Chapter Text
Jonah knocks and waits. Seconds pass, punctuated by the sound of the clock on the other side of the door. Then, a full minute, with no indication there is anyone on the other side of the door that might have heard it. Thing is, Jonah knows that he is there. Because there is no other place he could be—because the foreman indicated so.
He waits, resolute. It is almost the hour, Jonah knows that as well, from the clock he passed on the way up the stairs. He’s got a good sense of time, or so he likes to think. Any second now.
As the clock strikes the hour, “Come in.” Is heard from the other side. With a steady breath, Jonah pushes the door and let’s himself in.
The man on the other side of the desk is large and intimidating and, yet, younger than Jonah had first assumed him. He wears a smart, tailored dark blue suit, lining his broad shoulders, accentuating the strength which he must carry. Pale eyes and paler skin—what little of it Jonah can see—, stark against the raven black of his hair, and the beard that covers most of his face. All of it, perfectly groomed, expertly so, composed and professional.
All so that Lord Lukas may regard Jonah with disdain and have it come off as uninterested.
“Good afternoon, milord.” Jonah starts, undeterred by his audience’s perceived distaste at him being there. “Jonah Magnus, perhaps you remember me, we met at Mr Smirke’s gathering, that’ll be a fortnight tomorrow.”
“Of course,” he responds, with the air of someone who is not inclined to put in the effort of remembering. “What’s your business here?”
“I come to offer my services. It is my advisor’s opinion I should seek employment before I finish my degree, and I concurred.”
“Services.” Lukas drawls, looking at Jonah under a raised brow, “What could you possibly have to offer.”
Jonah bites his tongue. It takes all his restraint not to eye the man in front of him any more than he already is.
“I was given to understand you could use a typist.” He says instead, moving further into the room. “Smirke himself recommended you when I approached him on the subject. I can assure you of all my faculties, I was the best student on my year. The only complaint I’ve had from my professors was on the detail of my prose; what they found to be an incumbrance, you might instead find it is rigour.”
“If you’re as good as you claim, how come Smirke not employ you himself?”
Jonah shrugs it easily. “Afraid he likes the job too much to prescribe it to another.” He says, “For all his virtues, Mr Smirke underestimates the value of time and efficiency. You on the other hand, you’re a pragmatist, you understand well the both of them. And thus, my own.”
Lukas’ smile is, Jonah finds, as handsome and patronizing as the rest of him.
“And who gave you that impression. Smirke, as well?”
“No one. A supposition of my own, in consideration of the work you do here. From the little I have seen, you’ve established yourself in power of your own venture, at a young age and through no other men’s means but your own—”
“That is enough.” Every motion is fastidious, even the most crude of them, like the dismissive way Lukas waves his hand to silence Jonah. “Not everyone is as infatuated with your voice as you, Mr Magnus, and I would prefer an assistant of mine not run his mouth.”
“Should you prefer, I could be persuaded to put my mouth to other uses you might appreciate more.”
That seems to get his interest. Jonah notes with pleasure that, for the first time since he entered his office, Lukas meets his eye. He leans back, physically taken aback. Surprised, Jonah would wager.
“You’ve caught on.” Jonah says with humour. Then, a shade darker, he adds, “Good.”
Lukas’ smile is only just the indication of it, dancing under his moustache.
“You’ve almost had me fooled, Magnus. I coloured you more clever than to proposition a stranger. What makes you think I’d be interested? Another supposition.”
“No,” Jonah’s own smile is calm. “None.”
Lukas gets up as he says, “What if I say no. What if I send you out there marked by my hand on your face, or send out word of what you’ve proposed onto me. I know your father, boy… You think he’d see kindly that his son is buggering men? Whoring himself out… Disgraceful.”
And yet. And yet, despite his words, Lukas has gone around the room as he speaks and, on his last word, whispered hotly, Jonah hears the lock click into place. A grin spreads across his lips.
“What about you let me interest you, and you can decide afterwards how you feel about it.”
Lukas laughs.
“On your knees, then, boy.”
Jonah’s body shivers in anticipation. He does as he is told, the task made difficult by all the blood rushing down from his head, making him dizzy with want. He gets on his knees and places a hand on either thigh, gingerly parted.
Lukas returns into his line of sight, and stands a distance from Jonah that forces the younger of the two to crawl on his knees. Not long, just for embarrassment sake, really. Lukas puts a leathered hand on his hair, moves it away from his face and says, “Go on. Show me what you think you’re worth.”
Jonah parts his lips, sighing out the shuddering of his ribcage. He leans forward into Lukas’ space, guided by his hand, until his mouth meets the fabric of Lukas’ breeches. There is no shame to the way Jonah mouths the shape of Lukas’ cock through the fabric, still he is slow with it, works long enough that the fabric becomes saturated in his saliva, a patch of wet outlining the older man’s member. He is hard by now—has been since Jonah got down on his knees—but when Jonah tries to reach up and open his breeches, his hands get slapped down.
“Hands behind your back.”
The order is spoken in a dark and low tone, nothing Jonah has ever heard from the man. It makes it easy, stupidly so, to do what he says, only in hopes he might speak again. Luckily, he does.
“The look of you,” Lukas steps back to take the sight in. Jonah parts his lips, parts his legs, from where his erection stands to attention, painful, resenting the lack of touch. Jonah makes a show of it, breathes out a moan with glassy eyes and stained lips. Lukas doesn’t find it as enticing as Jonah intended. He scoffs.
A leathered thumb hooks itself on Jonah’s jaw. Jonah is pliant to it prying his mouth open further, rolls out his tongue over his teeth to feel the taste of leather. Not one to let a broken men starve, Lukas feeds his middle and index finger to Jonah’s mouth.
Jonah hadn’t known leather could taste expensive. He almost feels bad for the way his saliva will stain it. Almost. The taste is rich, makes Jonah want to clasp down his jaw and knack at Lukas’ hand with his teeth until it breaks, and he reaches skin.
Lukas then presses on the centre of his tongue. Jonah steels himself against what he knows is coming, moves to breathe from his nose just as Lukas fingers slide down his tongue, always putting on that same pressure, even as they reach down into his throat.
