Butler vs Footman

They've been at each other all day.

Even Don's mother has noticed it, has been glancing at the two of them, and at once point leaned into Don and asked in an undertone if Donald didn't think, perhaps, that Mr Mead is being unusually demanding of the new footman.

Don had shrugged his shoulders, pretended not to notice, but he has noticed.

He notices everything where Mead and Harrison are concerned, but he certainly noticed this.

"Posture, Harrison," Mead has been growling all day, and every time he seems to catch Harrison by surprise, making him jerk up by three or four inches to straighten out his shoulders.

Twice, Mead has physically taken hold of him to adjust his form, and each time Harrison seems like he's barely holding back the urge to turn around and tear Mead's throat out with his teeth, and all day Mead has been finding flaw with Harrison's work -- his shoes aren't polished, the silver still has tarnish on it, he's missed a torn button on the master's coat, his footsteps are too loud in the corridor.

It's no surprise that Harrison is wound so tight he's ready to burst when Don creeps into the little room off of the parlour downstairs, and Don would almost think to himself that Mead had done it for this purpose alone if he knew it wasn't somewhat more personally motivated than that.

Harrison grabs him by the hair, and Don gasps against his mouth as he's pinned back over the table, Harrison kissing him so hard he almost wonders if his lips will bruise. He spreads his legs, invites Harrison between them, tries to get him to come grind up against him, but Harrison ignores it as he unbuttons his braces and drops trou.

Don goes willingly onto the floor, feels his knees against the stone and craves the hard, cool pressure, gasps at Harrison's tight hand in his hair, dragging him forward, and when Harrison shoves his cock down Don's throat, Don chokes on it.

Mead doesn't treat him this roughly, would never -- he'd never throw Don around like this, would never try to fuck his mouth like this, but if he did and then Don choked, if he gagged, he'd pull back immediately.

Harrison pulls him down by the hair until his cock is thrust down Don's throat, and Don cries out, the sound muffled around his cock. He grabs at Harrison's thighs, squeezing, pleading with his eyes.

"Tha can take it," says Harrison, holding his head in place by his hair, and Don tries to swallow, takes in a sharp intake of breath through his nose.

If Mead was doing this, he wouldn't be able to breathe -- Harrison can only do this so easily, really, because his cock isn't big enough to kill Don dead. Don's eyes are watering, and Harrison waits, staring down at him with his lips twisted in a scowl, until Don stops struggling.

When Harrison starts to thrust into his throat like it's a cunt ready made for him, Don moans, and wonders if he ought feel ashamed that he's so very hard in his own trousers, pulled around like this, treated so roughly --

He likes it.

It's the reason he took up with Harrison in the first place, the reason he let Harrison fuck him up behind the dog sheds, fuck him so hard that no matter that his cock was smaller he was making sure Don felt every thrust into his arse in the back of his throat, as though the footman were trying to fuck straight through him.

"Slag," says Harrison, and Don feels his cheeks burn hot and pink. "Fucking love that, don't tha?"

Mead isn't like Harrison. Mead is gentle, tender -- he touches Don very lovingly, with a firm but kind hand, and he won't even be convinced of sodomy, will only fuck between Don's thighs even though Don has told him thrice how much he likes it. He doesn't want to debase him, he says.

There's a lot to be said for a spot of debasement, from time to time.

"For God's sake," Mead hisses as he enters the room, closing and locking the door behind him, and Harrison fucks more savagely into his throat, making Don choke again, his eyes watering, his grips loosening on Harrison's thighs.

He can hear the slap of sound as Mead's hand claps upside Harrison's head, and when Harrison is dragged away from Don, Don coughs hard, aware that he's messy, not just soaked with sweat, but with dribble and ejaculate shining over his chin and his lips.

"Fat, jealous fuck," says Harrison, and Don feels his mouth fall open in surprise, because Mead looks furious, and for just a moment, Don really thinks he'll hit him. He doesn't, of course: Mead schools his fury into an expression of cold anger, his lips pressing together, his gaze boring into Harrison in a way that would make Don want to crumble, but just makes Harrison puff up his chest and stand on his tip toes.

He's still a head shorter than Mead, and must be half his size.

Mead picks up a cushion from the wooden bench and hands it down to Don, and obediently, Don takes it and puts it under his knees. It is a relief, somewhat, but it makes Harrison scoff.

"I an't finished," says Harrison.

"You're lucky I allow you to touch him at all," says Mead, his voice in such a low, heavy growl that it seems to come right from the core of his big, barrel chest.

Don shifts, pressing the heel of his hand against his crotch.

"Well, Vic," he says, "it's not really your -- "

"Hush," says Mead, and Harrison adds, "That mouth in't for talking tonight, lad."

Don shivers, feels himself smile giddily even though his face is a mess, and it's this smile that seems to make Mead take pause, drawing himself up to a further height.

"Now, see," says Harrison. "He's a slag: wants a hard fuck. Don't need his butler mollycoddling and being his fucking nursemaid."

"You've not the slightest idea what he needs," says Mead immediately. "You insolent little tyke."

"Insolent?" demands Harrison. "Why for then, 'cause I know better nor thee?"

Mead bristles, and Don reaches out, touches his thigh.

Mead's hand loosely curls in Don's hair, and while he doesn't grip as tightly as Harrison had, doesn't hold him by the hair hard enough to really pull the hair at the root, it's firm, and Don likes it.

