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touchmycoat · 5 years

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kinktober: day 21

day 21: washing

y’all know lucky’s cinderella AU, so thank you @midnightluck for letting me play in your sandbox; anon who requested cinderella!AU I don’t know if this is what you wanted at all but uh, have some uniform/class/service kink

“This is,” Ace hissed, “the royal bath.”

Even though Sabo had been conscientious enough to leave his boots at the entrance, there was still a trail of dirty footprints following him from the door. He bared his teeth at the creamy marble underneath.

“Yeah, Ace, I've noticed.”

“What are we even meant to do in here?” Ace was externalizing all the unease and distrust Sabo was choosing to keep under wraps, glancing agitatedly about and pacing around. But not pacing too far—he stuck within the perimeter of two square flagstones lining the floor, and Sabo watched as the soot gradually darkened in the shape of a rectangle. “Can we—Fuck it, let's just steal some water and get out.”

“You don't have to steal anything yoi, just bathe here,” came a familiar voice from the side door, its amusement echoing through the bath chamber. Marco came into view, dressed already for his birthday ceremony. As crown prince, there were all sorts of appearances he was expected to make on this big day, and apparently it began with this: a stiff purple coat with double-breasted gold buttons, a black leather belt cinching the waistline, a thinner one running across the torso, military stars and the family crest pinned to the chest, shimmering braided chords draped over a tricep. Trousers pressed with neat sharp lines, unflinching leather boots.

At Sabo and Ace's wide-eyed staring, he immediately held up his palms in apologetic recognition.

“It's a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Sabo heard himself say, “we were definitely just about to complain about how you look.”

“Cheers,” Marco acknowledged with a snort. He was quick to unravel the belts and shed the coat (Sabo may or may not have heard a soft sound of protest from Ace), then sat down on a dry bench to shed his boots. Most of his glitz laid aside though, Marco still looked every bit of the regal prince, tie done up and the collar of his shirt in perfect geometry. His bare feet stepped familiarly onto the flagstones that marked the beginning of the bathing space. “Well, in an effort to make sure nobody complains about how any of us look tonight yoi, let's get you both cleaned up. Unless...?

“No, no we'll still be going,” Ace piped up, quick to assuage Marco's concerns. He glanced down though, picking self-consciously at his servant's tunic, one that he definitely nicked from Sabo. Neither owners had ever been too precious with it (which was absolutely the point, Sabo thought, why have a shirt you couldn't even work in), and it showed. “We want to support you, y'know? But we just, I guess we're kind of...”

“Misled?” Sabo filled in with a scowl. “Why did Thatch tell us to get in the royal baths?”

“Well, it was closer I guess,” Marco blinked. “And you two are technically royalty and all—”

“Yeah,” Ace said, “but we don't really know how to—”

“—bathe?”

“Bathe here,” Sabo snapped. “Jerk.”

Along with the steam from the ever-warm bathing pool, something rigid and uncomfortable suffused the air. Marco slowly, fully took in the distraught expressions on Ace and Sabo's faces, and his smile cleared into something a little more serious.

“Ah, I see.” A self-effacing little quirk of the head and Marco was making his way to the hot water. The casual way he strolled through the palatial space (like he owned it—because he did) and rolled up his crisp shirt sleeves that somebody else ironed and starched for him only served to piss Sabo off even more. Made Sabo feel that much more insecure. “My apologies, I should've been more considerate yoi. There is a sort of specific way to do things in here.”

“Is it called getting servants to do it for you?”

“Sabo...” Ace sounded reluctantly chiding—keyword, reluctantly. He knew exactly what was going through Sabo's mind and getting Sabo's hackles up. Marco though, didn't really react, just crouched down and pulled two little wooden stools out from under the lip of the bath. He slid them nearer to Sabo and Ace, then pulled out a relatively big basin as well, with a little ladle tumbling about inside. In calm, certain motions, Marco filled the basin with water from the bath and poured in some fragrant soapy solution, giving it a quick swirl with his free hand.

Then he turned on his heel, looked right at Ace, then Sabo.

“I could call in some servants for you,” Marco said, crossing the flagstones. As he passed the stools, he set the basin down in between them. “But I get the feeling neither of you really want that.”

