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booshslashhavenTitle: There For A Reason, 2/3
Summary: Two shamen get down to business
Rating: R
Warnings: tentacles, but I don’t think I need to warn for dub-con any more; this turned out more consensual than even Tony was expecting
Spoilers: Tony reveals one of his secret kinks. Saboo rather wishes he hadn’t
Length: about 2200 words
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I just like to mould them to my own twisted designs. Yes, I know I should get out more
Notes: I was having so much fun writing the H-Man that this story just kept getting longer and longer (much like certain parts of Tony) so I’m afraid there is going to be another chapter. And a coda. The plot is very much a product of Tony’s own brand of Unique Thinking so I hope it’ll make sense in the end, although Dennis and I are still a bit confused about its finer points. (And yes, Tony will tell you the whole story about the motorbike. One day.)
There For A Reason, 2/3
‘Well,’ Tony says, ‘this is nice.’He aims one of his most winsome smiles at the frowning, half-naked shaman huddled under the black silk covers on the other side of the king-sized bed.
‘Is it.’ Saboo goes on frowning.
Tony sighs inwardly. Something tells him this is going to be hard work.
He takes the rose out from behind his ear, twirling the stem thoughtfully in one tentacle-tip. ‘What’s blown up your skirt, then? Most people’d be happy to have the awesome power of me legendary multi-hexagonal penis at their beck and call.’
‘I’d give you a list, but life’s too short.’ Saboo’s stomach rumbles. ‘For a start, I haven’t even had any breakfast yet.’ He sounds suddenly plaintive.
‘Well, let’s ’ave it now,’ Tony says cheerily, ‘fortify ourselves for the sexual athletics to come. I don’t mind waitin’ for what I know will be worth waitin’ for, if you catch my drift. Go on, get in that kitchen.’
Saboo's scowl deepens.
Tony blows him a kiss. ‘I’d do you breakfast in bed, Valentine, but I can’t reach yer worktops.’
This logic has always worked on Mrs Harrison, and sure enough after a couple of minutes Saboo sighs and gets out of bed. He looks down at Tony and asks grudgingly: ‘Want me to get you something?’
‘You got Frosties?’ Tony asks, more in hope than in expectation.
‘No.’
‘Golden Grahams? Cheerios?’
‘I’ve got organic muesli and skimmed milk. Or wholemeal toast.’
‘Nutella?’
Saboo’s expression is one of deepest contempt. ‘Malt extract,’ he snaps.
‘Blimey, you really do live the ’igh life when you’re at ’ome, don’t you?’
‘I believe in keeping a healthy mind in a healthy body during working hours.’
‘You sanctimonious git.’ Tony laughs. ‘You should try keepin’ a filthy mind in a sexy body at all hours. Works for me...’ Saboo is still glaring at him. ‘Toast’ll do fine,’ Tony says hastily. ‘An’ three sugars in me coffee.’
It’s good coffee; gives him a real buzz. Saboo wolfs down a bowl of what looks like bird food, then sips at his herbal tea and stares resolutely out of the window, as though hoping Tony will be gone by the time he looks round again.
Not a chance.
Tony eats the toast (not bad actually) in diplomatic silence, and is busily licking the sticky malt residue off his tentacles when he looks up and sees Saboo’s eyes on him.
‘Well,’ Saboo says quietly, setting down his empty cup, ‘we’d better get down to business, I suppose.’
‘Yeah,’ Tony says, equally quietly, ‘I reckon we better had.’
He wriggles across the silky black sheet, burrows under the eiderdown and wraps himself around Saboo again.
He starts at the feet; not having them himself, he’s always been fascinated by them. That bit of smooth, delicate skin just below the swelling curve of the human ankle bone; the graceful arch; the soft pads of the toes and the little crevices in between.
Saboo draws a harsh breath as Tony explores and caresses. ‘This is all kinds of wrong,’ he mutters.
‘Not all kinds.’ Tony blows a hot breath against a particularly cold toe. ‘There’s something right about it too.’
