#olliecoddle

[starsarefire824]

does anyone want a lawless byler preview of me and ollie’s fic?

[starsarefire824]

Chapter 2: Gilded Cage

He took a small bite of the pudding at first, soft cake and the bite of the caramelized ginger melting against his tongue. It had been his favorite since he was a child, always what he requested when he was home from the school holidays. He wondered if Will had known when he prepared this tray how Mike would delight in it. 

The next bite he took was larger, and the next larger after that. Unbidden, the vision of Will on his knees before him fastening his garters to his lean calves, heavily lashed hazel eyes flickering green in the light as he gazed up at him with anxiety. He wondered if Will still enjoyed sweets the way he had as a child. He wondered if he might lick it off his thumb if he offered.

He took another bite, dragging his spoon through the cream and shoving it into his mouth greedily, as if it possessed him. When he finished it, he picked up the dish and licked it clean, until his tongue had found every sugary dreg, then carelessly dropped it onto the bedside table.

He stared into the flickering fire, catching his breath. When he shifted, he realized he was achingly hard between his legs, blood pulsing. His lip curled as he tore his nightshirt from his body, suddenly feeling hot and infuriatingly confined. @souverian-are-we

[starsarefire824]

DOMINION by JustMyName & olliecoddle

They regarded each other silently for a long, excruciating second. 

Then Mike stepped forward. 

“I brought you these,” he lied, holding up the basket of mulberries. 

Will lifted an eyebrow. “You brought me fruit?” 

Mike drew closer, looming over Will. “Yes,” he said. Carefully, he plucked a berry from the basket. His whole body lit up when Will sighed, eyes watching Mike’s fingers. 

The warm wind blew through the corridor again and as if it guided Mike’s desire, he pressed the ripened fruit to Will’s plush mouth. 

“Eat,” he commanded. Will’s eyes darkened with want and he opened his mouth, taking the fruit from Mike’s hand. 

Slowly, he chewed, his gaze never faltering as he swallowed it down. Emboldened by Will’s submission, Mike grabbed a few more berries before discarding the basket. He invaded Will’s space completely and grabbed the back of his head. 

Will stiffened at the confinement for a moment, then relaxed under Mike’s hold when he offered him more fruit. 

Mike drug one of the berries over Will’s lips, squeezing just a little. Dark red juice dripped onto him, some of it melting on his tongue, some of it staining his lip and dribbling down his chin. 

Will opened his mouth wider at the offering, and Mike put all three in his mouth. 

“Good,” was all he could choke out, as he watched Will chew, lips stained as if he’d put on rouge. 

 What happened next was a blur of wildness Mike never thought himself capable of. He grabbed Will by his lapels and shoved him against the wall with a loud thud. Will made a noise that was a mixed up mewl of shocked pain and needy revelation. Mike dropped his hands around the back of Will’s thighs, lifting him up and pressing him flush against the wall. 

Will wrapped his legs around Mike’s waist, his grip tight at the back of his neck. Chests heaving and sharing breath, Mike roamed his gaze over Will’s face. His chin was still wet with fruit juice and his gaze dragged gently along his rounded yet defined jaw. He marveled at the way his nose was gorgeously curved and finely distinguished. As if he was carved in marble by one of the Italian masters. 

Mike had never been able to look at Will so closely before, not even the other night when he was writhing and whining into the down of his bed as Mike made him come undone piece by piece. His skin was smooth with a shadow of a beard threatening so late in the afternoon. He had a mole just above his pretty reddened lips, and another by his eye. And oh his eyes! They were painfully expressive with thick, dark lashes framing them and irises made of emerald and copper. 

Mike let go of Will, using his limbs and the wall to keep him up. He brought his hands to the waist of his trousers, undoing the buttons. Will sighed and keened, his hips rocking needily into him. Mike took great pleasure when he shoved his hand inside Will’s pants and his breath hitched. He was already half-hard for him and Mike had no difficulty finding the opening at the front of his drawers. He slipped his hand inside and took Will’s hard length into his firm grip. 

