Archive of Our Own

Something is amiss here.

Charles left the flat before Monty this morning. This isn't particularly odd. It's a nice day or what have you, and sometimes Charles likes to get an early start, like some kind of madman. Monty cannot picture getting out of a perfectly good bed with a perfectly good man just to go to work. Surely for a worthy activity he would gladly hop to his feet, but even the charms of MI5 are simply not enough to make him leave a moment earlier than he has to.

Still and yet, Charles manages to scrape Monty off of him and leave, and later, Monty puts himself together and follows him in. When Monty arrives, he notes that Charles looks particularly good, but with a certain level of annoyance. How dare he leave the flat to look good for people who aren't Monty. Preposterous.

Of course everyone notices this. Monty is so famously indiscreet that a double agent was once given a personal note from Monty, with his signature, to prove he'd made contact with British intelligence. That had been a bit of intentional subterfuge, but Monty also really is that blind to his own nonsense sometimes.

During a morning tea break, Monty sidles up to Charles, who obviously has no idea anything is wrong. Monty catches a whiff of something familiar and narrows his eyes. Charles isn't given to wearing cologne or aftershave. He isn't the type, doesn't care for such things. He had to be convinced to put oil in his beard, and that only made sense to him when Monty informed him that it was directly related to the amount of time his face was allowed to be next to Monty's skin. He got the picture quickly after that.

Charles is turned away, fixing his tea, and he turns back, seeing Monty for the first time. "Oh, good morning, Monty," he says, smiling sweetly, that un-self-conscious way he has, and everything suddenly makes sense.

Charles is wearing Monty's cologne.

Instantly Monty is hard as a rock. He wants to pin Charlie down and just smell him, pull out every delicious shade of meaning. They're never going to make it through the day; they're never going to make it through this cup of tea. The only thing that's stopping him from starting right this second is that Jean is standing two feet away, hiding her laugh in her mug.

"Oh, like you wouldn't," Monty says peevishly, and he stalks away.

Charles watches Monty go, frowning in disappointment. "What on earth just happened?"

"I really hope you know what you're getting into," Jean says.

Charles sighs. "Jean, by this point, you must know that I don't."

"So," Jean says warily. "You aren't wearing Monty's cologne on purpose?"

"How do you know what Monty's cologne smells like?" Charles asks.

"Because Monty wears Pour Un Homme de Caron and it contributes to the unique headache that only he can engender," Hester says from the hallway. "Jean, are you ever going to come back and help me?"

"Coming," Jean says, giving Charles a sly look before she leaves.

"This is the last time I try to look natty for its own sake," Charles says moodily, taking his mug and getting on with it.

Monty makes it home first, because he's at the office when he's at the office and he leaves when it gets boring. Charles, naturally, does not see it that way, and by the time he arrives, Monty has progressed from being around, to waiting for him, to lying in wait. He can't stop fucking thinking about Charles going about his whole day smelling like him. There's no fucking telling with Charles; it's just as likely he's been walking around thinking, "Gosh, something smells lovely, I wonder what it is."

Monty's cologne isn't subtle. It was the fashion almost ten years ago and is thus behind the times, but when you do that with fragrance, it's called your signature. The people who know anything about anything are going to know, going to smell Monty and turn around and see Charles, and Monty's cock hasn't been soft for fifteen minutes at a stretch since this morning thinking about it. He's been hiding in his office out of self-preservation, or he would have fucked Charles twice already.

By the time he hears the key turn in the lock of their front door, he's almost at the point of chewing the furniture. He stands up, going to welcome Charlie into their home. And by "welcome", he means "accost", and by "into their home" he means "until he's good and done with him."

Charles has a bit of a hangdog expression when he sees Monty. "Hello," he says. "Look, I-I kn-know it's not usually my w-ay of doing things, but we should talk now."

"Yes, talk," Monty says, trying not to lick his lips and give the game away. He quickly shuts the door and bolts it. "Love a bit of talking, me."

"I'm sorry, Monty," Charles says, looking frustrated and upset as he takes off his overcoat. "Only I- I really had no idea you were so concerned about my borrowing your cologne-"

"Concerned," Monty says seriously, accepting the coat. Charles takes another step into the flat, and Monty opens his hand and lets the coat drop to the floor without another glance.