‘Well,’ Saboo admits grudgingly, ‘this is the first time my feet have been warm in a week.’
Tony would dearly love to spend more time warming up other bits of his colleague, but it’s becoming very clear, as he works his way up Saboo’s left thigh, that Saboo simply won’t last that long.
Not this first time, anyway.
In all Tony’s long life and many partners (of many species and assorted orientations and genders) he’s never had anyone quite as desperate for sex as this, not even first-time teenagers or Mrs Harrison on their wedding night.
He pushes the duvet aside and climbs up onto Saboo’s chest, the thud of Saboo’s heartbeat doing all sorts of nice things to Tony’s sensitive underparts.
The man’s eyes are closed. Tony looks at the soft arc of his throat, the way his eyes are squeezed shut and his lips slightly parted.
It’s tempting to crawl up there and kiss him on the mouth, but Tony still tastes of coffee and toast and he knows how fastidious Saboo is, so he contents himself with stroking his cheek and chin and savouring the tickle of that ludicrous little beard.
Saboo’s eyelids relax, just a bit.
Tony moves slowly backwards down Saboo’s stomach, flat and muscular; the dip of his navel is another delicious temptation, but Tony suspects that sticking anything into anywhere will be a step too far at this early stage of their relationship, and he doesn’t fancy being kicked out of bed onto that cold floor.
He turns round, keeping his multihexagonal erection in check with the skill of long practice.
Delayed gratification is still gratification, after all.
That cock is so hard it must be painful. It’s an elegant erection, smooth and symmetrical, with clean lines and a nice shape to it. The skin at the tip is slightly puckered and there’s a bead of moisture already forming there.
Tony licks his lips.
His shaman-sensitive tentacle tips feel around Saboo’s balls, also rock-hard and swollen.
Saboo whimpers and writhes, his hips lifting off the bed.
‘It’s all right, son, I’ve got you,’ Tony murmurs, coiling three tentacles around Saboo’s prick and gently pulling the foreskin back.
He’s hardly done anything, and already Saboo is groaning and thrusting against him.
‘Is that good?’ Tony moves his tentacles a little, up and down.
Saboo thrashes his head from side to side on the black pillow. ‘Just... get me off, OK? Just do it, bloody get it over with, I don’t care how, I don’t care any more...’
You do care, Tony thinks, and that’s just the trouble, isn’t it?
‘I... don’t... fucking... care...’ Saboo is trembling all over, his forehead beaded with sweat. ‘I... don’t... Oh...’
Tony licks at a fourth tentacle until it’s shiny and wet, and strokes it over the head of Saboo’s cock, teasing delicately at the slit, enjoying the taste of salt and the musky aromas of sex.
He’s always felt sorry for humans, with their extremities that only touch.
‘More,’ Saboo pleads.
It’s a challenge to orchestrate multiple tentacles for maximum sexual gratification, but Tony’s had plenty of practice. He carries on stroking and slowly, slowly tightening his grip until he can tell Saboo is close to the edge, rigid and hot and leaking.
A subtle shift in all four tentacles at once, and Saboo loses it, letting go in a satisfyingly copious flood of come, muffling his groans with his forearm pressed over his face as Tony milks him of more and yet more, astonished as always at the capacity of those apparently inadequate human gonads.
Afterwards Tony pulls the covers over his reluctant partner and sits on the pillow beside him, stroking his hair in a slow, soothing rhythm until his ragged breathing calms and his heartbeat is no longer shaking the bed.
Presently Saboo uncovers his face and swats the tentacles away from his head. ‘Get off me.’
‘Welcome back, lover.’ Tony is un-fazed. He’s used to this sort of reaction. ‘Feelin’ better now?’
‘I’m not sure. Relieved, I suppose – oh god, I can’t believe we just did that.’
‘Believe it.’ Tony giggles. ‘There’s plenty of evidence.’ He reaches down to touch Saboo’s wet belly.
Saboo shudders. ‘Don’t. I need to get clean.’ He gets off the bed and wraps his dressing gown round himself.
‘Wanna take a shower?’ Tony suggests, waggling his eyebrows.
