Archive of Our Own

Ghost had been back at the abbey for two weeks and Dewdrop had feelings about it.

He was obviously thrilled with how successful the tour was - so was the Clergy apparently, the ghouls and Papa had received praise upon their return - but to adjust back to abbey life was rough. Some of the ghouls preferred the routine and isolation of clerical life. Some didn’t care either way. But others like Dewdrop were just a tad too wild for the abbey’s whole shtick. The calm didn’t do them good.

Dewdrop was made for the road. He loved touring. All the shitty parts of tour life that annoyed people, they did it for him. The grueling hours, the exhaustion, the constant stimulation, never knowing where he’d lay his head to sleep next. The extremes. Dew was all about his extremes. To be a rock star, that’s what he wanted, an unusual dream for a ghoul sure, but he couldn’t get enough of it since the day he was summoned and told his main role was to be a band ghoul. The fans’ energy, their adoration, their screams, their hungry eyes all over him, that was his sustenance.

Tour life was unique. So different than what they had at the abbey. For weeks on the road Ghost essentially lived on top of each other. They had a twelve-bunker bus, the largest tour bus money could buy, but with the ten of them, Papa, the eight ghouls and their driver, plus their belongings, it still felt like a bunch of idiot kids shoved in a small room with bunk beds and told to make it work. Dewdrop missed it. Not being able to turn around without smacking into another ghoul. Fighting over the tiny bathroom. The communal cooking or takeout orders. The proximity. That’s what he longed for the most. The right to be this close with his pack of ghouls and his Papa for weeks. The familiarity. The intimacy. The intimacy in that way, too. Lucifer did he miss his people.

Not that he couldn’t see the others around the abbey. Everyone was here. But the estate was immense. Acres and acres of forest and nature and buildings with varying purposes strewn about. Each of the ghouls had their individual rooms instead of bunk beds packed tight inside a bus. There was just, too much space. They had normal daily lives here, jobs, stuff like washing dishes or handyman work or toiling gardens, boring shit. Dewdrop spent the week playing furnace for fuck’s sake, helping to keep some of the buildings warm while the abbey transitioned into its wintering mode, as autumn fell and started to dig its cold claws into their land. A far cry from how cool he felt laying sick guitar solos on stage for thousands of adoring fans.

The whole band would still gather throughout the week. At least once for a full band practice. Twice more to support Papa’s masses if he called for music while he preached, but he didn’t always. And they had extra practice hours they had to log in as band ghouls, on their own free time. Usually ended up in small duos and trios jamming together. They still saw each other. But for very structured activities and delimited times. It wasn’t a free for all like when they were on the road. They didn’t have wild after parties well into the night anymore, where they drank and smoked and made their human bodies high in all right ways. Danced their adrenaline off and laughed and made out and ended up in each other’s beds freely, before they went back on the road and did it all over again the next day. The abbey’s strict routine, the ever watchful eye of the Ministry, the physical distance between them, it all contributed to making their relations a tad strained. Like the eight of them needed to relearn how to be abbey ghouls and how to relate to each other as such.

When they were in Sweden for a short stay, a couple weeks between tour legs, it was easier. A much needed rest, really. But this one was a six months stay. They’d winter here. Combined with how, to ensure the safety and integrity of the Church’s image, the ghouls were rarely permitted to leave the estate (seldom to follow Papa when he traveled to lead black masses elsewhere or when the ghouls had smaller independent concerts scheduled), Dewdrop was going stir crazy.

He was lonely. That was the baseline. Lonely and frustrated. Pent up sexual energy with no one to spend it on. Or with. He hadn’t had his fill of play for two weeks. Insanity. He was a once a day kind of guy! Now, could he grab any of the other ghouls that worked year round at the abbey - or any Sibling of Sin for that matter if he felt like having a taste of human that day - take them to his room and spend his frustration on them? Absolutely. Dewdrop had the charisma of a god, he could pull anybody he wanted. People would line up to have a chance with him. But he didn’t want any of them. He wanted his pack. The fire ghoul has specific needs, urges and desires to be satisfied by very specific people. It wasn’t the same when he fucked at random. None of the extreme sensations and emotional states only his band mates knew how to put him in. He craved their individual intensities. Ached with the boredom of his normal life. Yearned for contrast. For the ghouls who knew him inside and out.

He sure as fuck wouldn’t tell anybody though! Nope. He’d take that longing to his grave. Or back to hell. Whichever came first. He’d cause problems because of it, give mad attitude, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. What was he, an emotionally intelligent adult who could communicate clearly? Nah man! He’d just get randomly pissed off at things and leave people to wonder why instead. Much easier.

In the face of one more boring evening, given Dewdrop didn’t have anything specific on schedule for tonight, he decided to finally tackle taking care of his gear and live costumes. Two weeks without getting it done was a stretch, he knew he’d have some Sister on his ass any day now from putting it off his chores so much.

When Ghost came back home, everything that was on the tour bus and in the cargo vans was stowed away in the abbey’s band warehouse. A decade ago the Ghost storage room was just a small music room apparently, but as the stage production grew so damn big, so did the necessary storage space. At this point Mountain’s drum kit by itself was bigger than the original room could comfortably fit, let alone all their other shit. Instruments, pedals, wires, mics, spares, costumes, masks, shoes, down to the little trinkets like the jewelry and Impera broaches they wore, everything was hauled together and just, tossed in the warehouse. It was then part of the band ghouls’ chores to go find their stuff, maintenance their instruments, clean their costumes, then dispatch their belongings where they wanted them to go, in the abbey’s music rooms or their personal quarters, until they left again. That meant Copia had about ten times the amount of work to do than any of his hell creatures: the man has several standing crates full of his different ceremonial robes and all the other crazy sequined getups the clergy let him get away with as pope garments because the fans of Ghost loved it. Typically Cumulus and/or Aether helped him get through the pile, and sometimes Rain felt guilty enough he’d lend a hand.