Jonah closes his eyes around the beady tears of his effort. He does not choke. Lukas doesn’t move further but keeps the pressure on. Steady, incredibly so.
Outside, the clock chimes. Hardly feels like it’s been half an hour already. Jonah’s breathing comes laboured.
The pressure shifts, just a bit, barely noticeable, but it’s been long enough that it’s a surprise. It breaks Jonah’s focus, and his reflex acts up. He makes a gargled noise as his tongue tries to push out the intrusion, and Jonah would have choked, maybe even worse, if Lukas didn’t pull back with a pensive, “Mhm.”.
To Jonah’s annoyance, it registers as unimpressed.
Lukas moves away, not without wiping his glove on Jonah’s cheek. The saliva cools against his heated skin in an instant.
“You start on Monday. Bring a quill and your own ink of choice. That is all.”
Having said this, Lukas returns to his seat and resumes whatever he had been doing before Jonah came to disturb his peace. Jonah, for his part, is triumphant. He gets up to his feet and, in a gesture that benefits no one but himself, bows his head with a flurry.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Lord Lukas.”
“Sir.”
“Of course. Sir.” Jonah purses his lips, indulgently. “Good day.”
Chapter Text
Working for Lord Lukas is nothing like Jonah could have expected, particularly after the way they settled his contract. He had expected long office hours, silence of their breathing broken only by the scratching on his pen and the passing of the minutes.
He wasn’t prepared to arrive at the office Monday morning and be told to get back inside the carriage. That first day, Jonah followed Lord Lukas to two ports on opposite sides of the Thames, and sat through two four hour meetings with foremen. He was not given a single indication, scarcely even was he acknowledged by his employer. Only the vaguest sense that he was meant to be taking notes guided him throughout.
Watching Lord Lukas at work was a thing of marvel. Jonah quickly understood why Lukas did not have an assistant, or even a secretary, and why he had reacted as if Jonah’s job was completely redundant: Lukas had a prodigious memory for numbers, be they dates, values or items. He was capable of reciting a budget he had looked at once, and seemed to have in his head a perfect score of his banking details and transactions, rivalling the work of his accountant. This gift seemed to come at the cost of the Lord’s more social skills. He may be able to remember the how and the when of a shipment received two months prior, down to the last digit, but would not put the time of day into memorizing the name of the foreman that had received said shipment.
Interestingly, Jonah noted at the end of the day, this gift was not something Lukas was aware of, or rather, something he found out of the ordinary. From the way he threw prodigious feats of algebra at basic schooling level people, Lukas seemed convinced everyone should be, or was, on the same level as him. Jonah had realized this when, after a particularly frustrating few hours, Lukas had gestured for him, to repeat back a budget they’d gotten out of the port further north up the Thames. Jonah’s eyes gleamed and he spat the number, sporting a quite victorious shit eating grin at what he thought would be an absolutely devastating blow to his irritatingly superior boss’ ego. Instead, Lukas watched him read from his notes with a raised brow. He didn’t say anything immediately but, once the foreman was out of an earshot, Lukas, without looking at Jonah, said flatly, “Pay attention.”
The week proceeded much the same way, without so much as a break at the office between visitations.
It wasn’t until the very end of the week that Lukas stopped Jonah in the hallway as he clocked in from lunch. “Wait in my office once you’re finished for the day.” He told him. Jonah did not miss the fact Lukas did not give him an hour, or otherwise an indication of how long he planned to make him wait.
He is then not surprised to find himself still waiting for the man, forty-five minutes after the end of the workday. Jonah had heard everyone else leave the building, hushed conversations as people passed the office on their way out, some laughing. At a point, he managed to make out an entire conversation between a group that apparently had made plans to go out drinking that night. They were arranging rides. Jonah listened in to the conversation, mostly out of sheer boredom, less he go insane from the ticking of the hours on the clock at Lukas’ desk.
Eventually, no more did the sound of life parse through the walls. Out the window, Jonah could see that the sun had set, and the streetlights were being lit. He had just about convinced himself this was some form of hazing from his no-nonsense employer, when he heard the front door close and lock. He blinked, rapidly, trying to discern if he had just been locked inside the building for the entire weekend, when he heard the footfall of boots on the carpet in the hallway outside. Barely a moment later, the office door opened and Lukas made his way inside.
“Were you aware it is rude to make one wait?” Jonah said immediately. Lukas, who had not yet looked at him – though Jonah was sure he’d seen him – gave him a once over, a look Jonah was by now much too accustomed to and fed up with.
“And yet, you are still here.”
“Unlike you, I hold some modicum of respect for others.”
Jonah was not entirely happy with the tone his words had come out with, but luckily – to an extent –, Lukas gave it a guarded, patronizing smile, and didn’t mention it.
“If my request inconvenienced you, now would be the time to attend to your more pressing affairs. Though I expect that, since you waited, there are none.” Jonah pressed his lips together, biting his tongue. “Very well. With that being the case…”
Lord Lukas round Jonah, shrugging his overcoat off his shoulders and draping it over his chair. He proceeded to lean back against the front, hands flat on the surface. With that same business-like expression he ordered his underlings about, Lukas said, “Take off your clothes.”
This, Jonah thought, is not entirely surprising. What other reason could there be to be seen in his boss’ office after hours? It was, in fact, much more aligned with what he expected his duties to pertain to when he went about taking the job – not that the arrangement he’d instead found himself in displeased him so.
He shifted the weight on his hips, levelling Lukas with a stare over his silver framed glasses. The older man had pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and was pressing leaves into it.
“Any indications as to how to?”
“Do you need me to tell you how to undo a cravat, boy?”
Lukas rarely spoke with any affectation, but Jonah could have sworn that’d been a joke.
“I meant if you wanted it in any particular way.”
Lukas finished rolling his cigar. He stroked a match and lit it, shrugging.