‘Yes, but not with you.’
‘Worth a try. You got a guest bathroom?’
‘Right this way.’ Saboo picks Tony up unceremoniously by one tentacle and lugs him across the living room, through the hall and into a white-tiled shower room that looks as though nobody’s actually used it since it was built.
Saboo deposits his burden in the shower tray, dumps a bottle of bodywash next to him, punches the ‘on’ button and shuts the cubicle door.
‘Oi, that’s cold!’ Tony shrieks, breathless and indignant. ‘Is this what I get for givin’ you a good time?’
‘It’ll warm up. Stop whingeing and start washing.’ Saboo drops a fluffy white towel on the floor outside the rapidly misting glass. ‘I’ll be back to turn it off in ten minutes.’ He stalks out, shutting the door with a bang.
True to his word, he is back ten minutes later, his hair all damp and fluffed-up and his no doubt spotlessly clean body wrapped in a black towelling robe.
‘Are you done?’ He opens the door and glares down at Tony.
‘I am. All clean an’ beautiful.’ Tony grins at him.
‘Yes, well, eye of the beholder and all that. Just as long as you won’t leave smears on the furniture...’ Saboo leans over (Tony looks hopefully up at the bathrobe, but it is securely belted so as to reveal nothing of any interest) and turns the water off.
He sniffs, and his face twists with disgust. ‘Oh no. Don’t tell me you – No. Not in my shower...’
‘Sorry you missed it?’ Tony is unrepentant.
‘No, I am not. That is not a – perversion that interests me in the slightest.’
‘It interests me.’ Tony licks his lips.
His host looks as though he might throw up. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘I ’ad to,’ Tony pleads, ‘you’d shut me in an’ anyway I can’t reach to climb on the bog seat.’
He’d thought he’d given it plenty of time to rinse away; should’ve known Saboo would be hyper-sensitive.
‘Just... get out of there.’ Saboo flings open the bathroom cabinet and grabs a bottle of bleach. ‘Before I sanitise you along with the shower tray. You’re disgusting, Tony, you know that?’
‘You tell me often enough.’ Tony wriggles hastily onto the bathmat and wraps the towel round himself.
Saboo picks up a cloth and scrubs and rinses, tutting with irritation. ‘I could have done without this,’ he mutters.
Tony is unabashed. ‘You couldn’t have done without what came before, though.’
Saboo looks at him a long moment, then shakes his head and leaves the room, carrying the dirty cloth between the tips of his fingers.
Tony takes his time getting dry, and makes the effort to drag the wet bathmat and towel to the washing basket in the corner before skating across the tiled floor and into the hall.
He checks to make sure he’s alone; he can hear Saboo rustling about in the bedroom. Probably changing the sheets.
The entryphone is a long way off the floor, but there’s a handily placed chair and a row of coat-hooks and Tony has no trouble climbing up and pressing the button that’ll release the street door.
He takes the flat door off the latch as well, leaving it ever so slightly ajar.
It pays to plan for success, even if it’s a long shot.
The empty box lies on the floor of the empty lounge, gleaming dully in the grey light of mid-morning that’s filtering through the clouds outside the steel-framed windows.
Gloomy old place, this. No wonder Saboo isn’t happy here.
Tony looks thoughtfully at the box, then shoves it a bit closer to the bedroom door, and goes back into the bedroom.
The bed is neatly re-made and Saboo is lying on top of it, flat on his back, arms behind his head.
Tony climbs onto the bed and nestles down next to him. He smells of sandalwood soap and toothpaste and his own clean self, musky and warm.
After a while he shifts a little, and gives a heavy sigh.
‘Somethin’ on yer mind, son?’ Tony asks quietly.
‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ Saboo asks the ceiling.
‘The Board’s good work,’ Tony says, deadpan.
‘Oh, piss off, don’t give me that corporate rubbish. I got enough of that from bloody Dennis.’
‘The old man feed you a load of bullshit, did he? An’ you fell fer it, an took the job?’
