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the-dye-stained-socialite · 16 hours

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A gift fic for @thedeafprophet !!! congrats on finishing college!!! Rating: Mature Word count: 6,462 Ship: The Manager of the Royal Beth/Jamie Awnings Summary: The Manager of the Royal Beth has been feeling rather poorly lately. Jamie Awnings intends to help by forcing him to take a break from his work. Tonight’s meeting had been planned four months in advance. He was a busy man. It had been canceled thrice. He was a busy, and nervous man. As Jamie walked through the sequence of rooms leading to the Manager’s private suite, they found themself debating the likelihood of him canceling again. They would understand, of course, as they by no means wanted to pressure him into doing anything he was uncomfortable with, but they were still hopeful he’d keep their appointment. They both knew how desperately he needed relief from his work, and how Jamie would gladly provide when given the chance.

Most of the rooms were full of filing, presumably information he kept on every person who had ever reserved a room. Some were bursting, some dusty, some barely used. They wondered if all these of these rooms had always been here, or if he simply conjured another when the previous ones overflowed. The near final, and second furthest room, however, differed from the rest. It was akin to a linen closet, but instead of towels, it held a great quantity of quilts. Every color, size, and possible pattern seemed crammed onto a shelf here or there. This visit, they noticed a good quantity missing, and a single new one since their last visit. He could pretend he didn’t care, but this room would suggest otherwise. Still, quilts were not what they were here for.

The question took a moment to process in his mind, as though he was listening to a foreign language. It struck them that he was. They began to repeat themself, hoping to go slower for him, when he said “Oh! Yes, you may.” He didn’t seem to notice their joke, but stepped aside so his visitor could enter.

His personal rooms were sparse, to say the least. Bed, bookshelf, dresser. The only personal touch he apparently allowed himself was a desk and chair, and that was likely permitted for only practical reasons. No wall decorations except a single clock. That same, awful wallpaper, that Jamie’s fingers itched to tear. The Manager chuckled, just briefly, at that. Well, they were glad to know he wasn’t entirely out of it.

Still, Jamie was an actor, and could tell when someone was performing. They would let him continue his act for now, but they intended to help if he would allow. He could put on a façade that he was okay, and Jamie would help it be real. That was their goal tonight. The Manager had helped many, them especially, and they longed to return the favor. Of course, it was more than a simple favor, it was an act of trust and intimacy. Weakness bared openly, to not be rejected, but instead seen, accepted, and tended to. Cared for. Jamie stopped themself before that train of thought derailed into territory neither of them wanted to address.

He relocked his door behind them. Tonight, in this space alone, Jamie would be the one in charge. Their demeanor certainly showed it, confidence evident in everything they did. He was still by the door when they strode over to him with an intensity in their eyes. It took him off guard, and he even took a half-step back. The difference in their height seemed inconsequential as they pinned him with their gaze.

“Are you willing to perform your role tonight?” they asked. Jamie was very close.

He gestured around the room with his free hand. “I had thought it rather obvious?”

Jamie crossed their arms with a huff. “Not all of us are mind-readers.” When they said this, his presence in their mind began to thumb through their thoughts, choosing and plucking images and words to bring to the forefront. Their smile turned to a pout. “We’re not playing by those rules tonight, Mister. If I’m going to direct this scene tonight, I expect you to communicate with your own words and thoughts, not mine . I don’t intend to overstep any boundaries, or push you too far, and I want a clear idea of what I’m doing. Understood?” They leaned back as they spoke, making a point that this show would not go on if he decided to muddle the script.

The Manager considered their words, and they felt his presence recede to nothing more than a faint wisp in their mind. They did not look fully satisfied, and he realized he had, once again, not said anything out loud. “Yes, I believe I understand.”

Their expression brightened once more, and they were leaning back into him. “Now, are you willing to submit to your role tonight? ” they repeated.