"And I never would have, but-" Charles says, undoing his tie, which Monty also accepts and then tosses over his shoulder, creeping along behind Charles with his little grabby paws outstretched- "Oh, I don't know. I don't understand what's happened-"

Charles has stopped, standing just behind the sofa and looking into the rest of the flat. Monty rubs his fingertips together for good luck and reaches around Charles, licking his lips to his heart's content now that he can't be seen.

"But you know I just want to make it right," Charles says. "I only want you to be happy."

"You'll think of something, Charlie boy," Monty says, and then he squeezes the clips on either end of the front of Charles's braces, separating them from his trousers. Because Charles never takes his clothes to the tailor even when Monty is paying, his trousers slide off his hips, leaving him in his briefs and at Monty's mercy.

Charles gasps in shock and tries to cover his dignity, but Monty is faster, his palms over the backs of Charles's hands, using his grip to pull Charles to him. It takes about two seconds for Charles to sigh and melt back into him, so relieved and more than ready for whatever is happening here.

"Fuck, Charlie, do you know what you've been doing to me all day?" Monty says, his face in Charles's neck, where he can still smell the last of the base notes, the lingering scent of oak and moss. "It's as good as if I made you wear it, so everybody would know."

Charles groans. "Oh," he breathes. "Oh, I didn't even think about that."

Monty snorts. "I couldn't think about a bloody thing else." He lets one of Charlie's hands go so he can slip his hand into his pants and stroke him. He loves that it's big, loves that it doesn't feel anything like his own, loves how Charles can't hide a single thing about himself or his desperation once Monty lays so much as a finger on him. Charles moans, pushing into Monty's hand, the noises he's making so incredibly intoxicating that Monty's just going to keep torturing him, just drawing them out until his thirst is slaked, which is never.

"You're not convincing me to regret wearing it," Charles says.

Monty chuckles, low and honeyed. "I might make you wear it whenever I want." He takes his hand away, just so he can have time for a few coherent thoughts, even though Charles protests. "Now, my fantasy had revolved around fucking you right here-"

"Hm," Charles says, turning to face him, his hands on Monty's hips.

"Exactly," Monty says. Bending someone over the nearest piece of furniture is a classic for a reason. However, this sofa, while providing symmetry for the room and establishing a division between the entry and the living space, is a little too high even for Charles to get bent over, with a ridge of wood along the top that seems to find every place it shouldn't go. They've certainly managed it before, but they can do so much better.

Charles has just had an idea; this time Monty can tell because he's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and looking at some vague point near Monty's chin.

"Yes, Charlie, tell me what's on your perverted little mind," Monty says eagerly. "I need genius-level depravity."

Charles rolls his eyes, but it's affectionate. "Well. What sounds absolutely perfect right now is the-" and he puts one hand around the opposite wrist.

Monty drops his head back and moans. "Come along, man, there's no time," he says, pushing Charles towards the bedroom.

It's one of those times where just stripping like your clothes are on fire is more important than touching, and Charles nearly dives for the bed, throwing back the duvet and laying himself out like a good boy. Monty is confident he pretty much knows the general area of what he's looking for; luck is with him and he finds it on the third try.

Monty does not consider liberating items from MI5's surplus of odd items that are not very good at what they were made for to be a crime; apart from the "discreet" product that Fleming does a side line in that is definitely made on MI5 property with MI5 supplies in an MI5 bucket, Charles does. Monty is so horribly in love that he submitted himself to the ignominy of letting Charles have a conversation with Ivor, his actual brother, about sex, and unfortunately, the result was Charles's favorite thing in the world, a pair of buttery soft leather cuffs. They make Monty jealous that he's not getting to wear them, even though the only personal interest Monty has in restraints is seeing how fast he can slip them.

"Monty," Charles says, his voice smaller than normal, softer, like he's going to be chastised for something. Monty bites his lip; that's just what Charles sounds like when he wants to give everything up to Monty, let Monty make all the decisions and use him however he wants. It lines up so well with what Monty is craving, the ability to complete the circuit, make good on Charles's accidental promise, just treat Charlie like his property, because that's exactly what he is.

Fuck, tonight is going to be so good, provided that Monty doesn't lose focus and just come all over Charles the instant he's in range.

"Yes, darling?" Monty says, over his shoulder.