Dewdrop wasn’t great at time management. He either did whatever task he thought of the second it crossed his mind because of impulsivity, or put it off forever until he was forced to do it. Laundry was no different. And stage clothes couldn’t just go in the wash of course, they had to be hand washed and pressed or steamed and hang dried and all the things the fire ghoul couldn’t give less of a shit about. But he had to do it at some point. Satan only knew how beat up his costume got on tour anyway. He wore a whole damn base layer under his Impera uniform and still managed to sweat it through daily because of his fire core. The costume deserved some love.

He walked, dragging his feet, to the huge side building next the mess hall, through some empty echo-y corridors and up to Ghost’s warehouse. Pulled the sliding steel door up to be greeted by a fully lit up storage area and- Oh. And Swiss. Swiss was here too? Dewdrop fully expected to be the only one left who hadn’t cleaned his gear. So upon laying eyes on Swiss, he just, gawked. Froze halfway under the door.

Alright, so, yes, Dewdrop was horny. Full of pent up tension. The guy had a monstrous libido he needed several people to help with regularly, and he hadn’t gotten any action in a couple of weeks. But even through a pair of horny glasses, Swiss had no business looking this attractive right now. The multi ghoul turned to face the noise and Dewdrop forgot that blinking was a thing human eyes needed to do. Swiss wore black work pants, lightly splattered with paint on one thigh - probably a remnant’s of today’s job; they were held by black suspenders, the kind the Ghost project used to wear in a previous era; the multi ghoul wore them over a white wife beater though, not their usual black uniform, and by the way the thin fabric clung to his torso in some key places, it was the superior outfit choice. His facial hair was more unkempt than Dewdrop was used to, fuller, a good dense stubble, salt and pepper on full display. Swiss couldn’t do that on tour much, with all the black makeup and balaclavas that had to go under the masks, he had to keep somewhat of a clean shave for ease of application. But around the abbey the ghouls were more free with their appearances. They could choose to glamour fully, partially, or not at all, pick the features they wanted demonic or human, which made them a melting pot of mixed parts. Nobody batted an eye at each other’s preferences. Swiss himself had taken quite a liking to some human grooming customs like that thick stubble and chinstrap combo. He looked insultingly dapper and dashing. Dewdrop wouldn’t admit it to himself but he was beginning to have a thing for the salt and pepper vibe, and- oh damnit he was staring wasn’t he, fuck.

Swiss had smiled initially when he saw Dewdrop pop up out of nowhere, and opened his mouth ready to say hi, but he absolutely noticed how the other guitarist ogled and this changed the vibe. His genuine smile morphed into a cocky smirk as he said:

“Like what you see?” instead of hello.

Dewdrop scoffed as he let the roll-up door fall back to the ground behind him.

“Eww, no. You’re like, unbearable to look at.”

“Right back atcha’ pipsqueak.”

They glared at each other in a standoff, but they were also both barely holding it together. Swiss’ shoulders started to bounce slightly with laughter.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dewdrop tried to sound harsh but he couldn’t, he gave up halfway and giggled the rest of his sentence, and Swiss gave up to. Ah, their usual banter. Like they hadn’t missed a day. That was good. It reassured Dewdrop a bit.

The fire ghoul sauntered over to a chest of clothes near Swiss and propped himself up on it gargoyle style. His tail poked at a discarded bottle of laundry soap at his feet.

“So we had the same idea uh?”

“To get it over with gear cleanup? Yeah, I’ve been here a while. I’m almost done.”

It certainly looked like it. Around Swiss were piles of different belongings, probably grouped together according to which room he wanted to take them to next. Man had organization skills. All his instruments were against the wall, guitars re-stringed and tuned, mics and stands paired with the right cables, neatly lined up. His helmet was on the ground, propped askew so the inside could dry, cleaned and the leather polished to a shine. Lots of little bottles of different products and soaps and leather care items were open and strewn about in little thematic piles. In front of him, a rolling clothes rack, basic silver poles that held up a few pairs of his black jodhpurs and his coat from their stage uniform. He pulled a pant leg taunt with one hand as he produced water vapor out of the other, holding it close to the fabric to steam it and take out the wrinkles.

“I was pulled left and right since the minute we landed. Guess the Ministry missed having its multi ghoul around.”

Multis were an anomaly when it came to ghoul summoning. True multis, the ones who held all five elements within like Swiss, you couldn’t summon specifically for. You had to mess up while summoning something else. There wasn’t one way to reliably mess it up either, otherwise that would have been recorded by the Church. They had tried to replicate them for decades. And since the rituals were so costly, it’s not like the Ministry had a ton of opportunities to test out theories. Ghouls like Swiss were an error. Unusual things pulled from the pits that caused equal parts confusion and delight to their summoner. The multi ghoul was very practical. He had access to all five elements as will, and that came in a pinch oftentimes. But he also couldn’t master any of them or use them to their full potential. Swiss’ power sources were spread thin. Useful, but limited. The embodiment of a jack of all trades, master of none. At the moment, he was the only true multi at the abbey. There were hybrids, but no one else with all the elements inside. He knew there had been others before his time, sourced from deeper in the pits than him even, more primeval creatures, but he’d never met another one.

“I just haven’t had the time,” Swiss continued as he finished steaming that pants’ leg. “You, on the other hand,” he turned with an arched eyebrow and a knowing look towards Dew, “have been slacking off.”

“What else is new.” Dew grinned, picking at a claw.

“You’re gonna be in trouble.”

“When am I not?”

Swiss huffed and shrugged. “Touché. Well, put it off some more then,” he held up his next pair of pants, “help me with this? It’ll go better if it’s the two of us.”

Dewdrop kicked his feet and hopped off his perch.

“Why not.”