At the same time, he dipped his head forward, burying his face in Will’s neck as he pulled him closer, a little higher. Mike licked along his collar before sucking the thin skin there between his teeth, biting down hard. He smelled like sweat and the lavender from the garden.

Will shuddered and cried out, burying his face in his shoulder as Mike quickened his strokes. 

He tutted into Will’s ear as he brushed his thumb along his leaking slit, just how he liked it himself. “Your friends will be missing you,” he rasped. “What would they say if they knew what you were up to? Your cock in my hand, letting me ruin you in plain sight.” 

Will moaned, and Mike twisted and gripped him just a little bit harder. It was all that was needed. Will dug his fingers into Mike’s back and seized, coming with a silent exhale. He spilled hot into Mike’s palm and went limp against the wall, gasping for breath. 

They stood there like that, limbs tied up and slowly coming back to themselves. Mike’s arms ached, and Will was like putty in his hands, limbs loose and shaking. 

He slowly slid down the wall, feet finding the ground again. He stood, straightening his trousers and fixing his jacket. 

He was still gasping for breath when he finally looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mike interrupted. 

“Go,” he said, realizing he must have been off to the pub. It made a deep malicious satisfaction bloom in his chest knowing how he marked him. Mike did not let the feeling show in his voice.

“They’re waiting for you.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

here you are loves:

@souverian-are-we@birdfrenchforbird@onyxz-marie-100, @venetiangoldroz, @0ceansoftime, @boyswillbebugsr1ght, @forestofcryptids, @juice-drink-please, @mostlybenignalien, @abbbsdcahhscahh, @toonymit, @idiotlovesongs, @g1rlr0b1n, @iamwilldawise, @booksandcleverness81, @staarshoney, @idk-man-im-here, @ybea, @vanyahendricks, @adhdtranstheatrekid, @unknown-art-loverr, @acath161, @going-crazy-together, @capriciousibre

[starsarefire824]

Life's Illusions, I Recall

Summary:

September 2006. Mike is a prominent journalist in the city, when an irresistible story comes across his desk. Drowning in his own grief, Mike takes the first opportunity to escape it. He returns to the Midwest, to a small lake town in Michigan where the only surviving witness in an old murder case is said to be living. But as he delves further into evidence, more than its secrets are cracked open. It makes him think of the lonely, troubled boy he fell in love with over fifteen years before at summer camp, where memories and past regrets are forever interwoven.

A Sequel to Fortunately, I Believe.

[starsarefire824]

Dominion Chapter 7: The Maiden of Sherwood Forest

Like clockwork, Mike’s bell rang. 

Will weaved through the clamor of bodies and made his way to the staircase. 

Lord Roane called his hunting dogs with a whistle. The clicking of their nails and barks echoed down the stairwell. Will remembered seeing them as a child, the way they bounded back to the man across the length of the green field south of the house.

A pet, Troy had said. Was Will really all that different? Was he to be commanded like an animal, but expected to curb his lesser impulses with the piety of a monk?

The window in Mike’s bedroom was thrown open, and the perfume of overripe fruit and vegetation from the pear trees blew in from below. 

“Ah. Will,” Mike rose from his writing desk, tucking a book of papers into the back shelves and closing the lid. 

“How can I be of service, sir?”

“It’s the damn summer weather. My hair can’t cope with it. I would appreciate it if you could make it smart again for me.”

“Now, or before dinner, sir?”

Mike stopped at the looking glass next to his wardrobe, frowning. Mike’s hair could never lay flat in the heat, it had a natural curl that didn’t always yield to styling.

Will could still remember how it looked in the summer, soft like cotton wool curling around his head and shining as the feathers of a raven in the summer sun. 

Mike lifted his palm to smooth down his hair, then glanced nervously at Will, seeming to only then realize he had spoken. 

“Now. I will not be at dinner. I am once again summoned to Mirkwood, for what matter I do not know. Brenner is determined to settle even the most trivial matters.”

Will extracted a small case from the bureau, opening it and setting out a glass jar of pomade, a comb, hair oil. 

“I understand, sir. You want to look well for your fiancé.”

Mike sat down heavily in his chair, rolling his head back and scrubbing his face. 

“It will be important that you get to know El,” Mike announced.