"Do you want me to fight back?" Charles says, because he's a perfect creation. For Charles, such a thing is surprisingly unimportant; what does it matter the form as long as whatever he's doing is what Monty wants? Monty puts much more stock in it, loves that Charles will just do it without so much as tying himself into knots about it, simply because it gives Monty such a thrill.

"No," Monty says, feeling the thrill of power from being able to answer the question. "But, you know. If you were maybe a little worried, or scared, or hesitant, I wouldn't mind if you expressed that."

Even despite his state of mind, Charles manages to give Monty a look that expresses his opinion on the function of the words "if" and "wouldn't mind" in that sentence. "Alright," Charles says.

"You are such a good boy, Charles my darling, and I adore you," Monty says, walking back over with the cuffs swinging from one hand. "Please do remember that."

He stops level with Charles's face, taking his chin in his hand. Charlie is so openly hungry, so desperate; his gaze flickers down to Monty's cock for just a moment, then back up, giving him such an entreating look.

"Don't tempt me," Monty says, because it would be so easy, a couple of inches and he could have his cock straight down Charles's perfect throat. His lips are so soft, so full, just where his cock really should be, and Charles would shut his eyes and just start sucking, treating him with such care until he didn't, until his desire took over and he was just trying to get everything he could, as much of Monty as humanly possible. The problem is that while Monty would really enjoy letting him do that, it's just not in the plan. That's not how all this ends.

Well. It might end that way, because Monty really does like coming on his face, mostly because Charlie gets so indignant about it, squawking about how it's all in his beard and sticky and itchy when it dries. That part is delightful. Put a pin in that.

Monty climbs on top of him, sitting in the basket of his hips, letting Charles's cock grind against his ass, making Charles whimper. Monty rocks against him a few more times just to tease him; another time he's going to tie Charles down like this and take his lovely, thick cock to the root over and over, but right now, it doesn't match his plan.

"Give me your wrists," Monty says, and Charles holds them out immediately, dutiful as ever. Monty straps them on and attaches them to the bed, loving the sight of his handsome Charles at his mercy. He laughs to himself, and Charles frowns. "Oh, Charlie, you have made a mistake."

"Wh-what mistake could I have made?" Charles asks, looking worried. He can take a threat. He doesn't like a word like that.

Monty grins, climbing off Charles and repositioning the two of them, kneeling between Charles's legs. "Trusting me when you had every opportunity to run." Charles seems uncertain what to do with this statement, but then Monty starts kissing and sucking his neck, all the best spots that make him sigh, let his head fall to the side so Monty can give him more.

Monty tries to get another good whiff of cologne, but he frowns. "We seem to have a problem, Charles."

"Oh no," Charles says. "Whatever it is, please let me fix it, I can make it better-"

"That remains to be seen," Monty says, turning away Charles can't see him grinning like a madman over additional opportunities to fuck with his head. "The issue is that I can't smell my scent on you anymore. You used it all up before you came home to me."

"I'm sorry, Monty, maybe I-" Charles says, but he doesn't have anything to finish the statement. It doesn't matter, because Monty takes him by the hair and holds him still, licking from just under the hinge of his jaw and up, around the shell of his ear. Charles makes a series of noises Monty has never heard him make before, something fluttery and unbelievably turned on.

"Oh, I found something that Charlie likes," Monty says, kissing his temple and grinning. He presses his face into the crook of Charles's neck again; now he's starting to smell like sweat, but in the good way. "Now I've got ideas."

"Just tell me what to do to make you happy," Charles says, and Monty feels a little bad for him, what might lead him to say things like that.

"Charlie boy, you shouldn't worry so much," Monty says. "All you have to do to make me happy is keep your legs spread. If the cologne is out of contention, then I really need to evaluate the olfactory experience of the entire Charlie."

"I'm not sure what-"

And then Monty puts his whole face into Charles's armpit, breathing him in.

"Monty!" Charles yelps, trying to squirm away.

Monty wrestles Charles back down. It's not all that labor intensive; Monty just puts an arm over his chest and grinds their hips together until Charles gives in seconds later.

"You talk very prettily about how much you want to serve me and make me happy," Monty says disapprovingly. "Then I go off and do something a little bit weird and dirty, and you suddenly balk on me."

"No, no, Monty, it isn't like that," Charles says, looking pitiful. "I was only startled, please don't stop."

"You know, I really should stop," Monty says. He leans closer, despite the fact that they're only maybe seven inches apart to start with. "I don't know that you appreciate it."