Anything to avoid taking his chores seriously, really. Plus it was a great excuse to stand closer to Swiss than necessary. He’ had half a mind to jump the man right as he walked in, but this worked too. Built some anticipation.

Swiss resumed his task of keeping the pant fabric straight, while only pulling from his inner water this time. It glistened and wrapped itself around his hand thickly in a stream he controlled with visibly more ease than he had earlier when he pulled from two elements at once. Dewdrop was at his side, hips touching. Crouched slightly to have his head closer to their hands and watch closely. Hand outstretched too right next to Swiss’, he produced a radiant heat from the center point of his palm. It took a second to adjust his temperature, at first he’d come on way too strong and evaporated Swiss’ water quicker than he could materialize it. He tuned his fire source down until they got to a sweet spot of their magic combining to create a dense and saturated beam of steam that hit the pants in a wide surface. Much better than what the multi ghoul could muster on his own. He made it work solo, but two ghouls combining powers was much more efficient.

“Excellent.” Swiss’ body relaxed as he strained less. “Yeah this is gonna be way quicker.”

“I’m just that good.”

“You’re a little shit is what you are.”

Dewdrop bumped Swiss’ hip with his own as retaliation, making him move his hand outside of the fire’s heat range, the stream turned back to water and splashed all over Swiss’ shoes before he moved back in. They both chuckled, kept going. Throwing banter and quips back and forth, playfully insulting each other or their magic. Made a soul sucking task fun. The proximity to each other’s bodies, their warmth. Their scents they both for sure could pick up on. How close their faces were when Swiss bent down to study a wrinkle on his pants and pick where to blast the steam at next. Dewdrop looked up one time and his mouth was right there, plush lips framed by that salt and pepper hair and Satan, the full body shiver he had to repress. By the time they made it to the coat, the side of their hands were touching, fingers grazing each other’s as they manipulated their elements, a tactile flow over an intricate garment.

When they finished the coat, Dewdrop aimed a satisfied smile full of fangs at Swiss, and it would have been so easy for the multi ghoul to grab him, push him against a crate and ravage him right there. The fire ghoul’s neediness rolled off of him in waves. He probably thought he was subtle, but he couldn’t hide a thing. That wasn’t Swiss’ modus operandi though. The basic sex. Swiss wanted to play. He was much more about fucking someone’s mind than fucking them, period. He, too, hadn’t gotten his hands lately on the little firecracker he so loved to bend and break in all the ways his twisted imagination could conjure.

He dipped down, seemingly to kiss Dewdrop, but at the last second faked him out and picked up the coat to look at it closer. The guitarist looked positively crestfallen. Swiss had bite the inside of his cheek to not laugh.

“Right, good job!” he reviewed the coat while trying to hide his wicked grin. He could feel Dew’s inner fire flare up at the irritation, then slowly be forced back inside.

“So you’re done then?” The fire ghoul could try as he might to sound patient, he failed miserably.

“Just the boots left-”

“Oh come on,” Dew groaned. Dragged out the sound for effect.

He walked up to the pair of their Impera stage boots that were left on the corner of the chest he sat on previously. Held one up by its side laces, glared at it, studied it critically.

“They’re fine!” He shook it in the air pointedly.

“I cleaned them but they’re not polished. I was leaving them to dry.”

“Ugh.” He let the boot plop on the crate with an empty rubber sound. Sat back down and crossed his arms, tail swishing in impatience. “Well, get to it then.”

Swiss huffed. He finished hanging his uniform pieces in the correct standing crate, rolled it off to the side of his instruments against the wall.

“You know if you help with that, we can be done quicker.”

“Ha, no,” the fire ghoul clicked. “No way. This shit takes forever and it’s boring as fuck.”

“It’ll be more boring if you just sit there and watch me polish them.”

“No.”

“I can make it fun.” Swiss’ voice had velvety darkness to it now. He made his way back to the fire ghoul, a swagger in his steps. Like he meant more than what he actually said.

Dew’s eyes flicked to him in a flash, interest piqued, then he looked away. Trying to feign he didn’t care. Like a fish that poked the bait but wouldn’t commit to the bite yet.

“Your definition of fun and mine aren’t the same.”

Swiss chuckled then, a dark rumble from deep in his chest.

“I beg to differ.”

He was up in Dew’s space now, his presence keeping the smaller ghoul bolted to where he sat. He slowly brought his hand to Dew’s face, gauged his reaction. Lifted his chin with two fingers so the other man would look him in the eyes.

“I recall you doing all sorts of wild shit for my definition of fun. Seems to me you like my ideas.”

Dewdrop growled, but didn’t snap his head away.

“Your ideas are fucked up. And mean.”

“So, what I said. You love it.”

Dew’s growl turned to a snarl. Still didn’t move. Swiss just had to pick the right bait for this prey.

“You know I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you what you want if you help.”

There was a glint in Swiss’ dark eyes, something in his toothy predatory grin that promised the world to Dewdrop, pain and pleasure and everything in between and well, the guitarist didn’t exactly have the most solid defenses up at the moment, did he.

“You better.”

Hook, line and sinker.

Swiss patted his cheek condescendingly.

“Attaboy.”

Dewdrop considered biting Swiss’ fingers off when he removed his hand from his face but he thought against it last second. Swiss’ fingers were useful sometimes.

He took in a deep breath, released it, conceded. Snapped the boot he’d previously dropped. Held it with the heel between his knees, point towards him, stuck so he’d get a good hold, then looked around him for the materials he’d need.

“Right, let’s get this shit over with then. Where’s your polish?”

Swiss walked past the crate to pick up a round aluminum tin from the floor next to his mask, brought it back along with the old washcloths he’d used earlier on it.

“Here,” he handed the tin to Dew. The fire ghoul didn’t even look up, just grabbed it and flipped the lid up, ready to start. “But we do it my way.”