“I’m sure I will in time.”

“Yes, but you must understand, she is a good woman.” Mike lowered his hands to his lap and stared at Will intently, watching him as he opened a jar of pomade and rubbed it between his palms. He felt as though there was some intent in Mike’s words that he was not quite picking up on.

“She’s an English rose,” was all Will said. 

Will ran his fingers through his hair, and Mike tipped his head back gently, closing his eyes as Will’s nails raked against his scalp. Will worked the product into his hair, weighing it down and slicking it back against his head. Mike’s breathing was slow and measured in a way that appeared almost unnatural. 

“It is not her fault that I’m like this,” Mike mumbled. @souverian-are-we

[starsarefire824]

Dominion: The Fever

One sunny afternoon after luncheon was cleared, Will, bone-weary and too hot in his livery, was shooed to the attics by his mother for a non-negotiable hour of rest. She had stretched upwards and put the back of her hand to his forehead, tsking. Too warm, she said decidedly. Your eyes are clouded. Eddie will cover for the evening preparations. Go to your rooms. 

Will climbed the seven flights of stairs with lead feet, a little breathless when he finally made it to his bedroom. The air pressed in on him, stuffy and dreadfully warm when he entered, and he grimaced when he smelled the remnants of his own piss in the chamber pot. He needed to rinse it with vinegar, but the task seemed overwhelming at the moment. Will kicked off his shoes and trekked heavily towards the window, thrusting it open. 

After a quick, unsatisfying smoke, he removed his jacket and undid his vest, dropping heavily onto his bed. 

It was then that he noticed the little package resting on his quilt. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper, twine tied in a bow with a stem of lavender tucked prettily into the knot. 

Will stilled, breath hitching in his throat once he fixated on it. He shifted on the bed, reaching for it immediately. It was a small thing, the wrapping simple, but whoever had wrapped it had taken great care. Will let his fingers linger over the lavender and thick paper. He brought them to his nose, delighting in the soft, calming fragrance. He’d never been gifted such a fine thing.

Who could it be from? 

Will delicately unlaced the twine ribbon and slipped it off, then unwrapped the paper. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he discovered what was hidden. 

It was a miniature canvas and a rich violet pigment. Beside it, wrapped in a silk cloth was one thin, rather fine paintbrush. Will gasped softly. It was too much. Too fine. Too grand for the likes of him. What was hidden beneath simple wrapping would realistically cost an unfortunate like him a few months’ wages. To afford something like this for himself was an impossibility.

Will thought of the jolted expression lighting up Mike’s dark eyes and the smile he hid when he and Miss Hawkins had snuck him away into her abandoned artist’s studio. Will hadn’t thought much of it then. Maybe he was only surprised that his servant had a life outside of Mirkwood House. But things were different now, even though they had settled back into monotony and his master slipped into impassivity. Things were different. Mike had touched him – he had placed his hands upon his face, his thumb in his mouth. 

Will had tasted his skin and burned for him. 

Things were different. Weren’t they? 

[starsarefire824]

Chapter 3: The Shoes

No one uses these?” Will had to set his jaw to keep himself from frowning. He felt the waste of this room like a loss, like mourning. What he wouldn’t do to try his hand with these supplies. He would not let his jealousy show, not in front of the woman that he could only suspect may serve as the Lady of his house someday.

“No. But I love art, still. My study made me appreciate the masters. Do you paint, Will?” she asked, as if there were any answer to the question possible other than–

“No,” he shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “I sketch, maybe, sometimes.”

“You do?” Mike asked. He was still in the doorway of the room, watching the two of them curiously.

“A little. Not well.”

The confession made him flush. He could feel Mike’s eyes on him as he turned, running his fingers over the fine bristles of a set of paintbrushes. They looked as if they had never been used, though they were exceptionally fine with carved handles and gold hardware that shone even in the room's low light. Will swallowed the lump in his throat and drew his hand away. The only brushes he should learn to pine after were those made for polishing boots.

[starsarefire824]

Fortunately, I Believe

@souverian-are-we

Read HERE

Summary:

After self-proclaiming himself as an Atheist one night at the dinner table, Mike's parents exile him to an Evangelical Summer Camp for one last summer before college. But this year is different. On top of rejecting his faith, he can't stop thinking about the mysterious boy working as a caretaker.