Charles would just rush to say that he does appreciate it, but Monty can see him thinking fast, looking something that will really get Monty going, push through it instead. Charles does have a very sexy brain. It is one of Monty's favorite of his sexiest parts.

Charles settles into the bed, giving in; his hands are brushing the headboard already, so he wraps his fingers around the nearest slats. "What would that matter? I'm your property. I appreciate anything you give me, just because it's from you."

Monty groans, kissing Charles fervently. "God, Charlie, you are magnificent." He kisses Charles again, unable to help himself, Charles meeting him just as hungrily, and then he pulls away. "Now, back to business."

Charles is less surprised this time, but he still does give a little wiggle when Monty starts smelling him again. It doesn't smell like cologne, certainly, but it doesn't smell bad at all. Charles is hairy in general, and the hair under his arms is thick and coarse, trapping the scent of him, obviously musky but not at all sour, overlaid with the fresh smell of brand new sweat. Monty moans in satisfaction, just enjoying himself, the microcosm of Charlie conveyed through his scent.

He switches to the other side just to verify his findings, and it's just as good over there. Monty pulls back and rubs his face against Charles's chest hair; he finds Charles arousing, obviously, but right now he's so turned on by the mere presence of the man that he's going to lose his mind. He doesn't try to stop himself, kissing and sucking a line down Charles's stomach and finally stopping at his abdomen. Monty looks up, and Charles looks completely dazed, like he has no idea what's going on. His fingers have slipped off of the headboard, but he looks like he has no recollection of how to move. He's just staring at Monty with soft, glassy eyes, like he's completely overwhelmed by being wanted so much.

"Fuck, Charlie," Monty groans, putting his face into the crease of Charles's thigh and breathing in. It's not enough, not by far, and he moves in immediately, his nose in the wiry curls around the base of his cock. Charles's scent is the strongest here, human and intense and overwhelming, and Monty feels like growling, like snuffling in it like a truffle hog, searching him out like a bloodhound. Monty cannot and will not stop himself for another instant. He takes Charles's cock into his mouth, and Charles cries out, sounding devastated. Monty could not be more pleased; the more Charles struggles, the better. He's going to make Charles take every last thing he has to give.

"Monty," Charles pants, sounding overwhelmed. "What on earth has gotten into you? You're behaving like an animal."

Monty pauses for a moment, thinking. He pulls off, looking up at Charles's face. "Are you into it?"

"Well," Charles says, his voice going high.

Monty drums his fingers on Charles's hip and tries to translate that from the Classic Cholmondeley. "You are into it, but it's bothering you a little," he says, and Charles shrugs sheepishly. "You wouldn't get off on acting animalistic at all." Charles shakes his head fervently. Monty grins, nipping Charles's thigh. "But you walked right into a tiger's den and offered yourself as a snack, and now you don't know what to do about how much you like it."

Charles just whines and puts his head back on the pillow.

"Don't worry about it, my tasty little morsel," Monty says, just to really mess with him. He reaches up under Charles and grabs his ass, the only thing on him that's really squeezable enough to be satisfying. "You already belonged to me. You can't stop me from having you however I want anyway."

Charles moans, and Monty just has to suck him off for a little while longer, just isn't satisfied. He growls in satisfaction, pinning Charles to the bed while he sucks, because if there's ever been a time for the silly, theatrical, utterly possessive nonsense he's wanted to do, it's now. Charles is making the most amazing little noises, begging and whimpering, just scraps of sound that go straight to Monty's cock. He's going to end up going off before Charles does. Charlie is a good boy with impressive patience that Monty loves to test as much as possible. Monty is a menace who doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want.

Monty lifts his head, shoving Charles's legs apart, and Charles just lays there panting, waiting for it, giving in. He clearly needs to, wants to, absolutely should get fucked, and obviously Monty's going to. What he needs to do is get the lube, slick them both up, and go for it.

He doesn't really want to. It sounds boring.

He sucks his thumb into his mouth, getting it nice and wet before pressing it against Charles's hole. Charles sighs, not upset or worried, not yet; Monty's not going to fuck him dry, clearly, no fun for anybody, so what's there to worry about? He moves his thumb so he can spit onto his target instead, make it a little easier to press inside. Charles doesn't mind at all when Monty starts rocking his thumb in and out; they're going to need a lot more spit, though.

