This started out as smut, but then turned into a character study of why Charles' outfit changes during the timeskip? IDK what I'm doing any more....
Charles takes a few moments to stroke himself leisurely, both to slick a little extra grease over his skin and to tease Haytham. The low noise Haytham makes when he enters is enough to send shivers down his spine. He sighs, savouring the heat and the pressure.
When he begins to move, he does so slowly. Not because he aims to pleasure Haytham, as he usually does, but because Haytham always puts himself first. It's not as though he neglects Charles, merely that he does not go out of his way to pleasure Charles unless he needs it after Haytham's own climax. Haytham enjoys roughness and efficiency, while Charles favours a more subdued approach, letting the sensations wash over him, thoroughly enjoying every moment.
"More, please," Haytham says, voice shaking with need. Charles knows what he's really saying, though: "why are you being so gentle? I'm not."
"I'll give you what I see fit," Charles snaps in reply, though his hands still wander lightly, caressing kindly at particular spots- Haytham's sharp hipbones, the collar of his mantle, the dark locks of Haytham's hair, still bound in a ponytail.
Haytham moans in response, and doesn't speak again. Or at least, he doesn't say anything coherent, aside from the occasional noises that might be "oh God" or "yes". It's increasingly difficult for Charles to refrain from joining him in making such obscene sounds, given the way Haytham trembles beneath him and constricts around him.
Despite his best efforts, however, his hips are moving faster, thrusting deeper. He needs his release, and soon. So does Haytham, by the sound of it.
Finally, his hands curl in the skirt of his favourite coat (ruined ruined ruined, he can't forget that), and he spills with a shout. Haytham stiffens and moans again, not long after. They haven't done this in a while, and it takes Charles about half a minute to fully catch his breath, to return to reality enough to withdraw with a wet sound and start wiping his skin clean with a fresh handkerchief.
Haytham doesn't move from his position on the desk, a fully-sated sprawl. Really, it's lucky Charles can see him like this, it's rare for the Grand Master to be anything less than on his guard around anybody, Charles being the only present exception. Even around their closest allies- Pitcairn, Johnson, Hickey, Church- Haytham doesn't completely relax.
At that thought, it's hard for Charles to keep the smile off his face. He sets the soiled cloth on a clear patch of desk, and leans over Haytham. He presses a different handkerchief into Haytham's hand, and strokes his hair lovingly, twisting the still-bound strands through his fingers.
Haytham levers himself up with some reluctance, and slowly starts to clean himself as best he can without a bath. Charles plucks the hat off the floor, and sets it on Haytham's head, and starts unbuttoning the boots he's wearing.
"I really am sorry about your coat," Haytham murmurs.
Charles sighs. It's his favourite coat. He can't be seen wearing a stained coat, and he can't repair it. It'll just have to live in his wardrobe, unused, gathering dust.
"Don't worry about it. I have others."
"That you never wear," Haytham said, pointedly. "It's always this one. You can still wear it, you know. It's just a little ink."
Charles removes the first boot. It's lucky they wear a similar size in shoes, as well, though Haytham's are worn far more along the tip and ball of the foot, thanks to his constant climbing and roof-running. He slips the cloak off, and Haytham takes it gratefully.
"I can't. People will see. And it won't be the same if I have the cuff replaced."
"It doesn't matter what people think of you, it's only a stain."
"With all due respect, sir, it matters to me." Charles shakes his head sadly, and slips off his second boot. "I suppose I could have something similar made."
"And how much is that going to cost? I've ruined this coat, I ought to be the one paying for a new one."
"I'd rather you didn't, sir," Charles says, unbuttoning the long jacket he's wearing. "It wouldn't feel right. People would wonder why you're spending so much money on your subordinate over a simple ink stain."
Haytham sighs, and shrugs said coat off, passing it to Charles. He receives his breeches in return.
"…You're right. Still, I feel I ought to do something, Charles."
"There's nothing to do," Charles says, quietly. "It's just a coat."
They redress in silence, and Charles pauses for a moment, wondering how to cover the stain until he can get home. Probably, nobody will ask him about it, but he can't help but worry. If he were to slip up and reveal something about this- well, it's not really a relationship- the consequences would be dire. Admittedly, he's a damn good liar, but it isn't just his life and reputation at stake. It's Haytham's as well.
He finds a leather glove in one of his pockets, and puts it on. Yes, it covers the stain nicely. Now, if he can only find the other…
"Was there a second glove in this coat when you were wearing it?" Charles asks. Haytham glances at him, re-tying his hair.
"I don't think so. Why?"
Charles holds up his gloved hand as an answer. Haytham raises an eyebrow.
"I think that looks rather good. Very interesting."
"One glove?" Charles bites back a laugh. "I look ridiculous."
"You'll start a new trend," Haytham replies, shooting him a winning smile. "It hides the stain, doesn't it? You'll be able to wear your favourite coat. I don't see a problem."
Charles shakes his head again, but this time in relief and contentment than from dismay. It's fine. Haytham is right. He's always right. He has no need to worry.
When he leaves Haytham's home, he does so with his head held high. The only comment he gets on this change of wardrobe (aside from Hickey's laughter, the bastard) is an approving nod from Johnson at the next meeting.
"You're wearing one glove."
"I felt like a change," Charles explains.
"It looks good."
"Thank you."
Haytham gives a meaningful cough, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile. Charles sits straighter, and listens attentively, though one part of his mind is still focused on the ink stain hidden underneath the leather, and how wonderful a metaphor is is for what he and Haytham have.
