#thomas doherty

The ballroom hums with the murmur of conversation. Candlelight flickers against gold-trimmed walls, and the scent of warmed wax and delicate perfume seems to fill the space.

Walter stands beside you, a familiar and steady presence. His hand rests lightly on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your gown as he guides you through the parting crowd.

He leans in close to you, “Care for a dance?” His voice is smooth and light, almost teasing.

You smile, giving him a small nod. It isn’t often that Walter takes the lead in things like this, so you take the opportunity. And when the orchestra shifts into a slow waltz, he pulls you close. His hand is firm on your waist, and the other wraps around your delicate one.

The world outside fades away, and you can only focus on him. His high-set cheekbones, the way his dark eyes bore into yours, his perfect lips parted just enough for the tips of his canines to peek through. Everything about him was simply mesmerising.

Walter's gaze focuses on you, unwavering, as if you are the only thing in the room worth looking at. The soft glow of candlelight catches in his dark eyes, and he smiles, not wide, not showy, but something quieter and measured, but you know how much it means.

His deep stare causes your steps to falter, only slightly, but Walter’s grip keeps you steady. When you glance up at him again, his expression remains unchanged, his focus entirely on you.

When the song ends, Walter spins you into the crowd with a seamless movement. His hand doesn’t leave you for long before he’s guiding you toward the drinks table.

“Do you want something to drink?” The warmth in his voice is familiar, so is his hand splayed over your back. You turn to answer, but before the words leave your lips, you recognise an old friend of yours.

“Don't you two look marvelous,” he says, his voice easy, carrying the kind of charm that slips in unnoticed until it’s already settled.

His hand clasps yours, firm and warm, a glint of amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I’d like to introduce you to my husband,” you say, turning slightly toward Walter. “Walter, this is Darian, an old friend of mine. Darian, this is Walter, my husband.”

Walter’s grip is steady as he takes Darian’s offered hand, his expression neutral and unreadable. The handshake lingers a second too long before Walter releases him, but his attention doesn’t stay on Darian for long; his eyes flicker back to yours quickly, his hand brushing the curve of your shoulder as though drawn there by instinct.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Darian says, his tone smooth, too easy. “She’s told me so much about you.” Walter inclines his head.

“Pleasure.” Walter’s voice is flat, almost uninterested, as if merely stating a fact.

Darian’s smile widens, playful, but his eyes flicker with something more calculating. Walter remains still, but you feel the faintest shift of his fingers against your shoulder, a barely-there touch, light yet deliberate. Not possessive, not forceful.

Just a reminder.

When you all sit down for dinner, a few mere hours later. The first course arrives, delicate plates of soup set before each guest.

Darian, ever the charmer, carries himself with an ease that grates against your nerves.

His words are completely innocuous but too well-placed, his smiles just a touch too warm.

“You always did have exquisite taste,” Darian muses, swirling the wine in his glass. His eyes flicker toward you for a second too long before returning to Walter. “In all things, it seems.”

Walter’s fingers tap once against the table, a slight movement which goes unnoticed by most, but you know better. His expression remains impassive, his smirk still polite.

“It is only natural to surround oneself with the finest, is it not?”

Darian chuckles, sipping his wine. “I do wonder how you manage to keep it all so… untarnished. Beautiful things tend to be fragile.”

You stiffen slightly, but Walter remains motionless. He does not glance at you, does not acknowledge Darian’s bait. Instead, he turns his attention to you, reaching for your hand under the table. His touch is light, a brief press of reassurance before he withdraws, taking a slow sip from his glass whilst doing so.

Darian leans forward slightly, feigning casual interest. “It must be… consuming, living here,” he remarks, eyes flickering to you once more. “Such a grand estate, such a grand life. But does it not grow tiresome? The weight of it all?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Walter beats you to it. “On the contrary,” he says smoothly, “she thrives here.” His smile is razor-sharp. “I see to it.”

Darian’s lips part slightly, caught off guard for the first time that evening. He recovers quickly, though, forcing an easy grin. “Ah, of course. Ever the perfect host.”

Walter exhales a quiet chuckle, something dark glinting in his gaze.

However tense the evening gets, it is not until dessert is served that something in the air truly shifts.

Walter, who has played this game with such meticulous control, has exhausted his patience. So, when Darian reaches for your hand across the table, perhaps in jest, perhaps in something more calculated. But before his fingers can reach and brush yours, Walter moves.