‘I must have wanted to fall for it.’ Saboo sounds petulant. ‘I can’t understand it.’
‘I can.’ Tony chuckles sympathetically. ‘Yer judgement was compromised on account of yer over-full bollocks. Bin there, done that, ended up acceptin’ a position on the Board.’
Saboo turns his head to look at Tony. ‘Yes, how did you swing that? None of us knew you, you just appeared one day and even Dennis couldn’t remember who the fuck you were.’
‘Long story, son. Long story. Maybe I’ll get pissed and tell you someday. It involves a motorbike. And your little friend Naboo...’
‘He’s not my friend,’ Saboo snaps.
‘Don’t make no difference. I took the job, is my point. Turned out not so bad, in the end.’
‘How do you stand living on this crappy planet?’
‘Don’t dismiss Earth out of ’and. It’s got a lot of good points. It suits Mrs Harrison nicely, for a start, an’ there’s plenty of expat shamen based out here. The Welsh lot are a good laugh, an’ there’s you an’ me in London now, an’ Naboo’s not far away.’
Saboo snorts. ‘That little waste of space. He’s always bloody miles away. Even when he’s in the same room.’
‘At least ’e’s a fellow shaman. You could make more of an effort with the magical crowd, be social an’ that. Like me.’
‘I do not want to be like you. I work alone.’
‘Play alone?’ Tony nudges up to Saboo’s side.
‘Yes, well.’ Saboo frowns, but he doesn’t move away.
Tony looks around the handsomely proportioned room. ‘The job may be crap, but least they gave you a decent pad. You could have an outrageous housewarmin’ party here.’
‘No. It’s Board property, not mine, I can’t let you lot trash it.’
‘We’re responsible drinkers,’ Tony protests.
‘Dennis isn’t. Neither is Kirk. And you know what happened at the last shaman party.'
Tony has some happy – if hazy – memories of that particular party. 'Yeah, someone put Naboo in charge of drinks and he decided to make punch in his cauldron. It was a fuckin' good brew.’
‘It was fucking lethal. I was sick for a week afterwards. Nobody should let that little tit be in charge of anything. He always screws up.’
‘Oh, lay off him. What you got against him anyway?’
‘Nothing. Everything.’ Saboo rolls onto his front, hugging the pillow. ‘I don’t want to talk about Naboo, OK? I’ve never liked him.’
‘Hey, calm down.’ Tony strokes Saboo’s back; massages at the knots of tension in his shoulders. ‘You don’t have to talk about Naboo. Or about anythin’. Just relax, feel the magic of me tentacular touch, Mrs Harrison swears by it when ’er back’s playin’ up...’
The tentacular touch does indeed seem to be working its magic. Saboo relaxes and breathes deep as Tony kneads at his muscles, and after ten minutes or so he’s shifting position on the mattress as his growing erection makes itself felt.
Tony reaches underneath him and makes himself felt there as well.
‘Get off me,’ Saboo protests.
‘Oi, sunbeam, you’ve ’ad all the action so far, that’s not fair, the H-Man has needs as well you know.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’
‘Nah, you was ’opin’ I would. Well, yer cock was ’opin’ anyway.’ Tony gives it another squeeze. ‘An’ I ’aven’t completed me shamanic task yet. Can’t go back to the office with unfinished business, can I?’
Saboo gives another of those resigned sighs, and rolls over again.
Summary: Two shamen get down to business
Rating: R
Warnings: tentacles, but I don’t think I need to warn for dub-con any more; this turned out more consensual than even Tony was expecting
Spoilers: Tony reveals one of his secret kinks. Saboo rather wishes he hadn’t
Length: about 2200 words
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I just like to mould them to my own twisted designs. Yes, I know I should get out more
Notes: I was having so much fun writing the H-Man that this story just kept getting longer and longer (much like certain parts of Tony) so I’m afraid there is going to be another chapter. And a coda. The plot is very much a product of Tony’s own brand of Unique Thinking so I hope it’ll make sense in the end, although Dennis and I are still a bit confused about its finer points. (And yes, Tony will tell you the whole story about the motorbike. One day.)
