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Orpheus was obsessive. Norton knew this, accepted it, and moved on— his bottom line was a paycheck. The life-changing amount of money he was to receive from this job was almost inconceivable: loose morals and an empty pocketbook would have anyone in his boots agreeing to the eccentricities of the man. Largely, he did not ask questions whenever he was given jobs to do by him, not even as they began to set him more on edge, and more and more people were invited to this conspiracy.
For the context of this moment, Frederick Kreiburg was the only one relevant. Rich, European, handsome, and haughty: the antithesis of Norton entirely. Meeting someone like Kreiburg should have never been possible, and he could not help but wonder what a rich guy was doing in a place like this. Yet, the composer never asked any questions about his past, and Norton was not really interested in hearing whatever pretty boy’s reason was for getting wrapped up in this world. He hardly knows what he does for Orpheus behind the scenes, but their rapport seemed friendlier than someone who is his employer.
No, ‘friendly’ is a misguiding word. Friendly implies there is cordial conversation between the pair, but really, Kreiburg seems obsessed with getting on his nerves. How much of the blame can fall to Orpheus, though, as Krieburg seems entirely obsessed with pushing everyone’s buttons. Antagonistic at heart, it is a good thing both of them typically choose silence when interacting with one another. Both of them existed in a state of survival mode: don’t ask questions, just nod and swim down headfirst. The concussions on the other side are not so bad when you do.
The sun was peaking just over the horizon and Norton forgot he had to meet up with Orpheus. Shitty piece of news, considering his lapse in memory has him wasting away useful sleeping hours reading and exploring the manor. Groggily pulling on his boots, a headache was threatening to rear its ugly head as it whispered on the edges of his consciousness. He could deal with a meeting, though. Knowing it was this early, Orpheus was typically toasted enough to not make this last long— only the circularity of the conversation would make it last longer than it needed to. The drugs that Norton was making Orpheus used on himself, as well as for the experiment, even though he was forced to pretend like he was not. It is frustrating to pretend like he is sober for these interactions… smile and nod, Norton.
Cresting the hill a few meters from the manor, a figure was waiting in their typical meeting spot, but the silhouette was not that of Orpheus: the stance was too on guard, and much more lithe than the stockier build of the novelist. “Kreiburg?” Norton said his name in lieu of a greeting, and the composer turned around. Upon closer inspection, it seems as though he had not slept either, though, it was anyone’s guess as to why. “ ‘m supposed to be meeting—”
“Mr. Orpheus, yes, I am aware.” Quick to jump in, there was a tinge of annoyance in his voice, like Norton had come to interrupt a conversation that was not happening. “He is preoccupied at the moment, and he has tasked us with working together this morning.”
“Preoccupied with what?”
A gloved hand tightened around the cane ever so slightly, but even if Norton did not pick up on that detail, you would need to be fully blind to miss the exhaustion in his eyes at the mere question. He knows it was not at him as, for once, he was not quick to accost him for asking ‘stupid questions’. Instead, he turns and begins guiding Norton to their destination. “He refused to elaborate, but gave me instructions.” He handed a folded paper to the prospector. “Well. I suppose they are our instructions now.”
The paper was inspected for a moment, damage to the scarred side of his eye makes it harder to read, and a grunt left his mouth, shoving the paper back into Kreiburg’s fingers. “Looks like the writings of a crazy person.”
Kreiburg’s version of a laugh, which seemed to just be a noise and an exhale of air from his nose, was made at Norton’s comment, the paper pressed back into his coat. “Good, you know it is not a forgery, and from the man himself.”
“What does he even want us to do?”
“I know what he wants us to do.”
Norton’s annoyed huff turned into a cough. “Quit playin’ games, piano man.”
Silence sat with them both for a moment, Frederick opening the door for them both to another entrance to the basement, waiting for it to click shut before speaking. “We are to test a new system that Mr. Orpheus has put into place, then report the growth of the plants from 2 weeks ago, and then divide the Hydra into 4 different vials.”
“Next time just say that.”
There was a comment on the tip of Kreiburg’s tongue, another snide remark, but before he allowed that to happen, Norton pulled on the second door to exit the sterile hallway. Pulled, but not opened, as the door seemed to have changed: the keychain dangling on his belt loop seems to have been rendered obsolete overnight, other than to signal anyone in a 10 foot radius of his impending arrival.
“ ‘s locked, Kreiburg.”
“I know.”
Of course he was wearing that haughty, know-it-all expression. Norton scoffed, turning on his heel and crossing his arms. His back landed on the door, leaning against it. He wanted to punch that smug expression off of his face so damn bad. What was even better is Norton could feel that he was getting on Kreiburg’s nerves too. “So, ya just love speakin’ in riddles now, eh?”
“I told you he wanted us to test a new security system.”
“Ya didn’t say what kind of system.”
“I am fairly certain I did.”