Alright, Jonah thought, undoing his vest, have it your way. He then proceeded to take off his clothes as if headed for a physician’s examination. Short, clinically, he took out each piece and folded it, placing them on the sofa next for him. There was no fanfare, no bells or whistles to announce the big event. As all else before, his briefs came off, exposing his arse to the cold air of the room and, more pertinently, his flaccid cock to Lukas’ clinical eye. Once he was done, he did do a half-hearted spin, punctuated with the saddest possible jazz hands and a look of utter boredom.
Lukas breathed out a puff of smoke. “Good. Knell, if you please. Sit, back straight, hands on your thighs... yes.” Jonah did as he was asked, shifting to better accommodate over his knees. He didn’t know how long he would be made to sit like that, didn’t want it to mark. “Comfortable?”
“Hardly.” Jonah responded, drily. He expected Lukas to mock him, something of the sorts. Instead, he watched as the older man pulled one of the pillows from the couch and dropped it at his feet. He gestured with his head.
Lukas liked to watch people crawl to him, Jonah thought as he did so, kneeling over the pillow. It was better, softening his weight. Almost pleasant, the way the fabric grazed his skin, reminiscent of soft duvets he’d much rather be in.
“Touch yourself.”
“How—”
“Please, boy, you can’t expect me to give you instructions on everything. I assume you pleasure yourself in the absence of a partner?”
“It’s not frequently I find myself needing to, but yes.”
“How conceited of you.” He sighed. Inconvenienced. As if this was inconvenient to him. “Should have no issue with it, then. Touch yourself, as you would on your own.”
Jonah considered him for a moment still. Lukas expression was inscrutable. He merely stood there, smoking his fat cigar with his eyes on Jonah, as though he were one of his office’s furniture pieces.
His gaze did not change as Jonah began massaging his thighs, then running his hands up to his hips, drawing circles in the bone with his thumbs. He felt the skin beneath his pads begin to heat up, and his hands as well, which was good, as the feel of cold hands on dry skin would probably alienate him even further.
Jonah’s hands climbed higher, one to his chest and the other to his jaw. He caressed his chest absentmindedly, much more focused on hooking his thumb into his mouth, in a facsimile of what Lukas had done to him the day he hired him. He took in a shuddered breath, false affectation as he held Lukas’ gaze in his own, intrusive and searching. Lukas, still, gave him nothing, not even a hint of annoyance at the display. Jonah bit back a snarl of annoyance. He caressed the side of his tongue with his thumb, flicked a hardening nipple, but it was difficult to engage himself while his ego bruised.
Jonah knew the effect he had on people. He liked it, too, liked it quite a bit. It was one of those little powers he revelled in. He liked to know people thought of him, desired him, knowing they would never get close enough to taste him less he deemed it so. There was, Jonah believed, no, Jonah knew, no way Lord Lukas was not the little bit affected by his little show. After all, he had asked him to be here, he had expressed desire to see him undressed and aroused. He had, on their earlier meeting, implied he thought Jonah was pretty. That now he was this emotionless stone wall said, to Jonah’s eye, more about Lukas himself than about a change in his opinion towards Jonah.
This, Jonah realized with a hitched breath, had to be an effort.
Jonah unconsciously reached down. Somewhere in between his thought process, he had actually hardened somewhat. He took himself in hand, teasing his tip with his thumb. Preferably, he would have liked to have oil at hand. If he were home, in his bed, he would have such amenities. His skin would be soft from a bath, scent of lavender still strong on his nose, a patch of wet hair over his eyes. The name of a lover on his lips.
As he pulled back the foreskin, his hands were rough, only the drabble of his own saliva easing the way down his member. The air was thick with his own sweat from the day, and the rich scent of Lukas’ tobacco. Rich, hot, it swirled in Jonah’s head, had him gasp for more.
Though a few strands had fallen from their moussed position, no name laid on his mouth. He took himself in deathly silence of words, punctuated only by bitten off, high pitched moans as pleasure curled in his gut. As he felt himself cresting, he looked up at Lukas. The man had paused his smoke, cigar held tight between his teeth. He watched Jonah now much more attentively, the rise of his chest matching Jonah’s quickened breath. Jonah gripped his thigh, bit his lip, and Lukas exhaled roughly through his nose. With blunt nails, Jonah dragged red lines up the skin of his thigh, whining at the tinge of pain. At that, Lukas’ hands curled into tight fists. The reminder that Lukas had hands, rough, working-man hands beneath his gloves made Jonah’s mouth water.
He grabbed the base of his cock forcefully, catching his own whine of protest with a hand over his mouth. He gasped out, quickly, holding himself close to the edge, trying to regain enough control to form words.
“Please—” Jonah managed, then again, between parted fingers, “Please. Touch me…”
Lukas swallowed an answer, remaining stone-cold. He put out his cigar on a cigarette holder by his side and straightened up. Jonah watched the tension in his movements as he took a step closer to Jonah, until his face was up to level with the Lord’s waist. Desperate for any amount of contact, even if it were just the feel of his cock through the fabric of his pants, Jonah leaned forward, but was quickly stopped by a gloved hand in his hair. Lukas yanked his head back and up. Jonah followed the motion up to a standing kneel, his knees almost off the ground with the force of the yank.
“Go on.” Lukas ordered in a grave tone. The sheer desire in his voice made Jonah keen. He nodded best he could in his precarious position and resumed the fast thrusts of his hand. In this position, it was easier still to work his hips, and Jonah rutted into a tightly held fist until completion.
Jonah came with a frankly pathetic whine, with only sufficient presence of mind to catch his spent in his hand. As he regained his breath, Lukas lowered him back down to a kneel, but stayed close by.
“Hope you plan on cleaning your mess.” He said. All previous affectation was now gone from his voice. Jonah nodded, still hazy with pleasure, and licked his spent from his hand. It was frankly disgusting, but Jonah could not bring himself to care. Lukas had something resembling a smile on his face. He ran a hand through Jonah’s curls, pulling them back from his face, and Jonah nuzzled into the leathery touch with a sigh. “Good lad.”
In the aftermath of it, Lukas gestured to a liquor cabinet in a corner of his office, absentmindedly as he collected his belongings and put on his jacket.
“Help yourself to anything you like.” He said and, checking the time, he unlocked the office door. “I expect you to close up after yourself.”