“Look,” Sabo sighed in exasperation, “we can just go back to the servants baths and do this, okay? Like we've always done—”

“Sure you can yoi. Or—” Pausing squarely in front of Sabo, Marco, with a meaningful look, lifted his hands to the top button of Sabo's shirt. “Allow me. My prince.”

Sabo bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. There were so many things he could say, some angry, some scoffing, all of them rejections. He drew blood instead and swallowed it with saliva. Looked instead to Ace for guidance.

Ace's expression was... strange. On one hand there was the daring, beautiful rejection of protocol he's always worn so well, sitting right underneath the day's dirt and soot. There was the matching tension in his knuckles, the anger to demolish the extravagance and lavishness that surrounded them that Sabo found so resonant.

But at the same time there was the helpless softness in his eyes for Marco, the bone-deep certainty that whatever unpleasantness scorched at their nerves, Marco wasn't the enemy here. Furthermore, there was the speculative angle in the tilt of his chin, an allured curiosity for what Marco was offering here.

Drinking all that in, Sabo made his decision. He lifted his chin, and let the curl of his lips go haughty.

“Go on then,” he said, throat bared so vulnerably to Marco. Marco the Crown Prince, the legendary top warrior of his father's kingdom, whom Sabo has seen fight in Impel Down and knew lived up to the legend. Marco, who's left all the medals and epaulettes hanging by the side door and offered to serve. “Attend us.”

A smile bloomed on Marco's face, so gracious and genuine that Sabo had to look away, heart pounding condemningly loud. Even as children, it was this precise smile that changed Sabo's life. Even after crawling through rosebush thorns, pinpricks scoring through his expensive shirt and across his skin, Marco's only ever had that smile for him.

He said you were pretty.

Sabo gritted his teeth when his side with all the scars became exposed to the swirling bathhouse steam. Marco's hands didn't linger on them though—didn't linger anywhere. He drew off Sabo's shirt with professional ease then started unbuttoning Sabo's pants. He didn't let the trousers fall, instead guided them down like they weren't frayed and stained with age and grime. His own trousers—the expensive ones, thick and pressed—kneeled right onto the damp floor tiles.

“You—” But Sabo shut himself up, because why would he protest? They were just pants for crying out loud, and it's not like Marco harvested and weaved and sewed them himself. And it was just water; a bit of sun will get the dark stains now around the knees right out. There really was no need to protest.

Marco smiled at him again like he was kind, gathering Sabo's shirt, trousers, and undergarments over the crook of one arm (those dirty clothes smearing immediately across the neat white fold of his shirt cuff). Standing up with nary a blink at the state of his own pants (nor at what removing Sabo's pants had revealed, which Sabo was absolutely not disappointed by), Marco now turned to Ace, who had waited patiently for his turn with the pink-cheeked, almost-smile of someone who's figured out his role in the script.

“You'll wash us both by yourself?” Ace asked, with only a hint of tentativeness, as Marco undid his buttons. “That's not enough hands to go around, is it? I'll go cold from the waiting.”

“I'll do my best yoi,” Marco replied. Now that Sabo was watching from relative distance, he could see how thoroughly Marco was actually enjoying this; it was visible not only in his face, but also in every gliding gesture, every curved posture. It was like Marco luxuriated in his servitude. He went to his knees again, and Ace was fully and gloriously nude. “Please, sit down.”

Eyes fixed on each other in both solidarity and hazy arousal, Sabo and Ace drifted forward to the stools Marco had pulled out earlier, and sat. The lines of demarcation in the bathhouse, Sabo could see now, were subtle; the flagstones marked out the space where the actual washing could be done, and the thin grooves carved across the flooring drained the water out to a corner. Things brought out to the flagstones were meant to get wet, carved out of heavy dark woods, and fine with a bit of dirt (unlike say, the polished cream marble that lined the entrance).

Shelves of powders, soaps, and bottles lined one side of the room, and that was where Marco went to fetch an array of items. He also grabbed a long flat legged plank that seemed the perfect height for sitting on, before piling on it thick fluffy towels of several different sizes and coming back over.

“Who's first?” he asked.

“Sabo,” Ace said, at the same time Sabo demanded, “Ace.”