There was something about needing to say it out loud that made him hesitate. It was not the act of saying no that brought him doubt, but the act of saying yes. He knew if he said no, Jamie would be understanding, and would not press matters. There was no fear held there. But to admit out loud, that he wanted attention? He wished to be vulnerable? That he thought he was deserving of the privilege of submitting for Jamie, and receiving… receiving what he desired? It was that, which gave him pause. Perhaps this once though, he might be able to indulge himself. The hotel was all taken care of, it was solidly in an off season, everything had been carefully planned and arranged. Just for tonight, it could only cause the most minimal of harm. “Yes, I would like to.” The admission sounded almost strained. “But, ah, nothing sexual tonight. And, I would prefer to keep my drawers on.”

“Thank you for telling me.” His face warmed as they continued. ”In that case, no ‘Jamie’, until this scene is over. Director, Sir, or Mst. Awnings for tonight, yes?”

“Yes, Director. Though, I’m getting on in my years, so you’ll have to forgive me if I forget,” he joked to hide his anxiety. Was this a bout of hedonophobia?

Mst. Awnings hummed. Could they feel his apprehension? They touched a hand to his coat, between the double rows of his brass buttons. “Yes, about that forgetfulness. How will you let your Director know if the show is to end early tonight, before the play is finished? How will you ask for a premature curtain call?”

The Manager was not the most well-versed in theatre terminology, but he understood what they were saying. If things crossed a boundary, if this ‘scene’ needed to come to a sudden end, how would he tell them his want was genuine, and not just protest for the sake of protest? They had discussed this many times before. “Mercy. I will beg for your mercy.”

“Good.” Mst. Awnings turned from him to study the nearby desk. Providing him space for the next question. It did not come right away, however, for they spent a moment studying what lay on the desk.

Charcoal sticks littered the surface. A single stick of red, Surface clay as well. Amongst the mess were multiple sketches. Most were landscapes, except for one so thoroughly smudged it no longer had any distinct features. The drawings they could decipher looked like a place far different from London. Were they of the First City? Was that what was affecting him tonight? Or was it only a symptom? There was only so much they could do, but it was worth it to do even just that.

“Are you begging right now?” came the question at last.

“No,” he said, with confidence.

Mst. Awnings turned back towards him, and nodded, assured that the show could now progress. It made them less tense themself. There was a monumental amount of trust that was being placed in them, and they did not want to squander or break it.To take anyone down into a vulnerable mind-state and hold them there was a privilege. The Manager’s submission was a beautiful thing, and an honor to be entrusted with. He was handing over his power to them, to wield as they chose, and putting enough faith in them that they would not harm him in any way he did not agree to. It was a rare performance, and they intended to take very good care of him tonight.

Jamie moved across the room, and sat on the edge of his bed with an expectant look, setting aside the small bundle. Their supporting actor made no move to follow, only watching with his still-stiff posture. They took a moment to assess his costume. He was fully clothed from toe to tip, as though expecting to be pulled away for work at any moment. Hopefully, that would not happen. The duo had done far too much planning for any unplanned intermissions.

“Come here,” they requested. The scene called for removal of power, and what better way to show than stripping him of his uniform?

He was obedient, but only just. His stage fright was getting to him as he walked over. Everything about him was tense, no fluid and relaxed movements. “Yes, Mst.?”

They were the leading actor of tonight, and it was their job to soothe his nerves. They placed one hand on his hip, and rubbed a small circle into his coat. “You’re doing well. There’s no audience here. A performance for just the two of us. Call it a character-driven scene.”

He breathed, slow and steady. Their voice was soft and calming. Yes, no other witnesses. A matinee for them alone. “Please, remind me what I’m to do next, Director. I seem to have forgotten.”

“You’re to sit down, and change into your proper costume. Which is to say, I want you to remove your shoes.”

Instead of sitting beside them on the bed as intended, the Manager made the painful decision to sit on the floor, and the contact was broken.

“Why are you down there?’

“You asked me to sit,” he said, puzzled. “Have I done something wrong?’

Oh, they hadn’t specified where they had wanted him to sit. Clearly, he was trying to follow their words as best as he could, and only do as explicitly instructed. Jamie filled that knowledge into their mental stage directions. “No, nothing wrong, merely unexpected. Once you’ve taken your boots off, I want you to join me up here on the bed.”