“Will do. Sir.”
Lukas nodded and headed out. Soon, Jonah heard the front door close behind him, and he was once again alone in the building.
Jonah had a finger of branded whisky but, much more importantly, two glasses full of water, before he even got back in his clothes. His head, through it, was blessedly empty of thought, only the absent worry of thoughts that would come to him later on. But, for the moment, he felt peace.
Chapter Text
It was a particularly slow day, the likes of which Jonah had scarcely caught so far. Lukas had him writing up copies of a handful of ship’s manifestos, the sort of mindless work that usually irked Jonah, who was prone to boredom in the absence of stimuli.
That day, that was not a problem. Not a problem at all.
Jonah kept to his work, with a diligence he had not known himself capable of prior. The hand that was not occupied with his pen held firm his forearm, to keep it from shaking terribly as he dipped it in the ink. If he maintained his focus, he could keep an internal monolog going – reading the manifesto to himself, practically memorizing porting harbours and distribution routes – and loose himself to it, forgoing any discomfort. If he did so, however, he ran the risk of becoming too comfortable.
It was only a matter of instants, Jonah became absorbed by the detailing of a transport of books that had gone horribly wrong, a whole crew lost and a vessel missing. He shifted in his chair, minutely, to get closer. As he did, the thing inside of him shifted.
Jonah ground his teeth, pressed his lips around a hiss as the wooden plug snuggled against his prostate.
Hours. It had been hours of this already, long enough the object had taken up the temperature of flesh, a warm, solid object inside him, intruding on his body and on his thoughts. His skin felt raw, each little scrape sparking bright flashes of pleasure behind Jonah’s eyes, followed by the pain and frustration of not enough. He was soaked, sweating bullets of effort down his spine, palms clammy, gripping the pen so tight as to leave welts in his fingers. Moreso, his trousers were soaked as well, sticky and disgusting between his legs, his cock tenting against the fabric, begging for proper release.
Jonah pressed his heated forehead to the cool surface of his desk, taking in a shaky breath. Somewhere behind him, a huff, amused.
The greatest indignity was that Lukas was purview to it all. His office, though great, was bereft of any real decoration. This then meant sound carried, easily. Lukas could not have missed the hitched breaths, throaty whines and grunts that escaped Jonah when it all became too much to bear.
“Should I assume you’re finished then?” Lukas asked in that neutral tone of him, “Surely, if you have the time to rest your eyes, you are able to deliver those yourself to the foreman.”
Jonah mind sharpened enough to imagine himself standing, walking out of this room. Out into the harbour. He shivered, imagining the look the foreman might give him.
“Perhaps not.” Lukas said in his suspicious lack of a response. “You might like it too much.”
Jonah was not insane. He knew he could never do such a thing, would never allow Lukas to submit him to such a public display… And yet.
The idea of all those eyes on him sent a thrill up to his brain, down to his gut. Curled where he was so tightly wound.
“I asked you a question, Magnus.”
Did he?
“Yes, very nearly done.” Jonah replied. He was finished, unfortunately. He did not know whether this meant to wait out the remainder of the workday with no available distraction, sitting in his own spent until such a time Lukas decided to relieve him of his duties, or if he would be provided more work.
Lukas made a contemplative noise, without looking up from his own work.
“Bring them onto me.”
Jonah glanced behind him. The distance between his desk and Lukas’ had never seemed so long.
Steading himself, Jonah rose up. Inside him, the plug slid down, caught at its largest by the overworked muscle of Jonah’s ass. Jonah squared his shoulders, raised his chin and crossed the distance, staccato steps, determined not to show in anything other than a slight limp his discomfort.
He placed the papers at Lukas’ desk. Lukas looked up from his work then, considered the papers with a raised brow, then raised his hand. Nowhere close enough for Jonah to place it in them, his options were reaching across the desk – spreading himself across the desk – or go around it to Lukas’ side.
With an aggravated sigh, Jonah round the table, delivering the manifestos and copies in hand.
“Much obliged. You may return to your duties.”
As Jonah turned to return to his desk, he very nearly predicted what would happen the moment his back was to Lukas. Even so, he could not be prepared for the impact of a clipboard square against his backside. The precision was nearly perfect, striking the base of the plug and pushing it further up Jonah’s ass. Jonah yelped, his knees buckling beneath him, sending him hurling forward. He managed to catch himself on the desktop, clawing at it with tooth and nail.
“Careful.” Lukas said. Jonah supposed it’d been meant as cheeky, but Lukas’ refuse to intone and the vagueness of the sentence made it sound almost genuine.
“Are you quite done hassling me for the day?”
“Hassle, me? For asking that you do your job?”
“You know what I meant.”
“Do not presume to understand what I do or do not know.”
Jonah stared at him, wondered if Lukas understood how daft he made himself sound when he put it in such terms. Not that it was untrue, anyways. The list of things Jonah had so far learned Lukas had no knowledge of was random and extended. Just that week, Lukas had offhandedly mentioned the Earth’s edge, and Jonah was still trying to understand whether he knew the Earth was a sphere.
“If you’ve got complaints about my treatment of you, now is the time to lay them down.”
Jonah had a few, but he also knew this was not quite what the question was about, neither was it the moment to bring up his irritations. This was Lukas giving him an out, the closest he got to telling Jonah he had a choice. Now, Jonah knew that, from the moment Lukas had not first refused him, they had assured their mutual destruction, or at the very least, a public scandal that would leave them both bereft of influence. Lukas may have the professional upper hand, but neither of them pretended that meant Jonah was powerless to put an end to things between them, drastically so.
It benefited Lukas to respect Jonah’s refusal.
“No, sir.” Jonah responded, clipped, “None.”
“Good.”
Lukas pushed back from his desk but did not make to stand.
“Come now, I’ll relive you of your duties.”
A few moments later, Jonah was writhing in pleasure, shouting into a muffle of his and Lukas’ hands as Lukas cruelly rubbed the blunt tip of the toy against Jonah prostate.
All in all, a quiet day.
Chapter Text
“I wonder,” Jonah said, “do you know he is lying to you?”
