jefferson whispered. “Do you need anything else?”

The real mystery was who had gotten her pregnant.  Most assumed it was Gary White, the linebacker who’d had a crush on Belle since her freshman year.  He was always hanging around the library, asking her to come watch his practices or games, never mind that Belle had as much interest in the football team as she did paint drying.

Ruby claimed it was a mature college student from the local university—Belle was in line to be valedictorian and often took university courses during breaks and weekends.  Emma Swan doubted it, commenting that Belle took studying deadly seriously, and was unlikely to use any of her advanced courses as time to flirt.  Ashley Boyd suggested over the lunch table that it might be one of the florists at the local flower shop, which Belle owned.  Emma was quick to point out that all were unattractive and she further doubted that the overprotective Moe French would ever allow that to happen.

Interestingly enough, the only student that had the closest suspicion to the truth was Neal Gold, the son of their English literature teacher—and he did not share this theory with anyone, not even his girlfriend of four years.  While Emma cynically shot down all other theories, Neal remained silent—frankly, Neal was unsure if he wanted to know the truth.  The truth may set some free, but if he was correct…it would earn good people terrible consequences. 

****

The bell rang and Mr. Gold’s AP Literature class stood, grumbling about the eighteen page term paper he’d assigned them, due on Monday.  As Belle French packed away her things, Mr. Gold’s light brogue addressed her. 

“Miss French, may I see you for a moment?”

Belle cleared her throat nervously, glancing at her oblivious classmates.  “I…Miss Pince is expecting me…”

“It won’t take long,” Mr. Gold’s tone was cool and a few of the students blithely glanced at them, wondering if the goody-two-shoes Belle French had gotten an A- or something. 

Neal Gold seemed particularly uninterested in the situation as he pulled his iPod out of his messenger bag and pressed play.  But Mr. Gold noticed the intense stare his son gave him as he exited the classroom.

Once the room was empty, Mr. Gold exhaled sharply.  He shut the door gently and Belle shifted nervously. 

“What?” She whispered.

He lifted something from his desk, a sheaf of paperwork.  Belle’s brows knitted as she perused them carefully.  Rapidly, she shook her head.

“No,” She dropped the stapled papers into the wastebasket. “No. You can’t resign.”

“I can and I will,” Gold said softly.  His fingers twitched and he looked as though he was resisting the urge to take her hands.

“You love teaching,” Belle swallowed. “You love it more than anything in the world. And you need this job, you need the college tuition benefit it offers for your son…”

“And what about this child?” Gold hissed frantically. “What about your needs?”

She averted his gaze.  “You’ve already done all you can…”

“It’s not enough!” He bit his tongue to keep from shouting. “Belle…do you think I would abandon you? Abandon you and…the child?”

He’d stopped short of saying “our” child—a dangerous thing to say, never mind the shut door.  Belle’s eyes filled with tears and she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. 

“There’s nothing we can do,” She exhaled slowly. “It is what it is. I’ve made my decision, my choice. And I love you for not wanting to leave me, but I cannot take your life away from you.” 

“Belle…” Unable to resist the urge, Gold took her hand, kissing her palm. “You are my life.”

She shook her head.  “That isn’t the truth. No one can be someone else’s life—life’s too complicated for one person to fill. You have responsibilities, you have a job that you love—that you’re good at. You have your son, who despite your differences,” A shade of a grin marked her face. “Loves you entirely.” 

Gold ran his fingers through his hair.  “That’s true,” He said heavily. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be a part of my life. Or…the child.”

Belle’s hands came to a rest on her swollen belly and she took a shuddery breath.  “I won’t have you ruin your reputation, your life, your family…because of some false sense of nobility. I love you too much for that.”

She turned to walk away from him but he caught her shoulders.  His fingers brushed away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. 

In one moment, they collided together, mouths meeting, Gold’s hands tangling her chestnut curls, Belle moaning against his firm mouth.  In a brief instant, there was nothing but their heated kiss, a kiss of anguish and sorrow that nearly tore Belle’s insides to pieces. 

She stepped away from him, returning to reality, realizing how dangerous it was to be alone with him…one false move, one misstep and a student or faculty could have caught them…

“Belle, please,” Gold begged.  She turned away from him, knowing that if she looked into his pleading brown eyes, her resolve would completely crumble.  She refused herself any allowances, ignoring him entirely as she stepped out of the classroom.  So intent, she did not see Gold bury his face in his hands.