That made Dew look up, brows furrowed, wondering what the fuck did that mean. Until he saw Swiss kick off his wet work shoes at the heel, grab the other Impera boot of the pair, and start to put it on.

“You can’t be serious.”

The multi ghoul looked him dead in the eye as he carefully zipped up the boot’s long side zipper.

“Oh I’m very serious.” If he didn’t already have demon horns, he’d have sprouted some just then.

He grabbed his other boot from between Dewdrop’s knees, the fire ghoul too stunned to tighten his grip. He stared as Swiss took a calculated amount of time to put it on. Let it sink in. What this meant he wanted Dewdrop to do.

The multi ghoul then half sat atop a wooden bar stool, hips tilted, one foot on the floor, one foot propped up on the foot rest. Heel angled backwards, a deliberate presentation of the boot to start shining first.

“Well? Get to it,” he parroted Dewdrop’s previous impatient quip back at him.

“See this is what I meant by fucked up ideas earlier! You really like the weirdest shit-” Dew rambled but he actually stepped closer.

“On your knees,” Swiss instructed.

Dew’s eyes widened, breath held in, ready to launch into one more litany of retorts and expletives about how weird Swiss was, but the multi cut him off before he could say anything with a much firmer tone than before.

“On. Your. Knees.”

And Dew’s thoughts evaporated then and there.

Satan. Maybe he’d bitten more than he could chew. But he wanted a dose of Swiss. Wanted his fix. Wanted to play. Damnit.

He kneeled.

So this was gonna be tonight’s flavor of play, uh. To say he had expected this would have been a lie. He knew Swiss has his proclivities, his peculiar tastes were why he sought him out so often after all, but service wasn’t their usual jam.

“I hate you,” he mumbled for good measure, because he had to. But he already had the tin of polish in his hand, to send the message that he was down, he just wouldn’t say it in so many words.

“No you don’t. If you did you would walk out the door right now. Or safeword. Or just move on to your own clothes. I’d take the hint. If you do anything, it’s ‘cause you want to.”

Dewdrop closed his eyes. Pushed a thin breath between his teeth. Centered himself. This was nothing. It was just shining boots. He’d done that a million times. He opened the wax shoe polish tin, conjured a tiny flame at the tip of his finger and lit up the product. It caught immediately, flame yellow then green then blue in a second. He snuffed the flame with the lid, held it closed for a moment while the aluminum got warm to the touch. He reopened it, the polish now with a glossy watery sheen on top, the wax softened. He glamored his claws away, picked up some of the product with the top of a blunt nail. He dabbed a speck of that on his fingertips, reached for the toe cap of Swiss’ boot, hesitated. Hovered above it for a second. Sure, he’d polished leather before, but it had been for his own stuff. This felt different. Knowing he was to perform the steps he knew like the back of his hands but for someone else. For Swiss. While the other ghoul wore the boots he would work on, loomed over him from his perch, while Dew was on the ground at his feet. Oh this was a whole other dimension and it took him a moment to process it. What had he gotten into. All that for some closeness and intimacy. He’d come looking for trouble, and he found it, honestly. He wondered how far Swiss would take it. How far he’d follow him this time. He had followed quite far down the twisted path of Swiss’ power play fantasies before in previous scenes.

When he regained control of his hand and applied the first strokes of black polish to the boot in front of his face, the motion was immediately echoed by some encouragement.

“That’s it,” Swiss cajoled, “you got it.”

And there was no reason for Dewdrop to feel shy about this truly, he was literally just shining a boot, but his cheeks warmed up all the same.

Fuck it, he was just gonna go for it. If bootblacking did it for Swiss, he’d play the part. The man promised to make it worth his while. He was curious.

He worked in sections, making sure he got the whole surface of the boot. Worked the wax into the leather until it felt well absorbed and lost its tacky feel. This first step took a while. Their Impera footwear went up above the mid calf, for the sake of the military theme of their tour uniform. Wildly different from the amount of time it took to shine the previous era’s dress shoes. Those were done in minutes. Dewdrop wouldn’t be so lucky today. The fire ghoul did flounder a few times when he pressed the wax into the leather and remembered with a twinge in his gut and a shiver that there was someone wearing this boot when he felt Swiss’ foot or calf under his hands. This part felt strange, alien. For every hitched breath, Swiss was ready and armed with some praise to ease Dew into continuing the task. That part was equally embarrassing as it was arousing, and Dew had no fucking clue how to feel.

Once he was done with the base coat of the polish, he grabbed one of the white cloths Swiss had tossed nearby and wiped his hands on it. He then undid the laces at the top outer side of the boot and on the ankle, removed them completely so they wouldn’t get wet with the next step. He set them aside. He couldn’t remove the big Impera compass, but it was metal so it’d be easy to clean at the end. He reached around in the pile of leather care items for a buffing brush, then searched for a water source. A spray bottle, a glass of water even, whatever worked but he needed some water to go on the boot before he could buff the polish.

“Umm, where’s the-” he cleared his throat. Lucifer, why was his voice so hoarse. “I’ll need water.”

“Uh hu.” Swiss acquiesced. But he didn’t move or give any more information.

“So…” Dewdrop looked up. Narrowed his eyes. The guy really let the awkwardness build, eh. “Do you have a spray bottle or something, dude, help me out here.”

“You don’t need help. You’ve got everything you need.”

The fire ghoul glared, raised his shoulders, made a face. He’d looked, he hadn’t found a spray bottle, what did Swiss mean- Oh. Oh it dawned on him, but there was no way Swiss meant spit, right? The multi ghoul wouldn’t be that depraved?

Swiss’ face split into his most satisfied shit-eating grin yet as he watched the other man come to the same conclusion he had.

Of course he was that depraved. What else would he be.

“It’s not called spit-shining for nothing.”

“I will bite through your boots and tear them to shreds,” Dewdrop deadpanned, fangs well in view.