This absolute ass. Norton pushed himself off of the door and took a step towards Kreiburg. Being in such an enclosed space, he easily noticed the way that he tenses— a hand squeezing around the handle of the cane as if he would need to swing it at the prospector in self defense. A self satisfied smile curls onto his face, knowing that he has power over the lithe, nimble composer. He had no desire for any actual harm to him: Kreiburg was just as much of a victim of the Oletus Manor and its whims as Norton was. They should be standing together.
It was a rare thought for a man who isolates himself to the point of murder, but he looks around at the door, and finally is able to inspect the wires and camera with a screen in front of them. Standing next to Kreiburg, he scoffs at the amount of money that was absolutely poured into all this insanity. “Orpheus is so fucking paranoid… Insane bastard.”
“Be… careful.” A soft warning came from the other, pale eyes drawing up and down his figure, a glove pointing to the camera. Ah. The baron is always watching. He steps closer to it, peering right into the lens.
“I’d say that to his fucking face, too!”
Soft laughs came from Kreiburg, surprising Norton a bit— perhaps he misjudged the composer, thinking he was too uptight for humour. Just as he was about to say something, the small monitor powered on: the UI of the security system was familiar, much like the colors of the manipulators, and other systems that Orpheus has in place. In bold text, the pair peered at two circles on the screen: please assume the position.
At first, the two red ovals that appeared were confusing, but Frederick must have gotten instructions from the Baron, as he could see him move so his face fit inside of the green oval. There was one for Norton as well, a few inches higher than where Kreiburg’s was.
“This is the security system?” Norton idly waited as the green changed to yellow, a small “clear!” appeared. Another outline appeared, this time, Norton’s outline held up two fingers with his thumb out. Matching it easily, he held the pose. “I dunno how effective this is gonna be.”
"I believe he is just testing it, to see if it works.”
“I see.”
He followed the prompts until “stage one: complete” appeared on screen. Norton shifted side to side, going for the door. A hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him back. Kreiburg frowned, not at him, but the screen. The stage two prompt appeared and—
“Wait, the fuck…”
In just a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder as, against his better judgement, Norton was being pushed to his knees. Perhaps it was just the shock of a clear outline of the pair fornicating that made him so pliable, or perhaps the fact that Kreiburg was going along with it without hesitation. The sound of a belt buckle made him shiver, and, instead of looking at the screen, Norton looked up at Kreiburg. He could feel the pinch in his face with how hard Kreiburg was frowning. They made eye contact and, before Frederick could do anything more, a wave of understanding passed through both of them: don’t ask questions.
Unzipping his trousers, Frederick placed his hand around his still soft cock, giving it a few idle strokes. Norton looked down, then back up at Frederick— a soft sigh escaped him as he stared up at the man. He really was gorgeous… It was positively unfair. His pupils were dilating in anticipation, and he made the executive decision to ignore the reason for the situation: Norton would have ended up on his knees for Frederick one way or another— if not for head, then, for worship.
The head of his cock slipped past Norton’s lips, skillfully wrapping around it and swallowing Frederick’s dick. Before he could do more, his heavy work gloves were pulled off and dropped to the ground. A hazy need appeared in his mind that he desperately yearned to have Frederick’s milky thighs bruised with his fingertips. He could feel Frederick growing harder in his mouth, with soft little breaths to match the way that Norton was moving his mouth. The prospectors jagged nails dug into his legs, creating half moon indents on his skin and a loud moan followed from Frederick. Much like Norton, Frederick gloves softly fluttered to the floor, his own hand tangled in Norton’s hair. He looked up at his partner, and… God, how pretty he was when his face was dripping with desire. The tips of Frederick’s ears flushed first, the red color stark against the pale of his skin and the silver of his piercings, paired with a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. He needed to see more, was his thought, taking Frederick all the way, hitting the back of his throat.
“Oh… God… Campbell.” His hand tightened in his hair, Norton moaned at the hair pulling. That made him involuntarily hit the back of the prospector’s throat again, Frederick’s dick now hard and heavy on Norton’s tongue. His mind began wandering, curious about how many more noises could he have Frederick create. Perhaps Norton was the composer here— his partner was his instrument of pretty music, and he was getting very good at making him sing. His lips tightened around him, his hand sliding up the curve of Frederick’s ass, now digging his nails into the soft skin there. His reaction was immediate and beautiful: his eyes fluttered open for a moment, before they closed once again, removing that sense so he could drown further in the pleasure he was being given. “You are really good with your… mouth… do you know that?”
Praise was just as good as any other hedonistic vice, his worries turning to a dull hum rather than a constant pain. His lungs were aching, but Norton must hold his ground, pushing through any pain. Despite Frederick’s moans interesting his neglected dick, if he thought about touching himself a moment longer, he may finish with even a simple brush against it. The moans were growing louder, and Norton took a leap of faith, pulling off of his cock and replacing it with his hand with jagged, rough motions as his mouth bit down on the inside of those pale thighs.