Once again, he did not move. “I might be needed in the rest of the hotel, Mst. Awnings. Perhaps I should keep them on in case I’m called elsewhere?”

They considered his argument, then decided against it. “If your duties are pressing enough that you must be on constant call, perhaps a performance tonight is not a good idea? I should think, however, that whatever emergency would be had can wait a minute or so for you to redress.” His Lead leaned forward, and extended a hand. When he did not flinch or retract, they pressed their ungloved palm to the side of his face. Jamie brushed their fingertips over his beard, delighting in the texture. He seemed unwilling to relax, as if his tension was the only thing holding him together after all this time. He seemed tired. Creases near the corners of his eyes marked his age. Did he choose to look so old? they wondered. They rubbed a thumb near his eyes, and watched those eyes flick over to their hand. The color reminded them of honey, or the Parabolan sun. Had they been this warm amber on the Surface? Were they deeper, darker, back then? A cool, dark brown, instead of his current, warm hazel? Did they still remember the sun? He closed him, and they hoped it wasn’t from embarrassment. Then, little by little, they watched him relax. It was almost imperceptible with how slight and slow it was, but it was there all the same, and Jamie cherished it. They lingered in that moment for the space of a few breaths, and then he moved to remove his shoes.They wished to help, but they knew they had to let him choose to do this one on his own. When Jamie went to take their hand away, his own hand twitched, as though there was something he wanted to do. He said nothing, and the urge had passed. Jamie was not the mind-reader.

As they watched him remove his boots, something caught their eye. The remaining bedchamber wall, which could not be seen until one was inside of his room, was different from the rest. Bare patches, devoid of wallpaper, littered its surface like calico spots. There was evidence suggesting he had tried to put the wallpaper back up, but it hadn’t seemed to stick.

Soon, his boots were off and set neatly aside. With both his cane and a helping hand, the Manager made it back up and onto the bed. The two shuffled and got comfortable, resulting in May half reclining against the headboard and wall, and Jamie, straddling his lap for better vantage. He found himself needing to look away from their intensity.

“You’re doing well,’’ they reassured.

“I have not done much,” he countered. It was not intended to undermine them, just a statement of fact.

“True, but even small actions can speak a lot about a character.” They reached a hand up to his hat. His own hand followed them, placed atop theirs. “Will you allow me?”

He said nothing, but managed a nod. They removed his hat, and set it aside, before returning their hand to his curls. His own hand dropped to their thigh uselessly. Their other hand snuck around his waist, and rested on his lower back, through layers of fabric. Jamie combed through his hair, seeming to delight in the streaks of grey that feathered through his hair. As their hand explored the nape of his neck, they leaned forward against him. Two hands, wrapping around him, their chest pressing against his own, a stage-parody of a hug, but without malice or mockery. How long had it been since someone touched him with such kindness? Taken time out of their day to do nothing but touch and comfort him? Was it because he was as truly unloveable as he thought himself? Or was it his own doing, simply never allowing it?

He decided not to focus on that, instead forcing his mind back to the present. Breathing in, breathing out, grounding himself with the scent of their perfume. They had leaned quite close, so it was easy to redirect on the floral scent surrounding him. Breathing in the smell of almost-roses, and making effort to concentrate on their hands. The hand buried in the mass of curls at his nape twirled and twisted his curls, not painfully. Just gently. He was still refusing to make eye-contact, so he startled slightly when a soft face pressed against the side of his. He imagined his beard was scratchy, but they seemed not to mind. In fact, they began to hum, softly against his ear. Or perhaps they had been humming for a while, and he was only close enough now to notice. They continued like that for some time, petting his hair and occasionally nuzzling him. It was strange, receiving this… attention, but he found himself melting like ice into water within their palms.