There For A Reason, 2/3
‘Well,’ Tony says, ‘this is nice.’He aims one of his most winsome smiles at the frowning, half-naked shaman huddled under the black silk covers on the other side of the king-sized bed.
‘Is it.’ Saboo goes on frowning.
Tony sighs inwardly. Something tells him this is going to be hard work.
He takes the rose out from behind his ear, twirling the stem thoughtfully in one tentacle-tip. ‘What’s blown up your skirt, then? Most people’d be happy to have the awesome power of me legendary multi-hexagonal penis at their beck and call.’
‘I’d give you a list, but life’s too short.’ Saboo’s stomach rumbles. ‘For a start, I haven’t even had any breakfast yet.’ He sounds suddenly plaintive.
‘Well, let’s ’ave it now,’ Tony says cheerily, ‘fortify ourselves for the sexual athletics to come. I don’t mind waitin’ for what I know will be worth waitin’ for, if you catch my drift. Go on, get in that kitchen.’
Saboo's scowl deepens.
Tony blows him a kiss. ‘I’d do you breakfast in bed, Valentine, but I can’t reach yer worktops.’
This logic has always worked on Mrs Harrison, and sure enough after a couple of minutes Saboo sighs and gets out of bed. He looks down at Tony and asks grudgingly: ‘Want me to get you something?’
‘You got Frosties?’ Tony asks, more in hope than in expectation.
‘No.’
‘Golden Grahams? Cheerios?’
‘I’ve got organic muesli and skimmed milk. Or wholemeal toast.’
‘Nutella?’
Saboo’s expression is one of deepest contempt. ‘Malt extract,’ he snaps.
‘Blimey, you really do live the ’igh life when you’re at ’ome, don’t you?’
‘I believe in keeping a healthy mind in a healthy body during working hours.’
‘You sanctimonious git.’ Tony laughs. ‘You should try keepin’ a filthy mind in a sexy body at all hours. Works for me...’ Saboo is still glaring at him. ‘Toast’ll do fine,’ Tony says hastily. ‘An’ three sugars in me coffee.’
It’s good coffee; gives him a real buzz. Saboo wolfs down a bowl of what looks like bird food, then sips at his herbal tea and stares resolutely out of the window, as though hoping Tony will be gone by the time he looks round again.
Not a chance.
Tony eats the toast (not bad actually) in diplomatic silence, and is busily licking the sticky malt residue off his tentacles when he looks up and sees Saboo’s eyes on him.
‘Well,’ Saboo says quietly, setting down his empty cup, ‘we’d better get down to business, I suppose.’
‘Yeah,’ Tony says, equally quietly, ‘I reckon we better had.’
He wriggles across the silky black sheet, burrows under the eiderdown and wraps himself around Saboo again.
He starts at the feet; not having them himself, he’s always been fascinated by them. That bit of smooth, delicate skin just below the swelling curve of the human ankle bone; the graceful arch; the soft pads of the toes and the little crevices in between.
Saboo draws a harsh breath as Tony explores and caresses. ‘This is all kinds of wrong,’ he mutters.
‘Not all kinds.’ Tony blows a hot breath against a particularly cold toe. ‘There’s something right about it too.’
‘Well,’ Saboo admits grudgingly, ‘this is the first time my feet have been warm in a week.’
Tony would dearly love to spend more time warming up other bits of his colleague, but it’s becoming very clear, as he works his way up Saboo’s left thigh, that Saboo simply won’t last that long.
Not this first time, anyway.
In all Tony’s long life and many partners (of many species and assorted orientations and genders) he’s never had anyone quite as desperate for sex as this, not even first-time teenagers or Mrs Harrison on their wedding night.
He pushes the duvet aside and climbs up onto Saboo’s chest, the thud of Saboo’s heartbeat doing all sorts of nice things to Tony’s sensitive underparts.
The man’s eyes are closed. Tony looks at the soft arc of his throat, the way his eyes are squeezed shut and his lips slightly parted.