His threat fell flat. Swiss was only amused.

“Do that and I’ll shove the whole damn thing in your mouth until you can’t breathe.”

“It won’t fit you idiot,” Dew spat back, ready to spar. Fighting felt safe. Fighting was also a darn good distraction from the whole boot business.

Swiss didn’t take the bait. He hopped from his stool, bent down to Dewdrop’s level. In a flash his hand was in the fire ghoul’s hair. A wide grip at the back of his head, close to the root of his hair, firm, inflexible. He pulled him up. Dewdrop’s hand that didn’t hold the brush flew to his forearm and braced, but he followed, a low moan bubbling at the back of his throat. Not because it was painful, though there was some light pain, a comfortable dull ache all over his scalp he didn’t dislike, but because having his hair grabbed like this disconnected his brain. And Swiss knew that. Swiss was well aware how easy it was to turn the other man to mush with some well placed hair pulling. He played dirty and he didn’t even feel bad.

“Won’t it, hm?” he mocked. “Won’t it fit? I think you could fit a shoe in your mouth just fine.” He swiped a thumb along Dewdrop’s bottom lip. Delighted in the way the other man tried to appear furious but blinked sluggishly, clearly fighting his body’s natural response to getting his hair pulled.

“You’ve blown Aether before haven’t you? Guy’s cock is large as a shoe if I recall. You’ve taken him. I know you made it fit.” He tightened his grip on Dew’s hair as he talked, angled his face up towards him. Dew whined, it felt like his scalp was directly connected to his groin. His body started to react, awaken, his blood warming up from the manhandling. From how he’d missed it.

“I know you stretched that pretty mouth of yours so wide,” Swiss laid it on thick, going in for the kill. Bent closer to Dew, his lips millimeters away from his. He felt him shudder. Knew the other man felt his breath with every word he purred. “Stretched it and struggled and did everything you could to make it fit.”

“How d’you know that?” Dewdrop croaked, the twinge of desperation in his voice a bit too audible for his liking.

“’Cause you make magic happen with that mouth of yours, spitfire, and I want it for myself today.”

Swiss licked at his lips then, traced Dew’s bottom lip with his tongue, and the fire ghoul opened his mouth readily, needy, prime for a kiss, but Swiss didn’t give it to him yet again. He held him in place by his hair, prevented him from closing the distance.

“I want it on my boots,” he mouthed against Dewdrop’s open lips, “I want you to lick them and worship them and drool all over them and do a good job shining them.”

The fire ghoul moaned.

“Will you do that for me? Give me what I want? I’ll give you what you want after. I told you. I promised. You’ll do a good job for me first, yeah?”

Dewdrop couldn’t find his words but he nodded in Swiss’ grip.

“That’s what I thought,” the multi ghoul drawled, lowering Dewdrop back down.

Dew sank to the floor like he didn’t have bones anymore. Breathless and lightheaded, and Satan did he know exactly where his blood was being redirected to make him feel so dazed. Spoiler: it wasn’t going to his brain.

He looked on while Swiss returned to the bar stool, a bit floaty. When the boot reappeared in front of his face, before his brain could panic and talk itself out of it, he just, did it. Opened his mouth and laid his tongue flat on the rounded tip of the shoe. He heard Swiss hum appreciatively at the sight of him, a flush crept up his cheeks again, and he kept going, spurred on by his positive reaction. He licked a thick stripe up the flat top towards the ankle. Kept his eyes closed the whole time. Partly because he didn’t know if he could take Swiss’ gaze on him, what expression he must’ve had. Partly because his senses were flooded by the experience and he needed sight to not be a thing right now so he could concentrate on the rest.

The taste of the boot, surprisingly, wasn’t bad. He’d expected some sort of chemical punch in the face, but the leather had done a fantastic job absorbing the product in the time it took for Swiss to convince Dew to go down on his boots and so, most of what remained from the polish was the wax feel under his tongue and a slight chemical smell. It was quickly outshined by the smell and taste of leather. Earthy, woodsy, dry on the palate somehow. The hint of tannins, the meatiness. There was a comfort in that taste, a warmth. Familiarity. Affection. It filled his nostrils, coated his taste buds, and even if the texture was unusual, he wanted more. He didn’t have a damned clue where this need came from, or why this was so arousing; maybe it was because Swiss’ hadn’t stopped making noises since he’d started, and somewhere deep within he felt infinitely proud of the effect he had on the man. All Dewdrop knew was that he was in. He’d do this. And so he licked wide strips of saliva across the leather, dipped his tongue in the dips and crevices that Swiss created when he moved. And the multi ghoul moved a decent amount. He couldn’t help it. He was feeling it too. He twitched and reacted just as much, watching Dew cover his boot in drool like this. He’d expected this would be attractive, but it felt like he was seeing Dewdrop for the first time. His closed eyes, his long eyelashes, his curtain of soft hair, threads of gold framing his face, his thin twisty horns, his sinful lips parted for a wet tongue to leave trails of fire all over the leather of his footwear. A portrait of sin. Swiss felt his cock start to fill in his pants, felt the push of the fabric against himself. He wasn’t gonna risk spoiling the moment by palming himself or undoing his pants yet, he felt like Dew’s obedience was as thin and breakable as crystal at this point, but. He’d gotten him here. He could take him down further into submission as time went on. He just needed to be patient.

Dewdrop made his way up Swiss’ boot without fully realizing what he was doing. He licked around the Impera cross, on both sides of the zipper, up to the edge where the leather was stretched taunt around Swiss’ strong calf. Covered every inch of its surface with a thin sheen of saliva. It was like an out of body experience, like he watched himself do this while he also did it: the taste and smell of leather kept him present in his body, but the sheer lunacy of actually performing such an act made him feel like a spectator. He floated in this odd headspace until he was done and he remembered the entire goal of licking the boots was to get water on the polish so he could buff it and start to get a shine.