"Mmm," Monty says, and Charles stops in his tracks.

"Monty," Charles says.

"What?" Monty says innocently, bending down to lick and suck at his balls, which is an excellent way to shut anybody up, as long as they've got some.

"Monty, you can't be serious," Charles says. "I- I haven't even- not so much as a damp cloth-"

"Tigers don't wash gazelles after they catch them, Charlie boy," Monty says, sliding his thumb out and licking his lips. "They just tear them open and feast."

Charles stares in horror as Monty comes at him, knowing there is no stopping him. "Yes but there's a very big difference between a wild carnivore eating fresh raw meat and a human man eating-" and Charles's breath catches in his throat at the feeling of Monty's tongue in the most blasphemous possible place he could put it. He'd protest, certainly he would, but when Monty starts licking him, wet and hot and so incredibly wrong that it makes Charles's entire body shiver, he completely forgets what he was going to say, loses any ability to say it. All he can do is try to remember how to breathe, stare at the ceiling and try not to burst into flames.

He hears Monty laugh, but it sounds distant, unimportant in context. Charles is busy, to be honest, because it feels like this must be more work for him than it is for Monty. Monty keeps making these noises, absolutely horrid, lurid, lewd wet sounds, noises of pleasure, and Charles keens when he finally takes pity and pushes a couple of fingers inside him.

"Monty," Charles says brokenly, not having anything else to provide. "Monty, Monty-"

Monty laughs again, this time loud and full and triumphant, and Charles is just too turned on to bother being ashamed of how it makes his cock leak. Monty's already ruined him, turned him into a piece of prey; at this point, what could possibly be the difference?

"You're always easy for me, aren't you, Charlie?" Monty says.

"Whatever you say, Monty," Charles says, in bafflement, self-preservation, and the desperate, untenable need for Monty to please not ever stop. "You're always correct about everything and I'll do whatever you like."

Monty snorts. "Who knew all you needed to behave was my tongue up your-"

"Don't say it," Charles says.

"Oh, if you can still protest, I didn't do it for long enough," Monty says, and he grabs Charles by the thighs and bends him double, making he cry out in alarm. The position is worse, in every possible respect; Monty's pushed him up until he's in a C shape, basically, and the strain on his back and bound wrists is starting to hurt. What's worse, he can very clearly see what Monty is doing, going after Charles like nothing matters, like he'd shove his face anywhere so long as it made Charles fall to pieces for him. Charles does not want to watch him doing this, but he can't look away from it, not when Monty looks so incredibly good, not when he's making Charles feel things he's never felt before.

He knows what's happening; Monty's going to keep him right here on the edge until he gives in, and Charles is simply not man enough to resist him. He's so turned around and it feels so good, he doesn't know what to do with himself other than just fall to pieces, so he just forces himself to relax, just lets Monty to fuck him on his tongue and fingers until he has no idea how he hasn't come yet, other than that Monty never told him he could.

"Charlie," Monty sighs, like it's all he can say, all that matters, the sweetest word ever created. He pulls back, grabbing blindly for the bottle that more or less lives on the nightstand and spreading lube on his cock before dropping it somewhere off the side of the bed. He pushes in just like that, and Charles moans, just taking it, absolutely no complaint. Monty groans, grabbing onto Charles tighter and thrusting in faster. There's not much going on in his head, but why should there be? Charlie is hot and tight and just laying back and taking it, taking anything Monty gives him, exactly how it should be, because Monty is the tiger and Charlie is little more than a little rabbit, a morsel for Monty to dig his claws into and bite, only so much better because Charlie lets him do it over and over and over again, craves nothing in the world more than ending up just like this, prey for Monty's predator, just scraps of a man ripped apart for Monty's pleasure.

"Monty, please," Charlie sobs.

Monty laughs, low in his throat. "What is it?" he says, in a sinister, sing-song voice.

"Please let me come," Charlie begs. "Please, please, Monty-"

Monty's hips stutter. He hadn't even known he was holding Charlie back; that's not always a thing they're doing. Hearing Charlie begging like that almost makes him go off right there.

"Poor little Charlie," Monty says, fucking him faster. "I ought not to. You're far too good to waste. A smart man would leave you like this and save you for later."

"Monty, no, please," Charlie says, distraught. "Monty, don't, I'll perish, please, I'll do anything you want, just don't make me go through that."