Lukas raised a brow at him, the only indication that he had heard what he said. Generally, Jonah had found that he did listen, perhaps against his own will, and though he did make an active effort to forget most of what Jonah told him, the truth was that he listened to him. Jonah reckoned Lukas enjoyed the sound of his voice.
“No need to give me that look. If you will have me compose quarter budgets, you can not expect me not to read them.”
Jonah followed Lukas’ slow stride around the table, basking under his cool gaze. Hands behind his back, Jonah had seen better pretences of interest out of lay people at art galleries. By design, he knew, with a delighted thrill in his spine. Lukas regarded him derisively, as he would a particularly appealing centrepiece. Appealing, yes, but an object all the same.
It made Jonah’s gut purr.
“In the last three quarters, he has had to make seven acquisitions of middle to top grade sails of quick rigging, despite reporting no pertinent incidents whatsoever. He is replacing them, I know that much, so it is not so much a question of lying about his budget, but rather a real necessity of the nature of his cargo.” Lukas pressed his elbow against the centre of Jonah’s spine, forcing it to arch. Jonah’s breath was punched out of his lungs, breaking his sentence in a shudder turned chuckle. “The size of the cargo assigned to his ship has not changed, and yet the Gladiator is sailing heavier.”
“Sounds like something to bother the harbour master about. Not me.” Lukas murmured, focused upon his task. He drew a length of rope over Jonah’s shoulder, pulling it taunt. The feel of it tickled Jonah’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Do feign ignorance, you know how it thrills me.”
The rope yanked Jonah back, and for a staggering moment, Jonah believed he’d be thrown down from the table.
“Watch your mouth, boy.” Lukas snarled. Jonah bared him his teeth in a smile.
“My point—” Another tug, a tightly wound knot that pressed the red rope into welts against the skin of Jonah’s chest. “There is smuggling happening within your trust, Mr Lukas. And I can guarantee Inspection won’t go along with the play of ignorance.”
What an insufferably smug look, out of someone who really had so little reason to appear as arrogant as he did. Knelt, thighs parted, supporting the tense bow of his back, in the centre of Lukas’ desk, his arms in an increasingly tighter cross between his shoulder-blades. Bare, freckled skin flushed crimson and streaked in welts beneath the soft line of ropes which framed his soft, aroused features. Pink nipples, perched high, lips puffed and wet, and still, that intolerable grin in his lips.
It had been Jonah’s idea. Suggestion, even, in response to Lukas’ increased irritation at his persistent preening. Lukas, who found the task of rigging and building his knots meditative, was favourable. They’d had a good run of it, about half an hour’s worth of honest work. Silent, quiet contemplation. Until Jonah decided he’d had enough of idle contemplation.
Lukas sighed, exasperated.
“I will be sure to inform you post-haste, soon as I begin taking advice from assistants.”
“Just thought you should be informed. You know, diligent, in all aspects.”
Jonah jolted softly, at the feel of Lukas’ knuckles down the cleft of his cheeks. A feather-light brush, nothing more, but it made Jonah want and lean back against it. Feel the cool callous he saw beneath the lines of rope against his skin. His laugh too was only that, a light breath, pushed out disturbing the dark hairs of his moustache.
“Negligent of you to presume I am not intimately aware of the goings-on at my ventures.”
“Hardly. A show of my good faith towards my esteemed employer that I presume no ill of his business practices.” Jonah paused, tilted his head down towards Lukas, to the best of his abilities. “You knew?”
There was a suspicious silence behind Jonah. Lukas was just outside his vision, such that Jonah could not gauge if his pause was indicative of his answer, or merely the admiration of his work.
“Your research is rather admiring, if flawed.” He finally said. “Demonstrates to me you have applied far less attention to some of your duties in regards to others. Had you actually been paying attention, you would know Captain Stokes started smuggling on his previous vessel, about a year ago. If you had done that, you would quickly have come to the realization that two rounds of inspections have been conducted since the start of his ill-advised venture.”
“So what? Because they missed it two times, they will never notice it?”
“I can well assure you they did not miss it.”
Lukas round the table again, coming back into Jonah’s field of vision. He stood before his work, arms crossed, regarding him with faint contempt.
“This is a good look on you.” He granted, before turning away and picking a pair of thick surgeon gloves from the side of the table. Jonah followed the motion, shifting ever so slightly, as much as the binds permitted him, the weight on his hips. And yet, the look upon his eyes, when Lukas met them, was not as hungry as he would have expected them. He sighed, before Jonah even spoke.
“Then what is it? What’s going on?”
“It hardly concerns you, considering your job is to do as you are told, and not to question my judgment.”
“I should like to know.” Jonah insisted. Lukas regarded him with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes, but not enough conviction to voice it. He shrugged, dispassionately, as if it made no difference to him whatsoever.
“You have my authorization to pester the harbour master for the relevant paperwork. So long as it does not intrude on your responsibilities, that is.”
There was something fairly condescending about the manner in which Lukas gave Jonah this win, in such a way it makes the younger man feel as though Lukas was making some point he did not at the time see the full extent of. It put him off, so much so he resisted Lukas’s hand on his shoulder. In a way that only served to drive the indignity further, Lukas let out an amused huffed breath and forced Jonah’s shoulder town against the tabletop, drawing his back into an appealing arch.
He was about to voice his opposition when he felt Lukas’s cold hand on his backside. It sent a tingling sensation up Jonah’s spine, right down to his navel. When the older man ran a rough, calloused finger down between his cheeks, Jonah went as far as trying to lean back into it, only to tug roughly at the binds holding him firmly.
“I,” he bit back a whine at the loss of the contact, “should like for you to seize calling me boy.”
“What do you suggest I call you instead?”
“My name, for one.”
Lukas scoffed. His hand returned to Jonah’s behind, now slick and warmed by the perfumed oil, and cupped Jonah’s balls to watch him gasp and squirm.
“We are not nearly intimate enough for me to know, let alone use, your christian name.”
“It is Jonah—”
“I will consider it.” Lukas interrupted, his hand around Jonah’s cock, his thumb to his hole. “Will you continue to be obtuse, or will you let me get to work? As entertaining as your company is…”
“Yes, get on with it already!”