Not hastily, not with any outward aggression, but with an ease that is almost terrifying. His own hand intercepts, gripping Darian’s wrist with deceptive gentleness.

Darian’s smile falters, just ever so slightly.

The air in the room feels heavy with silence, the kind that settles after the laughter and music of a memorable night have long faded away. The fire crackles faintly in the hearth, casting soft light across the stone walls, but the warmth doesn’t seem to reach your skin. The guests have all gone, leaving only a handful of people behind. Now it’s just you, Walter, and Darian, who is leaving in the morning.

Darian sits on the edge of his seat, his voice is low, teasing as he recounts one of his many travels, leaning in just a bit too close, as though the space between you doesn’t matter. His fingers brush against your arm when he gestures, the touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

You try not to think about it, you try to tell yourself it’s all harmless, but the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you feel the light breeze of his hand moving past yours.

Walter, ever the observer, doesn’t say much. His gaze stays fixed on Darian, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t break his calm composure. He shifts in his seat, his fingers brushing lightly over yours.

Darian talks on, his words still light, but there’s something sharper about his gaze now. His eyes flick over to you a little too often, his smile lingering too long.

You open your mouth to respond, but Darian speaks again, his tone softer now. “I bet you two don’t get many moments like this,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, almost conspiratorial. “With all this power, all this beauty around you. What is it really like?”

You swallow, uncomfortable under his gaze. But before you can answer, Walter’s hand is there again, a solid presence over yours, grounding you. The touch is brief but deliberate, a warning, perhaps.

It’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

Darian leans in again, his breath too warm against your ear. “She’s a lucky woman,” he says, and his words hang in the air like a challenge.

The subtle tension snaps, just for a moment, and Walter’s voice cuts through the space between you. “Is that what you see me as, Darian? A symbol of power?” His voice is quiet, but it carries weight.

Darian chuckles, brushing off the question with a wave of his hand, but his eyes are anything but casual. “No, no. Of course not.” But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, it lingers in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

The conversation moves on, but Darian’s gaze doesn’t leave you. You feel it, heavy and possessive, every time you shift in your seat. It’s subtle at first, his eyes following you just a little too closely, his words dragging on too long.

Suddenly, Walter shifts and stands up without a word, excusing himself to another room to check on something. You didn't catch what, after all, you could always ask him later.

You watch him go, but before you can process it, Darian’s voice comes low and close again.

“You know, you don’t have to stay with him forever,” Darian murmurs, his voice rough with something darker. “You could have anyone you want... someone who knows how to truly treat you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and a cold shiver runs down your spine. You glance at him, but before you can respond, his hand reaches out, brushing yours with a cold touch that makes you pull back instinctively. His fingers tighten around your wrist, far too firmly.

“You deserve someone who sees you,” Darian whispers, his eyes dark, unsettling. “Someone who knows what you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your instincts telling you to pull away, but before you can do anything, the door creaks open.

Darian smiles. “You’re quite lucky, Walter.” His voice is smooth, addressing the man who just reentered the room. “To have someone like her.” His hand, which was on your wrist, moves up your arm, finding its way to your shoulder and creeping still further.

You squirm in your seat, edging backwards, desperate to get away from him. But it all happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Darian’s hand is where it shouldn’t be. Next, Walter’s grip is around his wrist, unyielding. Darian's sharp inhale that follows is the only sound in the room before he drops his hand from you.

Darian’s breath stutters. His fingers curl against the force of Walter’s hold.

“Let her go,” Walter murmurs, his voice low, even.

Darian flinches, his balance shifting as Walter twists his arm just slightly, just enough to make his point.

Darian grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean-”

Walter tightens his grip.

Darian exhales sharply, his body folding slightly toward the pressure.

“I told you to let her go,” Walter growls, his voice cold and full of venom.

You sit, frozen, watching as Walter’s strength overtakes Darian’s resistance. Darian’s other hand grips Walter’s forearm, struggling, but it’s no use. Walter’s grip tightens, and his eyes never leave Darian’s, a fury burning behind them that’s hard to ignore.

For a second, Walter’s gaze flickers to you, sharp, possessive, full of something dangerous. Then, without warning, he shoves Darian back into the stone wall with a force that knocks the air from his lungs. Darian crumples, gasping for breath, but Walter doesn’t release him.