He pulled back. Sat on his heels. Observed his work blearily. Blinked a few times. Recalled that the buffing brush he’d grabbed earlier still existed. Swiss pushed it towards him with his other foot when he saw Dew blindly pad his hand on the ground for it. He then began the buffing step. Wide rhythmic brush strokes in triplets, a practiced motion he’d done so many times on his own Ministry issued boots and helmet. The angle was a bit odd because he buffed while facing the shoe now instead of being behind as usual, but he got back in it no problem. Like riding a bike. He worked on autopilot under Swiss’ eagle eye. He then collected the cotton cloth he’d wiped his hands on earlier. Used it to rub small concentric circles on the boot’s surface, millimeter by millimeter, and a shine started to appear. He felt a pang of pride as he watched the leather’s surface start to reflect the neons that illuminated the warehouse. It wasn’t nearly a mirror shine yet, but it was already better than how dull the boot looked after having gotten used and abused on stage for weeks.

Then it was back to step one, applying polish. Bootblacking was an art of repeated steps for a maximal result. He did it. With that step over, Dewdrop faced a conundrum. He needed water again. So more saliva. He had to go back down on the boot again. He hesitated. It was one thing for Swiss to make him do it. The obligation took responsibility away from him. But to choose to do it himself…

He looked up to Swiss in a wordless plea for help, to get the push he needed to make the action ok. Acceptable. He was greeted by yet another one of the multi ghoul’s trademark smirks, and he immediately regretted not having licked the boot by himself, because this was gonna be worse.

“Unglamor your tongue.”

Dewdrop froze. Took a second to compute the words.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Swiss sounded thrilled at his new idea. “Come up here.”

He held out a hand. The fire ghoul took it, unfurled his legs as he got pulled up to his knees. Swiss bent forward to meet him. Took Dew’s face in both hands.

“Kiss me.”

That, Dew could do. That was safe. He eagerly stretched to meet Swiss’ mouth with his own, to finally get a taste of what he’d been denied earlier, of the other man’s facial hair prickling his own soft skin, of his tongue’s texture as it immediately slid against his own. Swiss tasted a slight tinge of chemicals and wax on Dew and it lit a fire in his gut.

“Give me your real tongue,” he rasped when they separated slightly.

Confusion painted Dewdrop’s features for a second, because he didn’t have his ghoul tongue out much. The human tongue shape was more practical for their mouths, the long forked demon tongue he had didn’t know where to rest in his own human mouth. But he did as he was told. Closed his eyes, leaned into the kiss Swiss resumed as soon as he was done talking, and as they made out, he unglamored his tongue, let it unfurl, lengthen, fork at the tip, let it slither in Swiss’ mouth and curl around his tongue, slide against him in novel sensations.

“That’s it,” Swiss parted to coo, smiling while he looked at how Dewdrop’s new appendage poked out between his front fangs in a small S shape. “Now put that where it belongs.”

Dewdrop let his snake-like tongue lull out of his mouth as he lowered himself down once again, took a deep breath in, and licked the boot, because he was just too far gone at this point. He’d just performed these same actions, but with the new tongue shape? They felt new. His forked tongue was much longer than his human tongue, but less large, so he quickly understood it would make the task more difficult. He had to slither it on the leather to cover some ground instead of simply lapping at it. He also drooled a lot more with this appendage than the previous, as if his human mouth didn’t recognize the snaky thing as a tongue and thus automatically salivated. It felt weirdly blasphemous, to use part of his demonic form in such a submissive way. Like the innate strength of this form clashed with Dew’s actual behavior. He made a choked, embarrassed sound.

Swiss laughed above him in breathy bewilderment.

“Fuck, you actually did it.”

Dew snapped his head up, a red blush creeping up his cheeks and face by the second, rattled by Swiss’ laughter. The sting of shame, like a knife in his gut, strangely mixed with his arousal, leaving him with an odd cocktail of emotions to deal with. He quivered. His defense mechanism said to retaliate and bark some insult at Swiss, but the other ghoul was ready for that too. He read him like a book.

“Whatever you wanted to say right there, bite that back. You can sass all you want later. Right now all I want to see is obedience. Understood?”

Dewdrop swallowed thickly, like he physically had to push down the words he so wanted to say. He looked at anything but Swiss.

“Is that clear?” the multi ghoul growled in warning.

Dew gritted a strained “yes” between clenched teeth.

He shifted his focus back to the boots again, forked tongue flicking against leather, and sincerely wished Swiss would throw him a bone here and shut the fuck up, but clearly the man was in one of his humiliation moods today because he just would. not. stop. talking. Swiss wasn’t trying to hide how turned on he was anymore, openly palmed and cupped himself through his trousers, and babbled endlessly. About how pretty Dewdrop looked down there. How devotion was such a good look on him. How he liked him like this the best, silent, obedient and at his feet. Each sentence felt like one more knife in the fire ghoul’s sides, and every single one made his dick fill up. He groaned but kept slathering the boot diligently. What drew legitimate moans from him was when Swiss started to rattle on about how they’d not locked the warehouse door before they started to play. How anyone from the abbey could walk in at any moment and witness Dewdrop openly worshiping his boots like this. Vulnerable. Placated. The Ministry’s daredevil, conquered. What would Aether say if he saw Dewdrop act so different with Swiss than with him. If he’d learned of what him and Swiss had, the types of games they played. How submissive he was before Swiss’ sadistic streaks. Or what would Rain say. Or worse, Papa. That one made Dew full on whimper as he licked the boot pathetically. Lord Satan below, he’d give anything for Papa to not see this. He had a reputation to maintain. The humiliation pierced through him and pooled low in his crotch. He whimpered miserably. Propped himself with one hand against the bar stool Swiss sat on so the other could go straight on his cock. He pressed on himself through his jeans, sought any friction he could, mindless, grinding out his shame against his own hand.