Jonah’s entire body tensed in anticipation of Lukas’s intrusion. However, nothing of sorts came to pass and Jonah noted, with his breath still stuck at the end of his throat, that Lukas regarded him with a dissatisfied look upon his eyes.
“What?”
“Magnus.” His voice was firm enough for Jonah to feel it hit his skin and note that he had entirely removed his hands from him. Lukas tilted his head, as if waiting on something.
Jonah would never admit being charmed by this basic level of courtesy. If more men did it, perhaps then he wouldn’t feel the need to. It was with earnest that Jonah declared, “I’d love nothing more than to fuck myself on your fingers, dear.”, to which Lukas was more than happy to oblige.
One slicked finger after another, Jonah breathed slowly out of his nose, getting a feel for the size of the digits resting idly against the tight ridges of muscle lining the way up his back. In comparison with himself, Lukas was a much bigger man, such that those two fingers already felt like a chore – not that Jonah had not taken bigger before, mind. Behind his fluttering lids, Jonah entertained the proportions Lukas might make up. The thought had him rock back against Lukas’s knuckles, groaning as his muscles caught on the rough lines of rope keeping him well bound.
Jonah did not miss the “Impatient” fond murmur that slivered out of Lukas’s mouth as he squeezed a third finger, and slowly spread him with steady – steady – gloved fingers. His mouth fell open in a muted groan, then a bitten back, yet audible one when Lukas cleverly found his way to brushing two tips over the tense bulge of Jonah’s prostate.
“Dear lord…”
Soon enough, Lukas was thrusting his fingers with a steady, bordering on maddening rhythm, leaving Jonah with little time to gather his breath. A steady string of gasps and whines bled out through his lips, through a mouth formed in a broad smile, deformed by the cheek pressed to the wood of the desk of his employer.
“Ah! N-not that I am complaining—”
“Be quiet.” Lukas demanded, nailing him down with a twist of his knuckles which had Jonah seeing stars and chuckling, breathlessly.
“I am very ah—curious as to what – mhm… ah! – you gain from this transaction.”
“In normal circumstances, the pleasure of keeping your mouth blessedly shut.” Lukas grunted. Before Jonah could gather enough of his remaining wit to retort, Lukas twisted his hand in the back strands of Jonah’s auburn hair. With the force he likely used to haul things into ships in a life past, Lukas pulled Jonah into a kneel, nearly pressed to his chest, only shy of actually touching him. He pinned Jonah back, one hand on his shoulder, the other reluctantly relinquishing the torture on Jonah’s prostate, in favour of taking him by the cock.
“Ah—sir, if you do that, I fear I may…”
“Come. Be still, be silent.”
Jonah’s laugh was interrupted by a violent shudder, as pleasure coursed through his veins.
The hand holding his shoulder abandoned him, only for Jonah to feel Lukas behind himself, fiddling with the buttons on his trousers. His head instantly snapped back, eager to catch whatever glimpse he may be allowed of that big, big hand wrapping around Lukas’s cock. However, he quickly found himself incapable of doing so, by virtue of good binds and Lukas’s head hanging low in the periphery of his vision, blocking the sight Jonah had been searching for. He contained his disappointment, as he felt Lukas’s hand still around his base. This, coupled with the fleshy sounds from behind himself, put in Jonah’s filthy mind the beautiful sight of Lukas’s jerking himself at his back.
“Such tender privilege, that of hearing the way you sigh for me.” Jonah murmured, lips wet with want, the smack of his tongue to his teeth matching the sound of Lukas’s hand. The older man gritted his teeth and his grip slipped from Jonah’s cock to cover his mouth. Sloppy, in the way he tried to, but failed, to really muzzle Jonah. “I mean it, I do… I can simply not wait to know what you look like as you come apart. I should love to see the way your brow twist in pleasure, feel it pressed to my shoulder, and drink my name out of your lips.”
“Dear God, do you ever—” Lukas’s words died in his tongue, and Jonah felt his cold, rough exhale against the skin of his neck. He tired once more to muffle Jonah’s mouth with his hand, but Jonah tilted his head back, nearly knocking into Lukas’s shoulder as he did. The older man valued keeping his distance above keeping the boy from speaking, and thus was unable to keep Jonah from laughing, a sweet ringing thing of a sound.
“If you had wanted a silent lay, you would have relinquished my company long ago. No, I suspect you quite like the sound of my voice. I do not blame you.”
“Jonah.”
The young man inhaled sharply. His name in that tone sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, left him nearly speechless with it. And all the more eager to hear it again.
“Will you come for me?” Lukas’s hand had picked up speed, nothing to be heard from the young Lord but for his rough sounds of exertion and the groans in the back of his throat.
Jonah tuned in his own breathing to Lukas’s own, aching to know intimately, wholly, the trembling of Lukas’s body beneath his skin. Then, suddenly, Lukas stopped trying to keep that unbearable distance, and pulled Jonah in close, once more wrapping his hand around his cock. Jonah gasped and whined, nearly forgetting Lukas in favour of his own chase. The only indication he had of Lukas’s release before it happened was the faint stalling of his thrusts, and the brushing of a cockhead to the low of his back, before his spine and arse became streaked in warm, long ropes of come. Even after his own release, Lukas did not let up Jonah’s cock, until he was sure to have caught all of it – most of it in any case – in the palm of his glove.
Without a word exchanged between the two, Lukas’s lifted the hand to Jonah’s face, who diligently licked it clean. A diligence such, in fact, that Lukas was of the opinion it put his actual work ethic to shame.
It was with some level of disappointment that Jonah watched Lukas pick up a tissue to clean his dominant hand.
When he returned to Jonah line of sight, Lukas was as put together as always, if slightly flushed around the neck. He began undoing the binds of the rope, and Jonah permitted him this moment’s silence. Another way of saying it might be that he forced Lukas to sit in the silence, if the conflicted tension in his brow was any indication of his feelings towards the scene.