That was likely what they were waiting on, for him to become a puddle in their hands. But, he couldn’t complain, it was very nice. When Jamie leaned back and their hands moved to his hands, he was a bit disappointed, but not disinterested. They took one gloved hand first, his non-favoured, and turned it over. They bent over, and placed a kiss on his palm through the leather. Only a single kiss, though. The Gentleman’s gloves fastened at the wrist with a button, which they undid easily, taking their time in pulling them off slowly. When it was removed however, they didn’t let go of his hand immediately. Instead, they worked their thumbs into the muscles of his palm, massaging out aches and pains. It was remarkably effective.

“This is what I do when I’ve been writing for too long. It helps with muscle cramps.”

“It certainly makes a difference.”

Jamie laughed, and moved to his other hand. “I’m not kissing this one, it’s still covered in charcoal isn’t it?”

“I think so, yes…” He seemed almost embarrassed.

They touched this glove as little as possible, undoing the button and pulling it off in a fraction of the time. Once that was off though, Jamie still took time to massage it. As if sensing each minutiae of his aches, they paid extra attention to where there was anything tense or swollen, without him needing to say or request anything. It was nice, feeling his hands loosening back into usability, having their hands bare against his own. He sighed with pleasure.

Jamie found themself distracted by how worn the skin of his hands was, and by how much a simple hand massage was doing to calm him down. It reminded them of when a book was well-loved, how the pages would go from bright and crisp, to soft and velvety on the edge. Perhaps he had been once well-read into softness, but left on a shelf to gather dust, and was unused to attempts to turn his pages, and love him into softness again. They worked a hand up each finger, one at a time, pushing blood back into his fingertips. His nails were trimmed short, but well taken care of. They worked their fingers back down to his wrist, undoing his coat cuffs. Once his hands were satisfactorily taken care of, Jamie began to work on undoing his coat. To keep him calm, they reassured him frequently, and praised him each time they popped open a button.

To keep him calm, they reassured him frequently, and praised him each time they popped open a button.

To keep- how many rows had they undone? How many rows did he have? Jamie, only one row from the end, took a brief break. They rolled the aching their wrists, and the number of rows on his coat snapped back to an apologetic two, with only one, gleaming, teasing button left done. They undid one last button, and it was just that. One last button. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable for them. Jamie opened the flaps of his coat, and helped to remove it altogether.

It was immediately noticeable how much smaller he was without his coat. No hat either, and he was borderline unrecognizable. Every actor looked different with their mask off. And yet, he still had those golden eyes, and the same wrinkles, so how could he be anyone else? Perhaps he wasn’t so unrecognizable after all. Here and there, the way he sighed the same, his hands still making the same nervous motions. No, not that different at all.

Underneath he wore a button up, tie, and a vest. When he shifted though, Jamie thought they saw something else as well. They set his coat, folded carefully, off one side, then turned their attention back towards him. Curious hands ran down the black front of his vest, feeling for.. Ah! He was wearing a corset, though evidently a different style from Jamie’s own. They could feel the line where it started, and the rigid lines where the boning lay. Well, every costume needs a supporting structure, and it certainly explained his perfect posture after a long day of work. They wanted to see it, to investigate his lacing, and remove that which held him together, but Jamie’s hands stalled on his vest buttons. Perhaps they’d been getting too excited. It was good to take their time, savor the scene, and take things slow for the older companion’s stage fright. If they rushed things, they worry he’d be less inclined to take this roll again in the future.

The Director redirected their attentions. They saw him without his coat so rarely. His presence seemed almost diminished without it on, without the bright red and brass signalling the loss of one’s own mind. The Neath was full of fresh and unique horrors, and it was easy to bear witness to too many at one time, and then there he would be. A figure of imposing crimson that would whisk one away to his hotel, where he’d keep you until he was quite certain that all the nightmares were cleared. Of course, Jamie knew that he also took a little extra on top of that. “Running a hotel is expensive,” he had once told them. That was a long time ago now, when their acquaintance had only just begun. That had been a very red night indeed.

Without his coat though, he was no longer the crimson herald of nightmares. In fact, he looked as though he might have been suffering from nightmares himself. His clothing projected such a larger portion of his facade that it almost didn’t exist without them, and Jamie could see straight through it. It was evident in much of him. The slump of his shoulders, a shirt that had been hastily ironed and left creases in, the downward turn at the corners of his eyes. They could not write a more obvious depiction of a poorly rested mind if they had tried. Their companion wrung his hands below them, and avoided their gaze.

