augustuspowell·:
His position within the nobility secured itself by his heart of darkness, it seemed, and his taste for the macabre increased not only with age, but with the desire to experience that which demanded itself erased in aristocracy’s stead. Augustus had stumbled upon the Domination House in a drunken stupor after a masqued ball, tossing a coinpurse towards the mysterious brothel-keeper as he demanded to watch them exercise their whip. For each subsequent visit, the mask and cloak stayed with him, even when the drink did not, and the intrigue he held for Peck increased with each visit to the brothel. From there, a relationship grew between the two masters of their crafts, bounded by whips and candlewax and coin.
“Satisfactory.” Augustus repeats the word Peck has offered him, his tone and shrouded countenance betraying nothing as he proceeds to drink from the glass. In truth, the release he achieved was the finest he’d had in days, perhaps weeks, his mind’s eye replacing the harlot and their cull with a vision of himself and the molly boy he’d recently taken an interest in. His eyes are darkened with the fresh satiety of lust as he surveys Peck, unknowable and all the more intriguing for it. Though they’ve only known each other in relation to coin and cloak, there’s an intimacy between them that dissipates the veil Augustus presents to those who tremble at the mere suggestion of violence. “We make a good pair, Peck. In all my searching, I don’t think I’ve ever met a single soul so amenable to my interests, let alone one so expertly talented. But, you must know… It’s rare for me not to become intimately acquainted with those who suit such predilections. What cost grants the pleasure of unraveling your mystery, darling Peck?”
Though he only used the one word, Peck liked to think that his continued patronage of thier house proved it as praise rather than passable commentary. Still, they appreciated his committment to remaining neither here nor there, and were not so proud to deny that praise - even if well deserved - might go to their head. After all, if they were in Winchester’s shoes they’d despise for their pimp to be proud. In reponse, Peck simply let themself smile, though refused to allow it to travel to their eyes, and picked up a cup for themselves from which they sipped.
It was an interesting dance that they trod. Peck often found themselves fitting whatever mold another desired of them: The punisher, the pleaser, the man, the woman. They existed to repeat the desires of those who considered them theirs, to throw back the insults of those who looked down upon them, and to confuse those who considered them equal. It was rare - very rare - that they found themselves able to let slip the mirror-mask they wore and simply be. Amusingly, though Peck had never glimpsed Winchester’s true face, he had surely glimpsed theirs. He can’t have missed the way Peck leant in to some work and leant away from the rest. He could not have overlooked their own delight at seeing the bodily effects of their work. He cannot have failed to notice that Peck was most comfortable in a position of control, and he certainly would have seen the wild look in their eye when they broke a cull - truly broke them - and held them in the palm of their hand. So when he implied a will to take Peck for himself, Peck found themselves quite amused.
Unable to keep it to themselves, and always unapologetic in what they found amusing, they threw back their head with a short, delighted laugh. “You flatter me, Mister Winchester,” Peck smiled, and gazed into the eyeholes of his mask. “But it is one of the few rules in this house that I do not get touched, I do not get hit, and I do not get fucked.” There had been only one in their life who had known them such, and when she died Peck was quite content to refuse themselves the pleasure of sex ever again. It kept The Procuress sacred, in a way. Or at least it did what was shared between them. Perhaps, if there ever came a person they did not mind baring themselves to, that would change. But until that curious creature came along, Peck was dedicated to keeping their clothes on, and what was beneath them unknown.
“Besides,” they said, and swilled their wine cup lazily, “could you imagine the battle that would ensue if the both of us went to bed together? I do not like to give up control, and I’ve a feeling you would not be satsified lest you saw anguish on the face of your lover.”
Peck paused to drink, and then swallowed fast to let their next thought be voiced. “Unless, of course, a fight is what you want?”