It’s tempting to crawl up there and kiss him on the mouth, but Tony still tastes of coffee and toast and he knows how fastidious Saboo is, so he contents himself with stroking his cheek and chin and savouring the tickle of that ludicrous little beard.
Saboo’s eyelids relax, just a bit.
Tony moves slowly backwards down Saboo’s stomach, flat and muscular; the dip of his navel is another delicious temptation, but Tony suspects that sticking anything into anywhere will be a step too far at this early stage of their relationship, and he doesn’t fancy being kicked out of bed onto that cold floor.
He turns round, keeping his multihexagonal erection in check with the skill of long practice.
Delayed gratification is still gratification, after all.
That cock is so hard it must be painful. It’s an elegant erection, smooth and symmetrical, with clean lines and a nice shape to it. The skin at the tip is slightly puckered and there’s a bead of moisture already forming there.
Tony licks his lips.
His shaman-sensitive tentacle tips feel around Saboo’s balls, also rock-hard and swollen.
Saboo whimpers and writhes, his hips lifting off the bed.
‘It’s all right, son, I’ve got you,’ Tony murmurs, coiling three tentacles around Saboo’s prick and gently pulling the foreskin back.
He’s hardly done anything, and already Saboo is groaning and thrusting against him.
‘Is that good?’ Tony moves his tentacles a little, up and down.
Saboo thrashes his head from side to side on the black pillow. ‘Just... get me off, OK? Just do it, bloody get it over with, I don’t care how, I don’t care any more...’
You do care, Tony thinks, and that’s just the trouble, isn’t it?
‘I... don’t... fucking... care...’ Saboo is trembling all over, his forehead beaded with sweat. ‘I... don’t... Oh...’
Tony licks at a fourth tentacle until it’s shiny and wet, and strokes it over the head of Saboo’s cock, teasing delicately at the slit, enjoying the taste of salt and the musky aromas of sex.
He’s always felt sorry for humans, with their extremities that only touch.
‘More,’ Saboo pleads.
It’s a challenge to orchestrate multiple tentacles for maximum sexual gratification, but Tony’s had plenty of practice. He carries on stroking and slowly, slowly tightening his grip until he can tell Saboo is close to the edge, rigid and hot and leaking.
A subtle shift in all four tentacles at once, and Saboo loses it, letting go in a satisfyingly copious flood of come, muffling his groans with his forearm pressed over his face as Tony milks him of more and yet more, astonished as always at the capacity of those apparently inadequate human gonads.
Afterwards Tony pulls the covers over his reluctant partner and sits on the pillow beside him, stroking his hair in a slow, soothing rhythm until his ragged breathing calms and his heartbeat is no longer shaking the bed.
Presently Saboo uncovers his face and swats the tentacles away from his head. ‘Get off me.’
‘Welcome back, lover.’ Tony is un-fazed. He’s used to this sort of reaction. ‘Feelin’ better now?’
‘I’m not sure. Relieved, I suppose – oh god, I can’t believe we just did that.’
‘Believe it.’ Tony giggles. ‘There’s plenty of evidence.’ He reaches down to touch Saboo’s wet belly.
Saboo shudders. ‘Don’t. I need to get clean.’ He gets off the bed and wraps his dressing gown round himself.
‘Wanna take a shower?’ Tony suggests, waggling his eyebrows.
‘Yes, but not with you.’
‘Worth a try. You got a guest bathroom?’
‘Right this way.’ Saboo picks Tony up unceremoniously by one tentacle and lugs him across the living room, through the hall and into a white-tiled shower room that looks as though nobody’s actually used it since it was built.
Saboo deposits his burden in the shower tray, dumps a bottle of bodywash next to him, punches the ‘on’ button and shuts the cubicle door.
‘Oi, that’s cold!’ Tony shrieks, breathless and indignant. ‘Is this what I get for givin’ you a good time?’
‘It’ll warm up. Stop whingeing and start washing.’ Saboo drops a fluffy white towel on the floor outside the rapidly misting glass. ‘I’ll be back to turn it off in ten minutes.’ He stalks out, shutting the door with a bang.