Mind reader.

Jamie tilted their head and gave a crooked smile, trying to reassure him. “Well, maybe it’s only obvious to me. I d id study your tells for a long time for a certain game, you know. You’re still not as easy to read as a book, mind you, but I’ve got a leg up I think.” He huffed the ghost of a laugh, and returned his eyes to their direction, so they continued. “Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t seen me at my worst. You’ve probably seen half of this city at its worst. I can’t really judge you, and I don’t intend to. You of everyone should know how common nightmares are down here, Mr. Manager.” The emphasis of his title was intentional, reminding him of exactly the place he ran. The place they were in at this very moment, in fact.

He sighed. “It’s rather my job to take care of nightmares though and-”

“-And you’re not working right now. If running a nightmare hotel could guarantee we’d never experience our own nightmares, then I think you’d have gone out of business a long time ago. Since your services are still needed though, it stands to reason that even people who use nightmares to pay taxes on their dream hotels still deal with nightmares themselves.” Jamie had moved their hands to his shoulders, massaging him in time to the lilt of their voice. “Therefore, there’s no shame in it, or in needing to relax.”

His argument sputtered out before the Director’s logic. Their smile grew just a bit wider. Not entirely convinced, but placated, their supporting role leaned his head against one of their hands, which had slipped under his vest straps to get to his sore spots better. They remained in such a manner for several minutes, him leaning against them and fidgeting with their pant legs, and Jamie massaging him and humming a gentle tune. It was only after multiple repetitions of the chorus that he recognized it as a song from Mahogany Hall’s newest show. An actor had checked in last week singing many of the show’s songs. Had Jamie composed it themself? He found himself wishing he had paid more attention. Perhaps going out to see a play would do him good? He certainly didn’t get away from work often, whether here or with the Council.

And, just maybe, he wanted to see Jamie perform on stage.

Enough time eventually passed that their hands had migrated once more to his vest buttons. They were undone without fuss, repetition, or duplicity. As with his coat, they helped take off, folding it carefully before putting it aside. They removed his tie quickly as well, taking extra care around his neck. There seemed to be no reason for that at first, until he realized it was an extension of Jamie’s hesitancy around their own neck being touched. He appreciated the kindness, and caught their hand when it came back to him. They quirked an eyebrow at his actions. They blushed slightly when he kissed their hand, before returning it. He felt a wave of emotion bubbling up that was tamped down just as quickly. They turned their focus to his corset instead.

It was, as expected for his color scheme, red, with gold stitching. Everything appeared to be hand sewn, and Jamie suspected they knew by whom. It was shorter than their own corset as well, coming up only to his underbust, but more heavily boned than one would expect. They ran their hands over his corset, marvelling at the fine embroidery. From the upper edge of their vision, they watched his face darken with blush. Yes, he had most certainly made this himself. “Your maker did a wonderful job, they must have incredible attention to detail.” His blush grew, and he opened his mouth, but Jamie continued without break. “Such fine stitching as well, even and measured, clearly someone who knows what they’re doing. The construction looks very sturdy as well, and it must have been quite the task to stitch all those channels for the boning. Yet it’s incredibly precise.”

He finally interrupted “I made this myself, it’s not the most-”

“Ah, well, that doesn’t really change my opinion, now does it?”

The Gentleman had no reply.

“Should it change my opinion, dear?”

He paused, but finally spoke once more. “No, Director.”

“Good,” they purred. They were proud of him for not arguing, it was a good sign that he was allowing himself to listen to them. Frequently that was not the case, but he was doing well tonight. For his reward, they needed to rearrange. Jamie moved from his lap to instead sit behind him.

As they moved to lean into him, they were distracted by another detail of his corset. Instead of the metal grommets that were common nowadays, his corset instead had golden, hand-sewn eyelets. Jamie was an author, not tailor, but they were certain those must have taken him forever. Every knot was carefully made, and held up well to the pulling of the laces. It was charming the amount of time and care he would put into things. They pondered on that for a moment, before moving on to their real goal back here.