Frederick’s shoulders relaxed in a way that Norton has not seen that often— only once while sharing a drink in the dead of night: it seems as though both of them find comfort in the dark. Did they both not sleep before this job? The thought pulled a low chuckle from the back of his throat, a gasp from Frederick in reaction. “What?”
He hummed, giving small kitten licks to his head, Norton shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking ‘bout how nice it would feel to fuck you.” The man committed to his cock again, taking him deep into his mouth, but before he could continue, Frederick cupped his face in such a way that they were forced to make eye contact again. Spit was dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, as Norton began practically salivating at Frederick taking control— slow, calculated movement to fuck his mouth.
“How interesting you say that…” Frederick’s accent curled around his words as his slim hips made deliberate thrusts into his mouth, panting through his words as Norton pleasured the man. “I was thinking about how good you could make me feel if you rode me…” As if Freederick was imagining it now, the movements grew slightly more erratic, and, well… Norton was a mortal man, who could only control himself so much. One would not even be able to guess that his mouth was stuffed with a cock, not with how loud his own moans grew without even being touched. He could hardly handle the idea of these rough thrusts being inside of Norton instead of in his mouth. Stray hands massaged the bitemark on Frederick’s thighs, pressing a sadistic thumb against the bruise and reveling in the feeling of him squirming, and he could feel the composer leaking in his mouth. The taste was unpleasant, and salty, and yet somehow so sweet it was saccharine.
“You get off on a little pain.” It was not a question, it was an observation. That cheeky smirk slid onto his lips, Norton pulling off of him, for some reason finding a reason to talk some more. That same, unimpressed expression crossed Frederick’s face and it was one that he was used to, though, that withering gaze did not cut as deep when he was badly trying to supress the fuck-outed look he had on his face not seconds prior. Any petty musings that Frederick could have made meant nothing as— actions spoke louder than words— Norton’s hair was harshly pulled by those nimble fingers. Desperate motions followed the second that those lovely hands touched him, a guttural moan followed that was not handsome, but full of animalistic desperation. A smirk, Frederick clearly proving what he wanted, shoving his cock back inside of Norton.
Fleeting touches were made everywhere that Norton could reach as Frederick moaned, using his mouth as he pleased. Idle hands and idle eyes moved, and he finally looked at the screen again: a yellow outline, instructing them to hold the position for longer. A groan. An eye roll. This made Frederick slow down, the pair looking at one another with an eyebrow raise. Frederick slowing down did not mean that Norton wanted to move off of him, but he needed to, for his lungs. A cough and a grunt, and with his eyes only, indicated Frederick to the screen that the composer clearly forgot about.
A soft smile curved onto his lips for reasons unknown to Norton, and he was not going to ask. His own hand began stroking his cock which Norton would absolutely not allow, smacking him away and replacing it with his own. A soft gasp paired with his words. “You know… he is probably watching, right?”
It was a thought that had not even crossed Norton’s mind, and, now that it was there, he could not get the idea of the shine from that watchful gaze out of his head. It made his head buzz, as if his cock was not hard enough already. In a decisive moment, his tongue dragged slowly on the underside of Frederick’s dick, staring at the screen as he did— Frederick’s pretty moans made such good background noise. “We can give him a show, then.”
“So… you like that. Mm… open your mouth back up, Campbell, I am going to finish.” It was not a question, but a command. Frederick grabbed his face and desperately thrusted into Norton’s mouth, those soft sounds turned into guttural moans as the composer used his mouth as simply a vessel for his own pleasure. That was not a problem for Norton, his watery eyes closed as he kept his wits about himself. Ignoring the pain in his lungs, ignoring his cock pressing against his trousers, and trying his damn best to only think about Frederick’s eyes on him, or else he would not be able to control what he does next.
That damn hand tightened in his hair, forcing a deep moan out of him, and it was all over for Frederick. It gave him a sickening amount of pleasure to see Frederick; stoic, composed Frederick; be reduced to no more than a slave to his own desires. It was not a moan, but a whimper that fell from his lips as he spilled inside of Norton: the prospector did his job and swallowed every last drop. As his partner came down from his high, Norton looked down at the bitemark, and it already grew darker in color.
“Ha. Enjoy looking at that, Kreiburg.” He did not dare speak this thought out loud.
Removing his cock from his mouth, Frederick put himself back in his pants as Norton wiped the corners of his mouth. What was there even to say? It is not like Norton could talk, continuing to pant to get his already weak lungs back to functional capacity. Frederick, instead, filled the silence. “The security system works.”
Oh. Does it? He turned, and saw the happy text reading “final stage: cleared!”, and, on cue, the heavy lock clicked, opening the door. Norton has no idea how to react.
“We should get to work.” Frederick said, kneeling down and grabbing Norton’s gloves. It was now, for the first time, Norton noticed the patterns that swirled over Frederick’s hands, and, outside of his lust-filled haze, he remembered those same markings on his thighs too. Beautiful. A moment of weakness, Norton reached for his gloves, and gave the composer a kiss on the cheek. A promise for what may come after their job.
“Let’s go, piano man.”