Once he was freed, Jonah sat at the edge of the table, inspecting the welts on his pale skin with no small amount of satisfaction. The marks were a vivid, raw flesh red, the imprinting of the texture of the rope clear where it had been tighter. It hurt in stinging barbs, tingled more so than actual pain. From previous encounters with this practice, Jonah had learned he found it very reinvigorating, and this time was no different.
Lukas, on the other hand, looked a bit at a lost for sorts, rolling the rope around in his arm and forearm.
“Sir? How’d you like it?”
Lukas snapped his head towards him, but it was a moment before his eyes registered that he had been spoken to and then for his brain to catch up to the question.
“Ah. Yes, most certainly.”
Jonah observed him carefully.
“Should you like, next time a gag might make for an interesting addition?” he suggested, following Lukas’s path to his case, where he stored the rope. He exchanged the latex cloves for his usual leather ones before returning to Jonah. Never meeting his eyes, he opened his palm and took the wrist Jonah offered him.
“No.” he replied, derisively. His finger drew up the mark left across Jonah’s forearm by the rope. Jonah shivered minutely. “That shan’t be necessary, I don’t think.”
Jonah tried his best not to smirk.
“As you prefer.”
Chapter Text
One thing Jonah did not miss about Scotland – one in a long list of things – was the cold. Here, the cold was a biting, sharp thing, with little to no rain to attenuate how low the temperature could get. The soft drizzle that did fall was a product of sea mist and served only to make Jonah wet and miserable. He considered lighting a cigarette, though even if that were at all possible, then Jonah would be forced to put up with Stokes fucking uncalled for opinions on the habit – as if the man did not chew row upon row of tobacco leaves, as if that were all Lukas was paying him for.
The tang of tobacco on the captain’s mouth and his pestering attitude were only side notes on a long and growing list of reasons Jonah disliked Captain Stokes. All of which, in essence, could be boiled down to how much he reminded the young man of his father, although Jonah would never speak such a thing aloud, not even to himself.
Jonah was forced to stand beside him at the docks, before a large hangar door and the big russian guy blocking it. The only respite Jonah got from his dog-miserable situation was knowing Stokes was positively terrified. The man would like to believe he was an unreadable wall, but Jonah prided himself in his abilities to read people who would very much believe themselves a closed book. Stokes thought that, just because his frame was steady and his face was neutral, it was impossible to tell that he was horribly nervous. Despite the fact he had replaced the ring on his hand fifteen times in the last twenty minutes, or that the spot behind his ear was raw flesh from scratching at it so much.
When Stokes reached with his right hand to spin the ring on his left thumb, Jonah was unable to keep the smile from spreading on his lips.
“What are you smiling there for?” Stokes snarled at him.
“Oh, you shouldn’t mind me, sir. Just the musings of an over glorified secretary.”
Stokes snapped his head to him.
“Oy, your fucking attitude is quite literally the last thing I need right now, so shove it right up your entitled arse.”
The Russian blinked from Jonah to Stokes. His face did not betray anything of his thoughts, but his attention was hooked by their spat.
“Oh, you wound me, captain.” Jonah said, with a turn to his lip that could charitably be called a pout. “When have I ever been anything but civil to you.”
The motion that had Stokes right up against Jonah, fisting his cravat with nearly enough force to lift him off the ground was so quick Jonah barely had time to register it. The Russian, however, did notice it, and took a wide stance, ready for the eventuality of a conflict between the two – protecting a dove from some dim-witted sailor was not technically within his job description, but he’d go the extra mile if it avoided trouble for his boss.
“Look here, you twat,” Stokes snarled right up against Jonah’s cheek, “if I get a boot in my ass right out of this operation, I will make damn sure you are first out the door. I’ll even have you lick clean my way out for your insubordination.”
Jonah blinked the droplets of saliva out of his eye, only barely managing to keep his face from grimacing at the scent of cheat tobacco and gum infection in Stokes’s mouth. With a sharp movement, he swept his hand across his own face.
“And what gives you the power to do so?” Jonah asked with a lone pedantic brow raised at him. “Only Lord Lukas may dismiss me, and he and I both know something you fail to grasp: I more than make up for the supposed superfluity of my position by being overall reliable and transparent. Not to mention, not having the personality of a wild boar—”
“THAT’S IT!”
“Put him down, Henry.”
Lukas stepped out of the compound, followed by another tall Russian, with just about as many distinguishable features as the other – outside of their singular size – and a short statured man, whose face was smattered in dirt (it was likely that so was his hair, but it was so black as to make such a detail nearly irrelevant). Jonah’s employer was perfectly composed, not an emotion but severity on his face as he loomed over Stokes. The captain barely resisted the shiver that went up his spine, before he dropped Jonah on his feet. Jonah stepped into Lukas’s side, to fix his aspect with as much smug as he desired – it made Stokes seethe.
“That, I t’ink,” the short man had a deplorable English, though he tried very hard to keep his Portuguese accent out of it – which was probably only making it worse, “settles our dept, don’ it, Master Lucas?”
“Indeed. I will send you your parcel via your… assistants, at the earliest convenience.” Lukas responded. He turned from the group to Stokes and Jonah, respectively, like he’d been force-fed something incredibly bitter. Like an embarrassed father. He nodded his head; a gesture Stokes immediately took as an excuse to turn and start walking away. Jonah followed.
“You know, Lucas,” the short man continued, even as he was steadily ignored, “someday you’ll have no favour to rely on. Lone bodies are not ‘nuff to keep her fed.”
“I am aware. It will have breathing ones, should it ever come to it.” Jonah climbed into the carriage, watching as Lukas barged Stokes from doing so with a mere icy glare. As he sat down in front of Jonah, he turned to close the door, and they departed with a – “Good rest, John.”
--
Jonah had never thought he’d miss the bustling and noise of a living, breathing city. He sat at the edge of the bed, burning away the candle, gaze lost out the open window. It was raining properly now, and all Jonah could hear was the ocean at his step. Restless, violent.