Costume 3/3
Charles takes a few moments to stroke himself leisurely, both to slick a little extra grease over his skin and to tease Haytham. The low noise Haytham makes when he enters is enough to send shivers down his spine. He sighs, savouring the heat and the pressure.
When he begins to move, he does so slowly. Not because he aims to pleasure Haytham, as he usually does, but because Haytham always puts himself first. It's not as though he neglects Charles, merely that he does not go out of his way to pleasure Charles unless he needs it after Haytham's own climax. Haytham enjoys roughness and efficiency, while Charles favours a more subdued approach, letting the sensations wash over him, thoroughly enjoying every moment.
"More, please," Haytham says, voice shaking with need. Charles knows what he's really saying, though: "why are you being so gentle? I'm not."
"I'll give you what I see fit," Charles snaps in reply, though his hands still wander lightly, caressing kindly at particular spots- Haytham's sharp hipbones, the collar of his mantle, the dark locks of Haytham's hair, still bound in a ponytail.
Haytham moans in response, and doesn't speak again. Or at least, he doesn't say anything coherent, aside from the occasional noises that might be "oh God" or "yes". It's increasingly difficult for Charles to refrain from joining him in making such obscene sounds, given the way Haytham trembles beneath him and constricts around him.
Despite his best efforts, however, his hips are moving faster, thrusting deeper. He needs his release, and soon. So does Haytham, by the sound of it.
Finally, his hands curl in the skirt of his favourite coat (ruined ruined ruined, he can't forget that), and he spills with a shout. Haytham stiffens and moans again, not long after. They haven't done this in a while, and it takes Charles about half a minute to fully catch his breath, to return to reality enough to withdraw with a wet sound and start wiping his skin clean with a fresh handkerchief.
Haytham doesn't move from his position on the desk, a fully-sated sprawl. Really, it's lucky Charles can see him like this, it's rare for the Grand Master to be anything less than on his guard around anybody, Charles being the only present exception. Even around their closest allies- Pitcairn, Johnson, Hickey, Church- Haytham doesn't completely relax.
At that thought, it's hard for Charles to keep the smile off his face. He sets the soiled cloth on a clear patch of desk, and leans over Haytham. He presses a different handkerchief into Haytham's hand, and strokes his hair lovingly, twisting the still-bound strands through his fingers.
Haytham levers himself up with some reluctance, and slowly starts to clean himself as best he can without a bath. Charles plucks the hat off the floor, and sets it on Haytham's head, and starts unbuttoning the boots he's wearing.
"I really am sorry about your coat," Haytham murmurs.
Charles sighs. It's his favourite coat. He can't be seen wearing a stained coat, and he can't repair it. It'll just have to live in his wardrobe, unused, gathering dust.
"Don't worry about it. I have others."
"That you never wear," Haytham said, pointedly. "It's always this one. You can still wear it, you know. It's just a little ink."
Charles removes the first boot. It's lucky they wear a similar size in shoes, as well, though Haytham's are worn far more along the tip and ball of the foot, thanks to his constant climbing and roof-running. He slips the cloak off, and Haytham takes it gratefully.
"I can't. People will see. And it won't be the same if I have the cuff replaced."
"It doesn't matter what people think of you, it's only a stain."
"With all due respect, sir, it matters to me." Charles shakes his head sadly, and slips off his second boot. "I suppose I could have something similar made."
"And how much is that going to cost? I've ruined this coat, I ought to be the one paying for a new one."
"I'd rather you didn't, sir," Charles says, unbuttoning the long jacket he's wearing. "It wouldn't feel right. People would wonder why you're spending so much money on your subordinate over a simple ink stain."
Haytham sighs, and shrugs said coat off, passing it to Charles. He receives his breeches in return.
"…You're right. Still, I feel I ought to do something, Charles."
"There's nothing to do," Charles says, quietly. "It's just a coat."
They redress in silence, and Charles pauses for a moment, wondering how to cover the stain until he can get home. Probably, nobody will ask him about it, but he can't help but worry. If he were to slip up and reveal something about this- well, it's not really a relationship- the consequences would be dire. Admittedly, he's a damn good liar, but it isn't just his life and reputation at stake. It's Haytham's as well.
He finds a leather glove in one of his pockets, and puts it on. Yes, it covers the stain nicely. Now, if he can only find the other…
"Was there a second glove in this coat when you were wearing it?" Charles asks. Haytham glances at him, re-tying his hair.
"I don't think so. Why?"
Charles holds up his gloved hand as an answer. Haytham raises an eyebrow.
"I think that looks rather good. Very interesting."
"One glove?" Charles bites back a laugh. "I look ridiculous."
"You'll start a new trend," Haytham replies, shooting him a winning smile. "It hides the stain, doesn't it? You'll be able to wear your favourite coat. I don't see a problem."
Charles shakes his head again, but this time in relief and contentment than from dismay. It's fine. Haytham is right. He's always right. He has no need to worry.
When he leaves Haytham's home, he does so with his head held high. The only comment he gets on this change of wardrobe (aside from Hickey's laughter, the bastard) is an approving nod from Johnson at the next meeting.
"You're wearing one glove."
"I felt like a change," Charles explains.
"It looks good."
"Thank you."
Haytham gives a meaningful cough, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile. Charles sits straighter, and listens attentively, though one part of his mind is still focused on the ink stain hidden underneath the leather, and how wonderful a metaphor is is for what he and Haytham have.