"It's such a shame that you look so good when you're scared," Monty says, and Charlie looks like he's going to the gallows. He's going to break out of those cuffs and punch Monty if he kisses him on the lips, so he just puts his hand on Charles's sweet face. "Talk later. Still starving. You can come when I claim you."

"I'm so confused," Charles says under his breath, which is all he gets out before Monty puts his knees over his shoulders and keeps going, his hand on Charlie's cock. Charlie can't keep quiet, panting and begging, and Monty savors all of it. He's so close, very nearly there, just a little more-

"Monty," Charles says suddenly, urgently. "Monty, I can't- I- ah!"

He feels Charlie start coming around him; Charlie is never such a bad boy, never ever does anything so naughty, would go to any lengths not to disobey. It feels so fucking good, the sensation and the fact that Monty made him do that, Monty made him break a rule- even if Charlie decided on it himself for whatever reason. Monty goes off immediately, just empties himself into Charlie with a moan. He keeps it together for another four or five seconds, then he sort of loses his coordination. Charles's legs slide off his shoulders, and he tips forwards, landing mostly on top of the poor man.

"Monty, I'm sor-" Charles gets out, before Monty puts a hand over his mouth.

"If you were going to say 'sore', I'll bet you are, and I have not a scrap of remorse," Monty says. "If you were going to say 'sorry', don't you dare." He sighs. "That was incredible. You'll worry yourself sick if you go around doing it all the time, but this one you can have for free, with my highest compliments."

"Oh, alright," Charles says, looking down at Monty as he starts snuggling up, doubtlessly about to try and fall asleep on Charles's chest. "Just a moment," he says gently, and he reaches out to undo his other cuff.

"What the deuce?" Monty says, more alert than Charles expected.

Charles freezes, one hand notably free. He looks up at it. "I can explain."

"Then by all means," Monty says.

Charles sits there a moment, considering. "I am very slender." There's a pause. "That was the whole explanation. It's very easy for me to slip restraints like this, especially since my thumb stretches over so far."

Monty laughs, partly at the situation and partly at Charlie demonstrating, which involves making a very rude hand gesture that clearly indicates that they need to hang around with more lesbians. "Charles, you really are glorious."

"Am I?" Charles says, surprised, reaching up tentatively and undoing the cuff when Monty doesn't stop him.

"You don't think it's hotter that you stayed put when you could have gotten up?" Monty says.

"Oh," Charles says, stretching. "I didn't think of it that way." Monty has indeed lay his head on Charles's chest, and Charles puts his arms around him, trying to keep quiet for the sake of the peace around them.

"Go ahead," Monty says. "I can feel you thinking."

"Monty, where did all that come from?" Charles asks, baffled.

"I don't know," Monty says. "It was thrilling, though, don't you think?"

Charles considers the question seriously, a thing that makes Monty nervous, but anything serious makes Monty nervous. "I think I was in quite a favorable mood to be afraid and discomfited. If I hadn't been, I would have hated it."

Monty sighs in relief. "Well, I didn't think you were a sad little turtle when you asked to be handcuffed."

Charles looks at him in confusion. "A sad little turtle?"

"Oh, you know," Monty says. "When you get home, and you're very tired and slumped, and all you really want is a cup of tea and a bath and then for me to hold you all night and say nothing?"

"I suppose I am a sad little turtle sometimes," Charles muses.

"Not today, though," Monty says. "Whatever this was, it was very sexy. Gazelle, maybe."

"I was picturing myself more as perhaps a zookeeper who'd made a terrible mistake," Charles says.

"Ooh, I like that," Monty says, snuggling closer. "Got a little too close to his charge whom he thought was nice and tame?"

"The lack of civility and consideration is what really clinched it for me," Charles says. "It felt very personally motivated versus the wanton destruction caused by the need for survival." He pauses. "Also it's lions that eat gazelles, I believe."

"I love your big brain," Monty says with a contented sigh. "You're so good at finding the hottest parts and boiling them down."

Charles looks quietly pleased at the praise, and they lapse into silence for a while.

"Why do you wear women's perfume?" Charles asks, quite out of nowhere.

"I beg your pardon?" Monty says.

Charles frowns. "It's the rectangular bottle in the bathroom? With the greenish liquid?"

"Yes," Monty says slowly.

"But it says Pour Une Femme on it," Charles says.