“Sabo goes first,” Ace insisted, cupping some water and absently splashing it onto his own legs. “You'll never guess it but his hair's actually blond underneath all that soot.”

“Yeah, but your face is actually—”

“Sounds good to me yoi,” Marco interrupted cheerily, setting everything in his arms down on the floor. Sabo quickly scrambled, turning so that he faced Ace and pulling Ace's whole stool closer.

“Fine then, I'll get Ace while you're at it,” he insisted, desperate for something to do with his hands so he wasn't just stuck like a useless doll while Marco rinsed him off. This was stupid, but it'd be fine. They'll get the dirt off, none of it will get on things it wasn't meant to get on, and they'll be done in minutes. Just like normal. “C'mon then, gimme a sponge and your back.”

“Ah,” Marco made an apologetic sound, suddenly in Sabo's ear, “I'm afraid that's not how things are done here.” His torso against Sabo's back was a different kind of heat than the impersonal steam of the bathwater. A hand smoothed up the front of his neck and bared his throat. “Here yoi. Close your eyes.”

Obedience came easier than Sabo would've liked, but what else was he supposed to do, with Marco's face right over his? He heard a soft clunk, a glug of water—then he felt the water, a guided stream being poured over his hair. The overflow stopped just short of his forehead and trickled down the backs of his ears. Marco's arm touched gently against the scar on Sabo's face as he began carding his fingers through Sabo's tresses, getting them thoroughly soaked. The rushing splashes filled Sabo's ears, and his lips fell helplessly parted, drinking in the steam.

Marco refilled the water scoop. Repeated.

An echoed, low murmuring vibrated in the air, against Sabo's skin, but he didn't even bother to parse the words, so utterly enraptured by this sensation. He liked the soft brush of Marco's clothes on his back. He liked the soothing drag of water, and Marco's nails softly scratching across his scalp. He liked the new fragrance that's just appeared, wafting to his nose.

“Keep your eyes closed yoi,” Marco rumbled, all sonorous tenor and an echoic chest, and it still took Sabo a few moments to understand there was meaning in the phonemes. It's not like he was planning on opening his eyes anyways. “I'm putting in the shampoo.”

“What's that scent?” Ace asked, knee knocking comfortingly into Sabo's.

“Night jasmine. Seemed fitting.” Marco's fingers methodically kneaded a gelatinous paste through Sabo's hair, until suds coated every strand. There was a pattern to his motions, and Sabo's eyes fluttered open when Marco's thumb started rubbing soothing circles across his hairline. The disobeisance was out of trepidation; Marco would reach his scar this rate.

And reach it he did, swiping excesses of water and soap off the uneven skin without a single stutter in his motions. Sabo didn't want to meet Marco's eyes, but couldn't allow his own eyes to close either, not when he felt so fucking vulnerable—he stared up at the ceiling instead, that smooth dome of stone slabs, and worked on not letting those threatening tears condense on his eyelashes.

(He failed, when Marco finished washing clean the back of his ears and leaned forward, brushing just the gentlest kiss over the point on Sabo's forehead where the scar tissue began. Twin tears fell from the corners of Sabo's eyes and all three of them pretended it was just bathwater.)

“May I wash your face?” Marco asked quietly, and he looked prepared for Sabo to say no. So Sabo said no. Sabo wasn't quite ready to be completely cracked open yet. “Let me get your back then, yoi.”

There were still scars there, but at least Sabo wouldn't be in danger of seeing Marco's face (and whatever enticingly reverent expression Marco'd wear) every time he opened his eyes. He would see Ace instead, but Ace was—Ace was safe. Ace had seen Sabo's jagged edges and then chipped himself apart to match. For Ace, Sabo could fall to any pieces that he needed.

He scrubbed at his own face with the flat pads of his fingers, eager to sud up, rub the grime off into balls of dead flesh, splash the whole mess away. Except Ace was playing into a role as well, moving Sabo's hands away to wash at Sabo's cheeks in much gentler little circles. When Sabo glared, he just grinned and used a soapy hand to swipe Sabo's eyelids down.

“You put all that powder on my face, I wash all the dirt off yours. Seems fair,” Ace laughed, scrubbing up to the temples.