Their companion’s breath hitched as he felt soft lips press to his shoulders, kissing overtop his shirt fabric. He was, without fail, surprised by their kind touch and affection. They moved closer, and then their body was against his, chest pressing against back. Hands smaller than his own wrapped around from his sides to hold him close. The gas lamps of the Beth flared brighter, and, rooms away, the lobby fountain began to overflow. Jamie continued to kiss along his back, moving slowly up his spine. When they went above his shirt collar to kiss bare skin, the entire hotel heaved and seemed to breathe, as if taking in a stuttering gasp. They still held him in embrace as they peppered his neck with dozens of kisses. The fountain was weeping so much water that several of the staff now had wet uniform hems. They could not do anything to stop the flow of water, and none of them wished to ask the Manager to fix it.

Jamie eventually came to rest their face against the side of his neck. With deft hands, they untied and loosened his corset laces, then began to work on his busk. It was difficult to do by sight alone, but Jamie had plenty of practice. When they removed his corset, the difference in posture was immediate and noticeable. Clearly he relied on it. Perhaps it would be best to allow him to lay back?

With a final kiss to the nape of his neck, the scene’s director moved back around to center stage. What they saw shocked them.

The usually Merry Gentleman sat before them, with wet streaks of tears clinging to his cheeks. Jamie had barely processed this information before they had him pulled into another hug, somehow tighter than the last. Had they caused it? Had they done something wrong? Had he asked for mercy and they hadn’t heard? Had they, once again, ruined things? A hand came up to reassure them.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. These tears are… wanted.”

Jamie’s inner monologue calmed, but there was still hesitancy. They met his eyes, and brought their own hand up to wipe away his tears. “Will you be okay to continue?” There was a seriousness to their voice.

The gaslamps flared once more, mirroring the warmth of his eyes. Their Gentleman hesitated once more. He could back out, end the scene here and now, and they would not judge. Disappointed, likely, but he could trust them to cope with that. However, he wasn’t certain if he could. He was crying yes, but as he said, the tears were not a sign they needed to stop. There was catharsis in it. “Yes, I would like to continue, Mst. Awnings.” The ‘please’ went unstated.

With a kiss to his cheeks, Jamie wiped away the last of their companion’s tears before they were satisfied they could continue. They hugged him a little while longer, and then busied themself in removing his shirt. His brass cufflinks were carefully removed, and the final row of buttons were undone.

The only layer remaining on his upper body was a sleeveless undershirt. This granted Jamie access to rather a lot of bare skin. The lights flickered as they placed their ungloved hands to his skin. They gave him a gentle smile, and the flickering stopped. It was just the two of them, and he knew Jamie would not hurt him. Not tonight, not here, not in this manner. He focused on slowing his pulse, deciding to lean back against the pillows and head board, allowing Jamie to do what they did best in a play; take the lead. There was a warmth to their hands. His nerves reacted to their touch, and sent gooseflesh down his arms. Jamie giggled seeing it. They ran their hands slowly over him, delighted in the texture. This, in turn, made him shiver, and the gooseflesh returned stronger, now making his dense armhair stand on end.

“You look like a bushy cat that someone just startled,” they teased

He huffed in return. “I am far more dignified than a cat, thank you.”

“Hm. Not right now, I think.”

He gasped in mock offense, which sent Jamie into a fit of laughter. They were close enough that he could hold them, and feel as they laughed. For the first time in some weeks, the smile on his face was genuine. When they recovered, Jamie moved on from his arms to his shoulders. His hair there was softer and lighter, and brown liver spots dappled his skin. Naturally, they had to bend over and kiss each and every one of them, until May in turn could not hold his own laughter back. They pinned him against the headboard with their body when he tried to push them away, and scolded him gently when he protested. He laughed and laughed as they made ever sillier noises with each kiss. Jamie’s heart swelled hearing his joy. Eventually, kissing his shoulders was not enough. He wore an undershirt, yes, but it left quite a bit of his chest exposed. His cheery demeanor had no change as they placed a hand just below his collarbone, where his chest hair was visible. They took it as a good sign to continue. A finger hooked under the waistband of his trousers, and teased it. “I want these removed.” Once again, Jamie could have easily stripped it off themself, as they had his previous layers, but this was his near final protection. He needed to choose.