Indiana- Summer, 1989

Mike slammed the door of his mom’s Grand Marquis and inwardly groaned, watching his best friends, Lucas, Dustin, and Max—pile out after him. 

Another summer at Camp Creel. WASPy, conservative, religious (borderline fucking culty, if you ask him) Camp Creel in the backwoods of Indiana. The one his mother and all her friends have sent their kids to their whole lives. The one she went to, and her mother, and so on and so on since it opened in 1915 as a simple church retreat. It had a two acre lake, old cabins, a dining and rec hall, hiking, fishing, archery and all the other things you’d come to expect from a traditional camp. But then there was bible study and church on Sundays and the “group therapy sessions”. Which were less like therapy and more like indoctrination. 

Mike had been sent here every summer since he was ten. Except for last year. Turned out telling your traditional, Midwestern parents you're an atheist on your sixteenth birthday got you exiled all summer to your grandmother’s for an “ attitude adjustment ”. There he’d spent three months eating boxed mashed potatoes, watching reruns of The Andy Griffith Show on her plastic covered couch, and sweating his ass off helping renovate her church in the sticky Kentucky heat. 

“Alright folks!” 

The kids migrated from drop-off toward the front of the main hall where Pastor Henry Creel whistled with two fingers between his teeth. Handsome, neatly combed blonde hair, with a friendly smile that didn’t always meet his eyes. Birds sang in the pines as Mike watched his lips press against his fingertips, watched his hands as they tucked his button down into the waist of his black slacks. He shaded his eyes with sunglasses and checked his clipboard. 

“Welcome to Camp Creel. This summer promises to be our best season yet. We’re excited to announce the cafeteria has been fully renovated over the winter to accommodate our growing membership, and The Preston family out of Indianapolis donated a new steeple to our chapel.” 

Soft claps from counselors and students alike commended the good news. 

“After taking a year sabbatical, Eddie Munson is back to take over the 11-12s along with Chrissy Cunningham. If you all look at your nametags everyone is color coded. Your counselor is holding a small sign. Please organize yourselves into lines. You’ll be escorted to your cabins so you can rest and unpack, and then after swimming you are to meet at the chapel at 4pm for prayers before dinner. The staff and I are very excited. This is sure to be our best year yet. God bless.” 

Mike glanced down at his name-tag, noting the purple dot sticker next to his name. He glanced at Dustin who was looking at Lucas. They grinned at each other, and then Dustin threw his hands up in a rock metal sign and stuck his tongue out with glee. Then Max grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. 

“Dude, are you purple too?” she asked, staring at his name tag hopefully. 

“Yup,” he replied, falling in line with her behind Lucas and Dustin towards where Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham were waiting. They were both dressed in purple STAFF tshirts, belts, shorts, and tennis shoes. Chrissy Cunningham was as perfect as he’d come to expect of her over the years. Her uniform was pressed and her blonde hair was somehow still perfectly coiffed into a high ponytail even in the heat, her skin unblemished and nails manicured. She was attractive, yet somehow effortlessly exuded Good Christian Girl from every pore. 

Meanwhile, Eddie Munson was sporting a wild, curly mullet kept back from his face with a bandana and had tattoos lining one arm. They looked like bats or something. Visible tattoos would never normally be allowed in their church, but since not every counselor was necessarily a part of their ministry, exceptions were made for summer camp. He wore baggy jean shorts and ratty boots. His brown eyes were wide and exuberant in a way Mike can’t say most people around here ever were. It was definitely refreshing in this backwoods, evangelical hell hole. Mike liked him immediately. 

ʚ♡ɞ

The wooden drawer stuck as Mike pulled it open, warped by the heat. He reached in, pushing his hand to the back and feeling around for the grooves he knew were carved there. 

He had been in this cabin the summer after his fifth grade year, and at the end of the season he, Dustin, and Lucas had pulled this drawer out and carved the words “Oath of the Dragonslayer, 1981” into the wood with the side of a bottle cap.