True to his word, he is back ten minutes later, his hair all damp and fluffed-up and his no doubt spotlessly clean body wrapped in a black towelling robe.
‘Are you done?’ He opens the door and glares down at Tony.
‘I am. All clean an’ beautiful.’ Tony grins at him.
‘Yes, well, eye of the beholder and all that. Just as long as you won’t leave smears on the furniture...’ Saboo leans over (Tony looks hopefully up at the bathrobe, but it is securely belted so as to reveal nothing of any interest) and turns the water off.
He sniffs, and his face twists with disgust. ‘Oh no. Don’t tell me you – No. Not in my shower...’
‘Sorry you missed it?’ Tony is unrepentant.
‘No, I am not. That is not a – perversion that interests me in the slightest.’
‘It interests me.’ Tony licks his lips.
His host looks as though he might throw up. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘I ’ad to,’ Tony pleads, ‘you’d shut me in an’ anyway I can’t reach to climb on the bog seat.’
He’d thought he’d given it plenty of time to rinse away; should’ve known Saboo would be hyper-sensitive.
‘Just... get out of there.’ Saboo flings open the bathroom cabinet and grabs a bottle of bleach. ‘Before I sanitise you along with the shower tray. You’re disgusting, Tony, you know that?’
‘You tell me often enough.’ Tony wriggles hastily onto the bathmat and wraps the towel round himself.
Saboo picks up a cloth and scrubs and rinses, tutting with irritation. ‘I could have done without this,’ he mutters.
Tony is unabashed. ‘You couldn’t have done without what came before, though.’
Saboo looks at him a long moment, then shakes his head and leaves the room, carrying the dirty cloth between the tips of his fingers.
Tony takes his time getting dry, and makes the effort to drag the wet bathmat and towel to the washing basket in the corner before skating across the tiled floor and into the hall.
He checks to make sure he’s alone; he can hear Saboo rustling about in the bedroom. Probably changing the sheets.
The entryphone is a long way off the floor, but there’s a handily placed chair and a row of coat-hooks and Tony has no trouble climbing up and pressing the button that’ll release the street door.
He takes the flat door off the latch as well, leaving it ever so slightly ajar.
It pays to plan for success, even if it’s a long shot.
The empty box lies on the floor of the empty lounge, gleaming dully in the grey light of mid-morning that’s filtering through the clouds outside the steel-framed windows.
Gloomy old place, this. No wonder Saboo isn’t happy here.
Tony looks thoughtfully at the box, then shoves it a bit closer to the bedroom door, and goes back into the bedroom.
The bed is neatly re-made and Saboo is lying on top of it, flat on his back, arms behind his head.
Tony climbs onto the bed and nestles down next to him. He smells of sandalwood soap and toothpaste and his own clean self, musky and warm.
After a while he shifts a little, and gives a heavy sigh.
‘Somethin’ on yer mind, son?’ Tony asks quietly.
‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ Saboo asks the ceiling.
‘The Board’s good work,’ Tony says, deadpan.
‘Oh, piss off, don’t give me that corporate rubbish. I got enough of that from bloody Dennis.’
‘The old man feed you a load of bullshit, did he? An’ you fell fer it, an took the job?’
‘I must have wanted to fall for it.’ Saboo sounds petulant. ‘I can’t understand it.’
‘I can.’ Tony chuckles sympathetically. ‘Yer judgement was compromised on account of yer over-full bollocks. Bin there, done that, ended up acceptin’ a position on the Board.’
Saboo turns his head to look at Tony. ‘Yes, how did you swing that? None of us knew you, you just appeared one day and even Dennis couldn’t remember who the fuck you were.’
‘Long story, son. Long story. Maybe I’ll get pissed and tell you someday. It involves a motorbike. And your little friend Naboo...’
‘He’s not my friend,’ Saboo snaps.
‘Don’t make no difference. I took the job, is my point. Turned out not so bad, in the end.’
‘How do you stand living on this crappy planet?’