Until it was time to buff and shine the boot again, and he needed two hands to do that, Lucifer be damned! He somehow managed to stop touching himself, tried to ignore the spurt of his hips, the tremor in his hands. Once he was done with this maybe he could unbutton his pants, reach in, pull himself out and get some proper stimulation so he could finally get something out of this damned situation too.

Swiss watched him buff his boot to a further level of shine from atop his perch like the cat that got the cream.

“Is that good enough?” Dewdrop mumbled, pointing to how reflective the leather now was. It was better than the first pass.

The multi ghoul evaluated his work.

“You tell me. Is that the best you can do? You know the boots have to be at a mirror shine. Is that what a mirror shine looks like to you?”

Dewdrop whined. The boot did shine. He’d done great. Not perfect, he could do better, he knew that, but fuck if he didn’t want to be done so he could properly jump Swiss’ bones next. He could say they were done at any point. He knew he could. But it felt like Swiss has issued him a challenge. And the fire ghoul didn’t back down from challenges. Especially not when there was an aspect of self realization and achievement to them too. Sure, he wanted to impress Swiss. Gain praise. Get his reward. But his pride was involved too. Not that Dew thought he’d have pride as a bootblack one day, an hour ago that would have seemed like the most absurd thought. But here he fucking was. He got invested like an idiot. He wanted to do good for himself too. Prove to himself he could ride this task through to the end. Not cut corners like he always did. For once in his life Dewdrop actually wanted to put effort into something, and if that wasn’t a testament to how far gone in headspace he was, how efficient Swiss’ carefully targeted humiliation/praise combo was, then he didn’t know what other proof of the multi ghoul’s evil mastermind the world needed. He was in subspace, deep.

He grabbed the wax polish tin all by himself. No coaxing needed. Swiss watched him hang himself with the noose he’d tossed him and he was in absolute awe of Dewdrop’s gluttony for punishment today. It was rare the ghoul’s fire was so doused. The little guy must’ve really missed him uh. Missed all of them, really. Dewdrop must’ve come to him so needy. So desperate. Swiss had picked up on some of it, but not to this extent. He was fascinated by Dew’s sheer desire for humiliation, and that snapped something in his brain. Suddenly his own desire was unbearable, and no matter how much he wanted to watch Dew hang himself some more, Swiss needed to get off, like, yesterday.

“That’s it,” he growled, “you’re blowing me.” He jumped up, knocked the tin from Dew’s hands, grabbed him and dragged him forward roughly to the sound of aluminum bouncing on the stone floor.

Dewdrop did not protest or resist for a second. All his brain kept repeating through the fuzz of headspace was yes, yes, yes, yes, finally, finally. His pupils were blown, breath coming out in small excited puffs while Swiss dragged him by the wrists in position, then fumbled madly with his pants. The multi ghoul’s hands were shaking he needed this right this fucking second and who decided two rows of buttons on work trousers were a good idea- ok he’d gotten them undone. He shrugged off both sides of his suspenders, let them fall on each side of his hips, got through his zipper, finally was able to push his underwear down and fuck he couldn’t remember last time he’d gotten this hard this quickly but it felt like a flash flood of need in his veins. He fisted two whole hands in Dew’s hair and practically lifted him off the ground when he pulled his face in his crotch.

The fire ghoul got the memo, practically salivating. That’s what he’d wanted this whole time. He glamored back his fangs, just so he could work on Swiss without having to think about them, but he kept his devil tongue out. The man had been so insistent about his real tongue before, he figured it would make him lose it. He mouthed at the base of Swiss’ cock, the other ghoul kept him there with a vice grip, Dew didn’t know if he even realized how tense he was but he was gonna make the best of it. Full lips already slick with spit from his work on the boot slid and kissed the base of his shaft, the spot where his dick met his abdomen. Swiss’ cock rested heavy on the side of his face, the delicate skin so hot, so flushed, so desperately full. He loved it’s weight. It’s scent. His eyes fluttered closed. He let his long forked tongue roll out of his mouth, to lick at Swiss’ balls, slither around them, encircle them, the forked tip flicking at the spot right behind his sack. A deep rumble of a growl ripped through Swiss, from the diaphragm, low and unrestrained. He pressed Dewdrop further in. Dew let his balls go, snaked his tongue fully up to his perineum and licked there. Concentrated assault. He put pressure on the sensitive spot of flesh, pushed it in and Swiss keened.

“Fuck, Dew, fuck,” he kept panting, still babbling dirty talk, because the man had a damn mouth on him too. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth so good, you want that? Uh? You want me to fill that pretty mouth of yours? Make you taste something better?”

And Dew frantically nodded and hummed from where his face was buried between Swiss’ legs, unable to form words but he sure as hell was gonna show enthusiasm. He was so ready to taste cock instead of wax varnish. Wanted cum to wash the taste from his mouth so bad.

Swiss pulled him off his crotch, still manhandling Dew every step of the way, and anyway the smaller ghoul was putty in his hands at this point, attitude and defiance completely overridden by the need for intimacy and dick. He grabbed his cock with one hand and fed it to Dew who immediately parted his lips and took him in. He slid the interminable length of his tongue on Swiss’ slit, greedily lapping up every last drop of precum he could, saturating his taste buds with salt and the flavor of skin and sweat. His head was spinning and the multi ghoul’s noises and mad rambling didn’t help. He sucked him in deeper, hollowed his cheeks, began to bob.

“That’s it, that’s it Dew,” Swiss egged him on, and this made him bold.

He twisted his snake-like tongue around the section of his shaft he didn’t have in his mouth, squeezed and tugged in rhythm.

“Lord Lucifer below Satan fuckkk,” Swiss dissolved, the tongue trick clearly hit its mark. Dewdrop preened, pride flushing what was left of his cheeks that wasn’t already crimson red from the prior humiliation.