Marco started on Sabo's back at the same time. First came the blanket of water to wet everything down. Then there was a soft but textured flannel drawing determined swipes over the planes of Sabo's muscles, leaving soapy streaks in their wake. Another scoop of water. Soapy hands this time, the controlled drag of thumbs over the backs of Sabo's shoulders, finding spongey muscle with corded, tense tendons underneath, aligning the lengths and the pressures and pushing—

“—ah—!”

At the same moment of the instinctive flinch forward, Sabo also jerked his entire torso back, desperate for more of that amazing pressure. If his eyes had been open, Sabo was sure they would've rolled back in his head. Marco's grip, having slipped from the initial jerk, doubled back down, twin bars of beautiful force getting stronger and stronger and stronger until Sabo truly felt squeezed dry—

—and then abruptly released. Breath tumbled out of Sabo in a long unsteady stream, and his spine curled forward like a rubber band released. A whine escaped his throat.

“Good, yoi?”

“I'm pretty sure he'd say yes if he could,” Ace replied with both amusement and awe. “I'm gonna rinse your face now Sabo.”

He accepted the wash of water down his face without any squirming. Ace patted a dry towel encouragingly over his face. It all felt so dangerously indulgent.

“Your back is still quite tense,” Marco commented, thumbs tracing down the twin strips of muscle lining Sabo's spine. “A soak will do you good, yoi.”

And perhaps it was all the tension released from that one good prolonged squeeze, perhaps Sabo just felt like it was high time he got some control back in the situation, but the words left his mouth before he could think too much of them:

“Is that anyway to speak to your prince?”

Marco's beat of pause felt, against all odds, delighted.

“My apologies for overstepping,” another hesitation, like he was testing some waters he couldn't wait to leap headfirst into, “your highness.”

And—what the hell was Sabo actually playing at? Wasn't he the first and most enthusiastic shirker of crowns and titles? The moniker that tasted so genuinely bad in his parent's joke of a court—why did it seem so tempting here? Like a thick-petaled flower set on a dinner plate, meant for décor but inviting teeth. Like the soap that smelled so sweet but should sting his tongue so bitterly. And yet—

“Turn around Sabo,” Ace said, voice so hot with intention. “Let Marco wash your feet.”

#kinktober 2019 #marcoacesabo #writing this my class resentment made me feel incredibly violent lmfao #all of me wants to turn this into a punishment scene for marco #but alas i've already decided it's gonna be gentle #also kinktober is just me exposing my wants and needs #i need to go get a goddamn massage #i just wanted Marco in an expensive suit on his knees getting heedlessly wet as he washed ace and marco #that's my version of kinkerella

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chaoticbeanz · 5 years

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Dancin’ with the Devil (3/?)

Summary- You're the Devil and decided to leave Hell. Now you own a nightclub in New York and one night you get an unexpected visit from some of the Avengers.

Pairing- Male OC x reader, Poly!Avengers x reader

Warnings- Polyamorous relationship. Cursing. Smut?(maybe).

Word Count- 1085

A/N- Hope you enjoy. If you have any requests, I will do my best to try to make them happen.

*Thoughts in Italics*

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~You~

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. I stretched my arm to reach for the body that was supposed to be there but felt nothing. A few moments later I heard footsteps and my bedroom door open. With my eyes closed I knew it was Tavara. That's when the aroma of coffee filled my room. The scent getting stronger and stronger the closer it came until the sound of a cup was being placed in my nightstand. A gentle kiss was placed on my exposed shoulder till I turned onto my back and another was placed on my lips.

I open my eyes after we break apart, “Good morning, my pet.”

“Morning my love. As you can already smell, I made you coffee.”, he grabs the cup and waits for me to sit up before giving it to me, “Bavarian, just how you like it.”

I take the cup from him and drink half of it, a satisfying hum escapes my lips. “What time is it, T?”

“Almost noon.”

“Hmmm, well I suppose we should get dressed then.” I finish my coffee then get out of bed. Tavara takes the cup from me before leaving to get dressed himself. I decide against my usual color attire of black and switch to burgundy today. After all, this is a special meeting.

As soon as I’m done with my hair and makeup, I hear Tavara knock on my door before entering. “The car is out front. Would you like me to drive?”

“That won't be necessary darling, I’ll drive.”, I tell him as I put on my heels. He nods, waits for me to grab my phone then we both leave to the car.