He chose to cooperate, and pulled his trousers off near-immediately, though there was still a shyness to his movement. Jamie was not the only eager one now, despite his apprehension. The tears from earlier had been all but forgotten. They had a front row seat to admire his form. His stomach was soft and well padded, and when he leaned back, rolls and bumps formed at his side. His drawers kept him modest, though Jamie was able to see the shaping of his thighs underneath. His only other layer was his socks, and the garters that kept them pulled up. He was a handsome man, with a body well-worn, though perhaps not always well cared for. Hair peeked out from the tops of his socks and undershirt, and bottoms of his drawers, and thoroughly covered his arms. A very handsome man indeed.

After multiple minutes taken to appreciate the Gentleman’s body when no longer hidden by a ridiculous coat, it was time for the night’s Finale. The Director reached into the small bundle they had brought with them, and pulled out crimson, cotton rope. His eyebrows raised at the sight of it. Jamie brought the bundle close to his skin. “Yes, I think this color suits you well. First, however,” they set the rope aside, and untied their bowtie as they continued to speak, “I want to see you in this.”

"I have my own bowtie Mst,” he argued.

“Ah, but that’s not the point.” Jamie moved forward, and began to tie their bowtie around his neck. “The point is not that it’s a bowtie. The point is that it’s my bowtie, and that this demonstrates the surrendering of your role’s control to me. When one role’s costume incorporates an article of clothing from a different role’s costume to show their influence and the imposing of a different will, or some other symbolic exchange. That is the point.” They finished the bow, and then reached for the rope once more. “And this is the ultimate show of surrender for your role. You will have to do as I say, and follow the script I write for you. No improv here, darling.” They finished their statement off with a kiss to his forehead. After so many encounters with the Princess, and events at various dens and parlors, Jamie had managed to pick up the basics of rope binding. They took their companion’s hands gently, and held them for just a moment before they began. Rope looking over on itself, a knot here and a knot there. Crimson encircled his wrists and bound them together. It caused no pain, and had the gentle pressure of a friendly squeeze. When he attempted to remove himself from the bindings, he found he was unable to slip out. Of course, he could slip out if he really desired but, once again, he found himself wanting to obey, and was satisfied with what they gave. Besides, they were clearly pleased that they had successfully bound him, so he allowed it. A similar tie was done on his ankles, and just like that he was incapacitated, and trussed up.

Reaching within the bundle once more, Jamie pulled out a book. It was one of their more recent favorites. They moved to sit next to the bound Gentleman, and settled him so he was leaning on them. Jamie grabbed a blanket, and settled it over top the both of them. The two would stay like this for hours, with the poet reading aloud to him, petting and stroking him, as May had no choice but to relax and accept the attention. They would do all the voices for each character, and gesture emphatically, and he would laugh again. The lobby’s fountain would return to normal, and the flooding would recede. Eventually the lights would dim, and the curtains of the hotel would draw themselves, and they would know he had fallen asleep. When this happened, the poet would stop, set aside their book, and carefully undo his bindings, rearranging him as comfortably as they could. They would curl up next to him under the blankets, and tell themself that the cuddles and snuggles were for his benefit only. Just before closing their own eyes for the night, they would see that much of the wall had repaired itself. They would fall asleep at last, and the two would dream together under a Cosmogone sun, with little worry for nightmares or interrupted sleep.

They would awake in the morning and redress themselves, and continue about their lives, each eased by the events of the night prior. As Jamie left, the room number would have settled on a ‘5’.

#fallen london #others ocs #jamie awnings #the manager of the royal beth #may of the calendar council #dye stained fics #oc x canon #jamie #may #maymie

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