‘Don’t dismiss Earth out of ’and. It’s got a lot of good points. It suits Mrs Harrison nicely, for a start, an’ there’s plenty of expat shamen based out here. The Welsh lot are a good laugh, an’ there’s you an’ me in London now, an’ Naboo’s not far away.’
Saboo snorts. ‘That little waste of space. He’s always bloody miles away. Even when he’s in the same room.’
‘At least ’e’s a fellow shaman. You could make more of an effort with the magical crowd, be social an’ that. Like me.’
‘I do not want to be like you. I work alone.’
‘Play alone?’ Tony nudges up to Saboo’s side.
‘Yes, well.’ Saboo frowns, but he doesn’t move away.
Tony looks around the handsomely proportioned room. ‘The job may be crap, but least they gave you a decent pad. You could have an outrageous housewarmin’ party here.’
‘No. It’s Board property, not mine, I can’t let you lot trash it.’
‘We’re responsible drinkers,’ Tony protests.
‘Dennis isn’t. Neither is Kirk. And you know what happened at the last shaman party.'
Tony has some happy – if hazy – memories of that particular party. 'Yeah, someone put Naboo in charge of drinks and he decided to make punch in his cauldron. It was a fuckin' good brew.’
‘It was fucking lethal. I was sick for a week afterwards. Nobody should let that little tit be in charge of anything. He always screws up.’
‘Oh, lay off him. What you got against him anyway?’
‘Nothing. Everything.’ Saboo rolls onto his front, hugging the pillow. ‘I don’t want to talk about Naboo, OK? I’ve never liked him.’
‘Hey, calm down.’ Tony strokes Saboo’s back; massages at the knots of tension in his shoulders. ‘You don’t have to talk about Naboo. Or about anythin’. Just relax, feel the magic of me tentacular touch, Mrs Harrison swears by it when ’er back’s playin’ up...’
The tentacular touch does indeed seem to be working its magic. Saboo relaxes and breathes deep as Tony kneads at his muscles, and after ten minutes or so he’s shifting position on the mattress as his growing erection makes itself felt.
Tony reaches underneath him and makes himself felt there as well.
‘Get off me,’ Saboo protests.
‘Oi, sunbeam, you’ve ’ad all the action so far, that’s not fair, the H-Man has needs as well you know.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’
‘Nah, you was ’opin’ I would. Well, yer cock was ’opin’ anyway.’ Tony gives it another squeeze. ‘An’ I ’aven’t completed me shamanic task yet. Can’t go back to the office with unfinished business, can I?’
Saboo gives another of those resigned sighs, and rolls over again.
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Date: 2013-02-19 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-19 08:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-19 04:05 am (UTC)Methinks Saboo protests too much regarding his dislike for Naboo and I'm pretty sure Tony sees right through it. And yes, Saboo is oddly consensual regarding Tony's plans for him in the bedroom. The sexy times were oddly appealing as well as just plain odd. I really enjoy this paring, though. I've always thought Saboo and the H-Man deserve each other.
I would love to hear the story of the motorbike and how Tony ended up on the Board, especially since it involves Naboo. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to Part 3. :)
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Date: 2013-02-19 08:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-22 10:11 pm (UTC)I have no more epithets for you and your tentacle porn, you're just amazing. And look at you trying to sneak in a little bit of Snaboo while we weren't looking!
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Date: 2013-02-22 11:11 pm (UTC)Snaboo is in my head-canon now. I have tried very hard but it's impossible for me to write Saboo without that connection... and of course Tony is well aware that he's hitting on a raw nerve here. I can just picture him smirking as Saboo carries on resolutely denying everything!
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Date: 2013-02-27 09:33 pm (UTC)thnak you you are awesome!
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Date: 2013-02-28 08:19 pm (UTC)Tony blows him a kiss. ‘I’d do you breakfast in bed, Valentine, but I can’t reach yer worktops.’
The clarity of the mental image that gave me is unbelievable! XD
Great fic...I may be a convert to this ;D
no subject
Date: 2013-02-28 09:50 pm (UTC)