“You don’t get to touch her.” Walter’s voice is deadly low, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to think for a second she’s yours.”

Darian’s chest heaves as he scrambles, trying to push himself up, but Walter steps forward again, his boot pressing into Darian’s stomach, forcing him back to the ground with a sickening crunch.

“I invited you to my home. I gave you the courtesy of a seat at my table,” Walter murmurs, dangerously calm. “And you mistook it for equality.”

Darian wheezes, gasping for air. He pulls Darian up by his collar, his face inches from his. The venom in Walter’s eyes is unmistakable.

“We are not equal.”

Finally, Walter pushes Darian away with one swift motion, his hands leaving him to collapse back onto the ground.

Walter doesn’t spare him another glance. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths as he turns to you, his dark eyes still burning with an intensity that pins you in place.

Then, without a word, he steps toward you.

The kiss takes you by surprise. It’s not soft. It’s fierce, hungry, his lips molding to yours as his hands grip your waist and pull you flush against him. There’s heat behind it, a release of everything simmering beneath the surface, his anger, his dominance, the undeniable desire between you.

It’s a kiss that demands surrender, and you give in without hesitation.

The silence stretches when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath is warm against your lips, but his hands remain firm on you, steady, grounding. The world around you feels like a distant hum compared to the sharp focus of Walter’s gaze on you.

There’s something raw in his expression, something unguarded. His fingers brush along your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you. For the first time since the night began, his touch is gentle.

"Are you alright?" His voice is quieter now, still deep, still commanding, but with a thread of something softer woven through it.

You nod, though words still evade you. Your heart pounds, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of him, the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, the way he fought for you without a second thought or even an ounce of hesitation.

Walter’s thumb brushes over your cheek, lingering there for a breath before he exhales, his control tightening like a leash on whatever storm still brews inside him. Then, without another word, he takes your hand and leads you away.

The grip of his hand is firm, his every step deliberate, carrying you both away from the wreckage of the evening, away from Darian’s ruined pride and the tension that still lingers in the air.

He doesn’t stop until the doors of your chambers close behind you, shutting out the world beyond.

The moment the lock clicks into place, the air shifts again.

Walter turns to you, his gaze sweeping over your face, down the length of your body, as if reassuring himself that you’re truly here, unharmed. Then, in a single stride, he’s on you again, his hands at your waist, his lips brushing yours in something softer this time, but no less demanding.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he murmurs against your lips. But there’s no hesitation in his voice, only quiet certainty, the command of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. "Don’t go slow," you breathe, a teasing smile playing at your lips, but the need behind your words betrays you.

Walter’s lips twitch, a knowing smirk ghosting across them before he claims your mouth once more. His hands slide up your back, pulling you against him, his touch steady.

He gently lowers you onto your bed, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements are deliberate, slow, but each touch, each brush of his hand against your skin makes your breath catch.

You know he’s still in control, but there’s a new tenderness in the way he moves.

His hand slides down your side, settling at your hip as his lips trail down your neck and across your collarbone. The kiss is soft at first, gentle, but with each movement of his mouth, there’s more heat, more urgency.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin.

His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slide lower, gripping the fabric at your hips. His fingers bunch it up, pulling it up above your hips, so that your lower body is fully exposed, save for your underwear.

“You’re still so put together,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low, a hint of amusement breaking through his tone.

“I think I prefer you undone.”

His hands move to the hem, slipping beneath it, fingertips brushing against bare skin as he pushes it higher. The cool air kisses your exposed thighs, a contrast to the warmth of his touch. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric gather in his grip.

Then, his fingers find the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes you. Your body already responds to him, your breath hitching as he spreads his hand over your leg, his grip firm but reverent.

“Relax,” he coos, voice dark. “Let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you sweetheart.”

His fingers graze higher, just barely skimming where you crave him most, teasing you, coaxing you. The heat between you intensifies, your pulse quickening as he takes his time. You feel the fabric of your underwear shift under his touch, a barely-there pressure that makes your breath stutter.

He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours, waiting, always waiting for you to yield to him completely. And then, without another word, his fingers dip lower, dipping into you. His thumb presses against you, drawing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending another wave of shocking heat surging through you.

The pleasure builds slowly as his fingers push deeper, stretching you just enough to make you gasp in anticipation. His eyes never leave yours, watching you, loving your every reaction. You arch your back slightly, your chest rising and falling with each breath as he works you with expert precision.