The drive took longer than anticipated but alas we had arrived and the Avengers Compound. I got halfway up the driveway when I notice two agents walking towards the car. I decide to park the car here and get out along with Tavara. Once we are both out, we walk towards the men- well more like walk past.

“Can we help you?”

“Are you lost?”

“No I’m fairly sure I'm at the right place. Now, if you'll excuse us.”, I say as we continue to walk but was shortly stopped when they put themselves right in front of us.

“Alright lady, this is private property. I suggest you and your buddy get back in your car and leave.”

I scoff and inhale deeply, “I am here for a meeting. Did your superior fail to inform you two imbeciles of my arrival?”

“Listen lady, we don't wanna hurt you. You've had your fun but now it’s time to leave or do we have to call for reinforcements?”

I smirk, “Please, my fun hasn’t even started yet.”

“Okay, that's it.”, one of the agents grabs me by my upper arm but that didn't go well with Tavara. He let out an animalistic/demonic growl that scared both agents enough to release me and pull out their guns. When both were aimed and the both of us, one agent spoke into his earpiece, “We have two possible hostiles near the hangar.”

“This will be a lot easier and less painful for you if you just let us through.”

“Yeah right, like we’d let you do that”, One of the agents scoffs.

Tavara lets out another growl-obviously not liking how they are speaking to me. “Not yet, pet.”, I sigh, “You mortals are ridiculous.”

“Mortals? What is she? One of those Asgardians?”

I start walking again.

“Stop moving lady”, one warns.

I snicker and shake my head. “They never learn.”, I say under my breath. As I turn around to face them once more, my eyes shift entirely black. The look on their faces were of pure shock mixed with terror.

“What the fuck?!”

"Face each other”, I command.

Slowly both agents begin to turn their bodies. Guns aimed towards each other no matter how hard they tried to resist. "Two less inadequate imbeciles won't change anything."

Soon enough, more agents came outside guns pointed, trying to surround us.

“Now the fun has started.”, I smirked, “Vara, introduce Cerberus.”

Without hesitation he begins morphing into my beloved three-headed dog. He lets out a menacing growl.

“Holy shit?!”

“What do we do?”

“Await orders from Agent Coulson.”

Just as I was about to allow Tavara to kill them, glints of red catch my eyes. As it comes into view, I recognize just who they are.

“Stand down agents.”, Iron man orders. All the agents have a look that says ‘Is he serious?’. “I'm sorry, am I speaking a different language? I said stand down!” I've got to admit, authoritative Tony is kinda hot. They did as they were told and lowered their guns.

Both Tony and Sam land and walk toward me. “Is this how you treat all you guests?”

“Only the ones who turn demonic and transform into giant dogs.”

Vara snaps towards Tony. Seems like it’s gonna be cat and dog with those two.

“Now, let them go.”, Falcon says referring to the two agents who were still at gunpoint with each other.

“Now where’s the fun in that? We were just getting started.”, I fake pout

Tony gives me a smirk, “Come on, Luci.”

I roll my eyes, “Fine.”, and release my hold on the agents, “Killjoys.”

“Now it’s fluffy’s turn.”

“Stand down, darling.” Tavara looks at me then morphs back to his human appearance.

“Your sad excuse for agents have wasted enough of my time. Where’s Fury?”

“He's waiting in the conference room. Agent Coulson, who is waiting over there, will escort you.”, Sam informs.

I look in the direction that he's pointing and see a man standing in a doorway. I exhale deeply then start walking towards him-Vara follows close behind.

“Agent Coulson I assume?”, I ask when I approach him.

“Follow me please.”, is all he says and begins walking.

A smile forms on my face, “I like him.”

While we walk down several hallways, I hear a few agents talk as we pass by them.

“Who are they?”

“Never seen them before?”

“Maybe new recruits?”

“More Avengers?”

Finally, Agent Coulson stops at a door, “Here we are, Ms. Alistair.”, then he opens it.

“You seem to be the only competent agent in this whole facility. I appreciate that.”

Coulson just nods his head then closes the door after me and Tavara walk into the room. And there, at the end of the long table, stood the reason I was here.

“Nicholas Joseph Fury.”

“Lucifer Alistair.”

Part 4

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