Jonah had the itching sensation Stokes may no longer be alive. He had not seen him since the docks, nor had Lukas made mention of anymore than two rooms. Lukas did not make mention of a whole lot, in honesty, keeping his obstinate silence through the entire ride to the town, and his eyes on the road – Jonah, who prided himself on being able to gleam at least surface emotions by now by reading them off his eyes, was left without an anchor. But there had been something, during that ride, a heavy tension in the air between them, thick, demanding of Jonah’s silence. More so, even, muffling his mouth, stealing his breath.
He was not so sure he liked being compelled into silence. Being made accomplice of something he did not know, a punishment for a crime he could only gleam lights from. What extent of fraud could have Stokes reached to warrant his death?
There was a sort of detached melancholy buzzing away in his veins, along with the fear keeping him up through the lime hours. Jonah wished he could fillet his skin open, pull at his blood vessels, isolate with his very own eyes that which coursed through him and made him feel miserable, but he was all too incapable to doing so. Incapable or unwilling, rather. He did not like feeling like this, unsure of himself, demeaned and unappreciated. It scratched with unkept nails an old itch, catching at the skin and making him nearly bleed.
God, he would be scowling at the metaphors, Jonah thought, grimacing. He pulled back his hair, smoothed and fluffed by a bath a few hours ago, smelling of salt and the pleasant parts of the ocean, warm. The room too was warmed by a resting fire, and Jonah felt his body weighed by the day. The soft pillowing seemed to call to him, though he knew the moment he shut his eyes the quiet would once more leave him restless.
Just then, as he contemplated his own warmth, and attempted to convince himself to sleep, Jonah became aware of footfall in the hallway. He listened to it, and then to the absence of the sound as they paused at his door. Two knocks, and then the knob turned. Jonah could not remember having locked it, and just as well, the door opened.
Lukas stood at the door frame; Jonah knew him by his looming figure before the light from the fireplace ever touched upon his pale features. His stormy eyes landed on Jonah, made him shiver as if they were the weather itself, creeping up beneath his night robes. He let himself in, closing the door behind, and Jonah immediately felt overcrowded by his presence. It occurred to him, as Lukas took two steps to reach him by the bed, that they had never shared of such small quarters. And such dim light.
How come his gaze feel that more intense in the absence of light?
Jonah drew in a breath, as he thought of something, anything to say, which would free the heavy air between them. Nothing came, not quickly enough, that is, before Lukas cupped his cheek with his naked hand.
In his fantasies, Lukas’s hands were always cold, such that they were, themselves, a numbing presence, each brush of them against Jonah’s wrists making it harder to feel the one that followed. Reality was nothing as he had envisioned it. Lukas was warm, a feather-touch less so than Jonah’s own skin, and the boy knew it was hardly a fair comparison, as he could feel himself flushing from the contact alone.
His hands were rough from work, and tensed along the muscles with tactical strength, a dexterity of movement unexpected from a man of Lukas’s background. He brushed his thumb beneath Jonah’s chin, and drew his head back, exposing the line of his neck, for one, but also drawing the young man’s eyes away from where they so intently bore into Lukas’s own.
Jonah was profoundly astonished, enough to allow himself to be pushed back on the bed and laid down. He could feel one of Lukas’s hands firm upon his thigh, crawling up beneath his robes to press him down by his chest. All the while, his other reached into his breast pocket, from which he pulled his handkerchief. Jonah caught sight of it, of the fresh blood still staining it, and felt a lump lodged in his throat grow, prominently. He dare not utter a word as Lukas placed it over his eyes, with an ease such it appeared fully incidental that the manner in which it fell across his face happened to fully obscure his vision. Jonah’s mouth fell open with a faint gasp, and Lukas drew his thumb across his lips. Then, he picked at Jonah’s wrists, the both of them, and raised them above his head. Jonah followed the motion, arching up into his touch.
Lukas pressed them down against the pillow, holding them there with no force at all. It would be easy to push back, break the lock, but Jonah didn’t.
“Stay.” Lukas ordered, and his touch receded entirely. And yet, despite being pinned only by a request and a bloodied handkerchief over his eyes, Jonah did exactly as he was told.
Another hand slid up underneath the robes, until the both of them where caging Jonah by the hips. His dress was lifted over his legs, hanging around his waist, and his legs parted. Jonah required very little convincing on the part of a bearded cheek to the side of his knee to open himself to scrutiny. His chest rose and fell rapidly, in tense anticipation.
As Lukas’s lips touched to the head of his cock – warm, so very warm – Jonah found himself realizing he would not speak a word to the acceptance of Jonah’s conduct, or mode of conducting himself. Likely, he would not receive an apology either, if that had been the case. Putting himself at his service was the furthest Lukas was willing to go in regards to humbling himself before Jonah’s feet. It made the feeling of Lukas’s tongue on the underside of his cock a bit more bitter, even if Jonah imagined it might take a lot for Lukas to be willing to do anything of this sort.
Lukas had Jonah gasping and whimpering on the old, tattered sheets, by way of his tongue and fingers alone. Not a word was exchanged between the two – anything Jonah might have wanted to tell him, to go faster, or touch him, or end it, died in the pit of his stomach. The idea of perturbing the gentle quietude of the room with anything other than breaths and the crackling of the fire felt utterly inconceivable.
Jonah came into the tight fist of Lukas’s hand, pinned on his side. His other hand drew small, soothing circles in Jonah’s stomach, and though they were not touching, Jonah knew Lukas had to be very close to his back, for he could feel his warm breath down his neck.
When Lukas got up to discard the fabric used to clean Jonah up between his legs, the younger man expected that to be it. He closed his eyes, following Lukas’s path in his head, his footfall heavy still on the carpet, and waited for the thud of the door as he left.
Instead, the bed dipped again.
Lukas pulled the sheets over both their bodies, separated only by a cold few inches. Jonah turned, astonished, and found himself facing Lukas’s bare back – slow, heavy rise and fall of his shoulders.
“Sleep.” He said, like he could feel Jonah’s eyes on him.
Outside, the storm raged on. Jonah turned his back to Lukas, tried to pretend he could not feel acutely another body in the bed with him, open, vulnerable to his aching scrutiny.
Jonah did as he was told, slept, a carcass abandoned post open chest surgery.