He drooled heavily like this, tongue outstretched too far out, cock filling his mouth, it made the blow job real sloppy but Swiss surely wouldn’t mind the growing wet patch of spit saturating his pants. They were stained before, he’d have to throw them in the laundry anyway. He slobbered on, hands braced on Swiss’ hips but with not much tension. Not to push him away, just to hold himself a semblance of upright. Swiss still held his head in both hands so he felt stable, but if he didn’t steady himself he would’ve dangled like a rag doll from his neck. At least like this he could follow the sweltering pace the multi ghoul set.

Swiss’ thrusts weren’t measured. They weren’t careful or calculated, he just, fucked whichever way felt good, beat off kilter, chasing something within himself. Hot on the heels of his pleasure. This whole situation had been too hot from the start, the play, the back and forth, the boot worship, the humiliation, how unusually pliant Dewdrop had been this entire time. It was too much. He wouldn’t last long. He pushed into Dew’s welcoming mouth relentlessly, didn’t ask if he was fine, if he could breathe, he just, took. He knew the fire ghoul could withstand it anyway. He’d seen him take bigger dick and rougher facefucks before. He knew how comfortably the little guy could take him. So he bucked and bucked, ever further, until he hit the back of Dew’s throat and felt him swallow around him. The smaller ghoul flared his nostrils and breathed deep through his nose, brows furrowed, eyes closed, focused on keeping his gag reflex under wraps. He let his tongue loosen, forked tip hanging limply from the side of his stretched lips. Hummed and swallowed reflexively while Swiss filled him up, rough, forceful, quick. Dewdrop realized then that Swiss must’ve missed him too. Dew wasn’t the only one to suffer at the change in dynamic now that they were off tour. He could feel how the man yearned for their proximity, their intimacy, their closeness too. A heartwarming thought to have while someone fucked your brains out. If he hadn’t had his mouth full, he would’ve smiled.

Swiss found his orgasm fast. One second he was on the edge, he pulled out and as he was about to thrust back in he tumbled over the edge, crashing. He moaned while he kept pushing in, long breaths out that pulled sound from deep within, holding Dew’s head in place, filling his mouth with his cum, and the guy was pent up. He, too, had about a couple weeks in of being too busy to cum, so he had a load of it saved. He kept spurting shot after shot in Dew’s mouth, who put up his absolute best effort at keeping up, but it was too much too fast, he couldn’t swallow quick enough, so some of the cum dribbled past his lips.

And fell right on Swiss’ newly polished boot.

That’s the first thing Swiss noticed when the spots of light behind his eyelids dissipated. He huffed and puffed, and spoke to Dew with a reverent tone, all praise and “you did so good for me”, but his eyes were fixed on the droplets of cum on the stark black of his boot. He just came but it almost felt like he didn’t, live wire nerves, tunnel vision, the rush of the visual of white on black burned into his retinas.

“Look what you’ve done,” he admonished, teasing, even though he was still very out of breath, so his chide didn’t sound half as mean as it could have. “You made a mess Dew. On the boots you were almost done with. Look.” He angled Dew’s head down, a hand still in his hair, and the fire ghoul tried to see, eyes unfocused. He blinked rapidly.

“I didn’t-”

“You need to fix that.” Swiss forced him down. He was standing up now so his shoe was on ground level, he pushed the fire ghoul down until his hands were on the floor and he was prostrated over his foot. He held his face an inch above the cum stain, like how you hold a pet’s head up to something wrong they did. Dewdrop whined, pitiful.

“Clean your mess.”

“Swiss, please-”

“Cum will streak on leather you know. Clean it up before you ruin all your hard work.”

Dewdrop was unbearably hard at this point. To have his mouth taken like that already had him ready to burst out of his pants, but now the languid fire of shame was lit again inside his belly and his erection was painful, raw and pressed right against the seam of his black jeans - curse his tendency to go commando. He wondered if he could blow just from humiliation, because it felt like he was on his way to find out.

“I- I need-”

“After.” Swiss still pointedly maintained. He held him in place until Dew opened his mouth, tongue glamored back into its human appearance now, and he gingerly licked off Swiss’ cum from the boot, the taste of it plus leather and wax and chemicals all mixed into one. It made him dizzy and his cock pulsed, hopelessly ignored.

“There you go.” Swiss praised and he finally let him go.

Dewdrop slumped, breath ragged.

“Swiss I need to cum.”

“You will.” The fire ghoul looked up to him, hopeful, hands already hovering in the air above his pants’ waistline. “Once you’re done with the boot.” Dewdrop’s face fell. He made a pleading sound.

“No, please. Let me.”

“Once you’re done you’ll have the right to cum as many times as you want. Now get back to it. There’s at least one more coat on this boot left, right? Since you let cum drip all over it and you made a dull patch. See? Here.”

Swiss pointed out the, indeed, more matte sheen in the shape of every small droplet Dewdrop couldn’t swallow earlier.

“And there’s two boots in a pair, of course.”

Swiss’ face split into an malevolent grin again. You could’ve broke the news to Dewdrop that Ghost was over as a band or that he’d have to go back to hell and he would’ve made less of a downhearted face than at the reminder that a pair was two boots.

“I can’t make it that long, Swiss, please-”

“We’ll just have to see.”

“You’re fucking evil!” Dewdrop’s voice shrilled right up to the cusp of hysteria.

“You know it.”

“You said you’d make it worth my time! I wanna cum!”

“I told you before, I’ll give you everything you want, after. We finish my game first. Mirror shine, remember? The quicker you make it happen, the quicker you’ll cum.”

“You’re the worst,” Dewdrop spat but he already stood up to go get the tin of polish he’d dropped earlier, walking bowed from how uncomfortable his pants were.

“I guarantee you by the time I’m done with you you’ll think very differently. Now, back down little flame, I want to see that tongue working again.”