"Good?" He asks, his voice is barely a whisper, but you hear the quiet edge of possessiveness in it.

It drives you wild.

You nod, unable to string together a coherent sentence, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as your body betrays you, every slow movement of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through rocking through you. He picks up the pace just slightly, his fingers finding a rhythm.

You can feel the tightness building within you, a coil winding tighter with each press of his fingers before a wave crashes over you. You gasp, your body trembles in his hold, your fingers curling in the sheets as the pleasure surges through you. You barely have time to catch your breath before Walter’s voice fills the silence.

“That’s it love,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

But before you can fully come down, before the rush fades, Walter’s fingers don’t stop. He shifts between your legs, his thumb circling you again, this time with more pressure.

It’s nearly too much, too overwhelming, you’re already so sensitive that the second one comes quicker, more intense. The gentle but relentless pressure of his hand sends you spiraling once again, your body jerking beneath him as a second climax rips through you.

It leaves you breathless, the feeling almost too much to bear. His thumb doesn’t stop moving, just coaxing you through the aftershocks.

Walter watches you, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he takes in the way you tremble beneath him. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin as you try to steady yourself, but the way his hands continue to roam your body tells you he has no intention of giving you a moment’s respite.

“Feel good, love?” His voice is smooth, knowing.

You nod, still breathless, and his lips find yours again, softer this time, as if savouring the moment. His fingers trace down your sides, slowing when they reach the fabric still clinging to your skin.

“Tsk,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding lower. “Still dressed. That won’t do.”

His fingers toy with the waistband, tugging just slightly, enough to make you squirm. “I should take my time with this, don’t you think?” His lips brush your jaw, trailing lower as his fingers slip beneath the fabric. “After all, you look so pretty when you beg.”

You let out a soft whimper, hips shifting involuntarily, and Walter chuckles, a deep, satisfied sound. Then, without warning, there’s a sharp tear of fabric as he rips your underwear away in one swift motion.

“Much better,” he murmurs, tossing the ruined scrap aside before dragging his fingers down your newly bared skin, making you shiver. “I do like you like this, nothing in my way.”

But then his hands drift higher, fingers gathering the fabric of your dress still bunched around your waist. His lips curl against your skin as he hums in mock disapproval.

“And this?” he muses, toying with the material. “We won’t be needing it anymore, will we?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he slips the dress over your head and tosses it aside in one smooth motion. The way his gaze sweeps over you, his eyes hungry, makes heat pool low in your stomach.

He lets his hands explore, slow and teasing, before he pulls back just enough to unbutton his own shirt. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, letting you watch as he undoes each button with practiced ease. When he finally shrugs off the last piece of clothing, his gaze finds yours again, dark and unwavering.

He moves between your legs, pressing his body against yours, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours. His touch is still gentle, still teasing, as he guides your thighs apart, positioning himself between them.

“Are you ready for me, darling?” he purrs, dragging his lips down the column of your throat. He gives you no time to answer before he tilts your chin up to claim your mouth in another kiss, leaving you dizzy.

Then, just as you’re lost in the feel of him, he thrusts inside in one slow, unrelenting motion, stretching you, filling you completely. A gasp catches in your throat at the sensation, at the way your body responds to him instantly, moulding around him in a perfect fit.

His movements are slow at first, giving you time to adjust, his hands on your hips guiding you as you both find your rhythm. He looks down at you, eyes dark with desire but filled with something more.

He’s still focused on your comfort, on making sure you're okay, but you can tell he’s losing himself in you, the control slipping with each thrust.

He shifts his hips, finding a new angle, and you gasp, the pleasure shooting through you again, sharper than before. He doesn’t pause, just continues, each thrust deep and slow, bringing you closer to the edge again.

“One more for me, love,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I know you can.”

His words are a challenge, a command, and you find yourself rising to meet it, your body responding to him, every inch of you connected to his as the pressure builds once again.

With each thrust, you feel your body tightening, the coil winding tighter, and when you finally let go again, it’s overwhelming. He doesn't slow, still chasing his own high. Your hands clutching at his shoulders as you lose yourself, surely leaving marks.

Then he groans, his pace faltering as he follows you, his body tense with the force of his release. He holds you close as you both come down from the high, his breath hot against your neck as you lie together, wrapped in the quiet aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low. “So perfect."