Erotic short. Don’s footman has him against the wall before the butler puts him to bed.
Little short, M/M with cis men. 1.2k. Wall sex, strength and size kink, overstim, subspace, D/s, a little roughness and sweetness together! Don, Harrison, and Mead first appear in:
https://johannestevans.medium.com/butler-vs-footman-3145043a09e0
Don can barely breathe, but he doesn’t want to. Harrison moves with such ease that Don can barely believe it — Harrison is a little shorter than Donald is, and he’s muscular, of course, but nonetheless, he lifts Don so easily that it really does beggar belief.
With Don’s shoulders against the wall behind him, the handsome wallpaper’s fabric cool against his back, he’s powerless to do anything but feel Harrison’s cock driving up and into him. His legs are wrapped tight around Harrison’s waist, ankles locked behind his thighs, and he’s sure he’s dug the most awful of marks into the back of Harrison’s muscled shoulders but he simply can’t help it — Harrison is bouncing Don on his cock like he scarcely weighs anything, and every time he uses Don’s weight against him, drops him down to the root so that he’s impaled on the thing, Don can’t help the whines that eke out of his front.
“Making good use of this cottage, eh, lad?” asks Harrison, and Don gasps as he adjusts his angle, shoving Don’s back more against the wall in a way that apparently gives him more leverage: when Don is dropped down on Harrison’s cock this time, it’s as though Harrison’s dragged the whole of his cock directly over his prostate, used it as a precision instrument, and the sensation is so impeccably intense that Don’s vision blurs and his cock spurts clear spend between their bellies.
Harrison laughs, open-mouthed and gleeful, and sucks a lurid mouth at the edge of Don’s collarbone, making him hiss.
“It’s a, uh, uh, lovely cottage, Sam — fuck — ”
“Aye, that’s the goal, lad, no need for thee to tell us so.”
He gives a savage thrust that works over Don’s prostate again, almost as if he’s trying to scoop the organ out of him, or perhaps force it up through the root of his cock, and feeling as it does, so intense, so sublime, so ecstatic, Don almost feels like letting him.
It’s hard to tell precisely when he comes, being fucked so intensely as he is — he’s certain the orgasm is in there, and it’s possible there was a second one too, but were he to pick apart his memories of the encounter he could never figure out when precisely, or how long it was, or how short. Throughout he’s tremoring and moaning, cock pulsing, his body thrumming with want and pleasure like the plucked string of some well-treated instrument, and by the end of it, he and Harrison are each of them soaked and messy with white stickiness and slickness and sweat, and Don can’t feel his thighs enough to trust his knees to keep him upright, but he can feel Harrison’s spend drip thick out of his arse.
Harrison is gentle about moving to set him down, is going to support him, but he doesn’t have to: Mead hoves into place like the moon eclipsing the sun — in this case, the warm light of the fire and the candle on the sill — and Don collapses into the squared barrel of his chest, feels the muscle beneath him and is glad he can rely on it when his own has been fucked out of commission.
“Let me watch,” says Harrison, breath hot against Don’s neck, and Don shivers, spreads his legs and sighs as Harrison’s fingers slide up between his cheeks, pushes some of his come back into the open mess of Don’s hole. “Go on, Mead, not yet being ten, it’d be easy for us to stay an hour longer, and see thy fuck him ‘fore I make my way home.”
“I’m not going to have him tonight, Harrison,” growls Mead. “Can’t you see he’s exhausted?”
“Exhausted, aye,” says Harrison sceptically: he crooks his fingers in Don’s arse, and Don gasps. “Seems to us tha’s ignoring the obvious.”
“He’s always very obvious,” says Mead in tones of soft indulgence, and Don could happily be fucked, feel Mead’s cock drive within him, but he could just as happily go without — he feels soft and easy, filmy like the white in a frying egg yolk that can’t yet decide whether to be cooked or not.
It’s easier to let Mead decide. That’s why they came out here, to the cottage, just for the weekend — so he could.
“Come here,” says Mead, and Don feels like he could be wrapped up in the warmth of his voice, but it’s nothing like being wrapped in Mead’s strong arms — naturally, he carries Don easier than Harrison, not just because he’s stronger, but because he’s got so much more real estate to devote to holding him. Mead picks him up like a bride, cradles Don against his breast, and Don reaches up and plays over his cheek with clumsy fingers.
“He’s tired enough,” says Harrison, in a soft voice that Don rarely hears from him — Don gets the impression it’s not really intended for his ears. He’s aware his eyes are half-lidded with satisfaction and fatigue alike, and perhaps Harrison doesn’t realise he hears him. He likes to keep up the uncaring act as best he can, as much to annoy Mead as to titillate Don, he can’t help but think. “Maybe tha should keep him here longer’n two days.”
“You suggest I tie him up?”
“Suggest tha give word to the big house he’s took ill, or summat like that. Keep all the rest off him, give him some peace from the house, like. Tha knows he hates all that family being there, Mead.”
“Don’t we all?” replies Mead, although Don knows it isn’t true — he likes very much to work for the whole family from time to time, enjoys the hectic bustle of juggling dinner parties and a dozen bedroom assignments — but Don is flattered to think he likes this too.
He’s melted butter in Mead’s arms as Mead says something Don doesn’t make out to Harrison and carries him up the narrow stairs, brings him into bed. Mead washes him over with a cloth, drags it around his pink and dripping rim, and although he’s still half-dressed, he slides under the heavy quilt as he pulls Don under it, and Don collapses into the weight and warmth of Mead’s belly, his chest, his thighs.
“I wish it could be like this always,” says Don — he’s thinking of Mead’s heavy warmth and thinking of Harrison’s wiry heat at once, the difference between lying against the side of one’s favourite horse and with one of the terriers curled into your side. He wishes the three of them might each take to bed together one day, not even to fuck — though he’d like that, certainly — but just to sleep side by side, Don between the two of them, touched and held by both or either.
“I could swing you four days,” says Mead, stroking his back then coming up to comb through his fingers through Don’s hair. “A few more, if you’ll take Harrison’s care in the absence of mine.”
Don means to reply, but he doesn’t — he’s already asleep, really, though it takes a few moments to realise. He basks in a wonderful warmth, wrapped up in Mead and the blanket, unable to distinguish where one’s comfort ends and the other’s begins — and that’s how it should be, for a shorter time than he would like.
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