"Oh, it does, doesn't it," Monty says, realization striking him. He moves, laying his head on Charles's arm so he can look him in the face. "That is because, my beloved Charlie, it is not merely a bottle of cologne. It is a tragic love story."

"Is it?" Charles says, interested.

"Once upon a time, a parfumeur fell in love with a milliner, who became his muse and his business partner, he making the perfumes and she designing the bottles," Monty says. "And as a sign of his love for her, he made a cologne that included both their favorite scents, lavender and vanilla, and it was very romantic, and the cologne, Pour Un Homme de Caron, was a massive hit."

"Oh, Monty, that's lovely," Charles says.

"Well, if I only tell you that part, it's lovely," Monty says. "Only, he made the cologne just after he'd married someone else, and honestly, I don't even know if Ernie and Félicie ever figured out if they were in love with each other or not, because nobody else did. They used to turn up for Mother's parties, and it drove her insane, especially when they started bringing Félicie's husband, because it really did seem like they brought him sometimes, you know?"

Monty shakes his head. "And I don't know if you've noticed, but there is a war on, and thankfully, said gentleman was one of the lucky ones in '38." He doesn't explain and doesn't have to. "And then he was unlucky in '41 and dropped dead, after all that trouble. Félicie is still in Paris, and I cannot believe the reputation the fucking Nazis get for their administrative skills, that she's writing Pour Une Femme on the bottles now and suddenly it's a fine upstanding product approved by der Uberarsch."

Charles doesn't say anything. He just gathers Monty up into his arms and holds him tight. Charles's idea of how to do this is grabbing Monty like he's a duffel bag and manhandling him over, but Monty's gotten this treatment enough times to find it comforting. It's actually quite nice, provided he can sort of rearrange their limbs on the fly.

"You really are not a very convincing animal, Monty, apart from when you're having a good time scaring poor defenseless me," Charles tells him, and Monty huffs, amused. "You are so human. You love Ernie and Félicie and everybody who's in danger. One whiff of cologne is enough to make you spend all day making plans, but one look at the bottle is enough to make you furious enough to fight the Reich by yourself."

Monty's heart stops in his chest. He has no response, nothing to say to being opened up and seen by Charlie of all people. And yet, it's just a thing Charlie does sometimes, as if Monty accidentally hit some switch that makes him transparent for a while. Probably it is Monty's own fault. Sometimes it is everything he needs.

"I suppose you will just have to be the animal then, Charles," Monty says. "I wouldn't say that to most people, but I feel you'll take it in the spirit intended."

"I would much rather be an animal," Charles says, nodding. "Absolutely not in bed, if I have to do such-" He shudders. "Things."

"Aw, give us a smooch," Monty says, and he leans in, making kissy lips.

"No!" Charles says, putting his hands on Monty's chest, trying to push him away, but Monty hugs him tighter. "Unhand me! I shall scream!"

"It's not so bad," Monty says. "After all, it is your-"

Charles puts his hand directly over Monty's face. "Help!" he yelps, in a voice that is unlikely to bring anybody who's any further than their kitchen. "Oh, help me!"

Monty cackles, turning him loose and falling onto his back. "Your face!"

"You get up," Charles says, pointing at the en suite. "Do not come back here until you've rinsed your mouth with water, twice, used some kind of dentrifice, and washed your hands up to the wrists." He looks shifty for a moment. "And also thoroughly washed other parts of you that I might need to put my mouth on. Just in case."

"Does his Highness wish to request anything else?" Monty says, a hand to his chest in fake shock, even though he's grinning.

"Yes," Charles says, crossing his arms. "Afterwards, I want you to go and wash your mouth out with a shot of whisky, and while you're there, make me an old fashioned."

Monty looks him up and down. "I really like where this is going."

"The bathroom, Monty," Charles says, when Monty starts making for the drinks cabinet.

"Sorry, I just got a little excited when I started hearing about whisky," Monty says, veering back on course.

Charles rolls his eyes at the door after it closes behind Monty, getting up to find his dressing gown. Or he tries, anyway; on the whole, Charles is quite a young man, certainly younger than Monty, but in this moment, his lower back absolutely does not agree.

He's going to make Monty bring him his old fashioned in the bath. In any other circumstance, it'd be quite wasteful to put on cologne before he got in, but sometimes, it's a necessity.