"Take his mouth, if it's what tha wants," says Don. "I'll fuck from t'other end."

Mead looks scandalised.

"You'll do no such thing," he hisses sharply, as though frightened they'll be overheard: his grip tightens in Don's hair, and Don moans softly, his eyes closing. "Is that what you've been doing with him?"

"Well," says Harrison, with a low laugh. "I an't been giving him roses and chocolates. The fuck did tha think I was at with him?"

When Don looks up at Mead's face, he sees the butler's ruddy cheeks have gone slightly pink, his lips parted, and he's shifting on his feet, looking beyond scandalised and indignant now, but quietly horrified.

"He's a young man," says Mead.

Harrison leans back from him, looking baffled. "He's no younger nor us, Mead."

"He's a gentleman," Mead goes on.

"Not when he's on my cock," is the dry response, and Don shudders, because Harrison's hand is gripping loosely in his hair from the other side, forcing Don to pull his head up and tilt it back slightly.

"You might continue with his mouth," says Mead at length.

"Gonna fuck his arse?"

"No," snaps Mead, and Don lets out a low sound of disappointment that makes Harrison laugh.

"Up," Harrison orders, and drags him by the hair to drag him, still clothed, over the table. It'd be too high for Harrison to be bent over it like this, but Don is somewhat taller, has longer legs, and his toes only just come off the ground. Mead's hands slide gently over the backs of his night clothes, beginning to gather up his dressing gown. "No wonder the young master," there's an ironic lilt to Harrison's voice that makes Don shudder, his cock hard in his pyjama trousers, especially because Harrison is looking down at him with a knife-edge smirk, too, "came wanting for us to fuck him. Butler won't do it as he needs."

"Don't be unkind, Sam," says Don, and Harrison scoffs, sliding two fingers into his mouth and pressing them onto his tongue as Mead tugs his pyjama bottoms down.

"Thought Christmas'd come early for us," Harrison goes on, sliding his fingers around Don's mouth, and then pressing harder on the back of his tongue, making Don gag slightly and laughing at him. "Thought tha must be hung as dormouse, for all that bulk on thee. Imagine my surprise, when the slag says tha've a great weapon in them trousers, only won't use it none."

"I hardly expect he said any of that," says Mead darkly, but his fingers are massaging a wonderful rhythm against Don's arse, making his cock thrill without even sliding inside him, and Don closes his eyes, sucking harder at Harrison's fingers. "Unlike some present here today, Mr Howard has a strong command of the English language."

"Bet he'd like command of that cock," says Harrison. "Have it spear his boycunt wide."

Don whines despite himself, and Harrison laughs, tucking his fingers back soaked with spit that comes away from Don's mouth in wet threads.

"Aye, aye," he says mildly, amused. "Thinks he's thy nanny but won't spoil thee none."

"I hardly wish to do him any harm," says Mead. "Unlike you."

"Look at him," retorts Harrison. "He's a slattern for harm, begs it be given him. Want us to fuck thee between us, eh, lad? Me down thy throat, him up thine arse, see if we can't meet in t'middle?"

Don feels slightly light-headed.

Dumbly, he nods.

"Can't see thy butler, lad," says Harrison smugly, "but he's a face all pink with want on him, now. Say please."

"Please," Don says, as quickly as he can, and for the first time, Mead slides one thumb, dry, into Don's arse, and presses down. Don cries out, and Harrison chuckles, smacking the wet head of his cock against his cheeks, smearing hot wetness over the skin there.

His own cock is swinging down, and Mead grips it loosely with his other hand, fists over him.

"Fuck it in him dry," Harrison advises. "Bet lad'll howl."

Don spreads his thighs wider apart, and Harrison laughs, smacking the tip of his cock against Don's lips. Don tries to lean forward, tries to take Harrison into his mouth, and Harrison clucks his tongue.

"Ah ah. Polite, me," he says firmly. "I'll wait for Mead to have you on that end."

"Mr Harrison," says Mead, "I hardly think -- "

"He's hardly thinking," interrupts Harrison. "Makes two of you. Just fuck him, Mead, he's wanting for't."

Harrison tosses him something, and Don hears Mead catch it. "Oh, for -- "

"Grease is grease," says Harrison. "On with thee, now. He'll come on cock alone, if tha'll give it him. Don't need fingers -- just grease thy way, be smooth as butter."

"A romantic you are not," says Mead.

"Nay," says Harrison. "A sodomite, I am, I expect the likes of tha'd say."

"And you'd have me join you," retorts Mead.

"Aye, join us," agrees Harrison. "Have the young master between us as a rabbit on spit."

"Please," Don begs, and Harrison smacks him again with his cock, leaves a wet smear over his cheek, and the noise that works its way out of his throat is ragged and eager.

"That's no virgin channel before thee," says Harrison, pulling Don's head back to look him in the eyes. "Well plundered long before I fucked it, eh, lad?"

"I should prepare him -- "

"Grease that cock and fuck," says Harrison. "Or have we all night to be at this?"

A few seconds later, Mead's huge cockhead presses against Don's arse, and Don whines, gripping hard at the table as Mead slides forward. Mead is expecting more resistance than he gets, Don thinks, but Don's arse can take a pounding and there's none of that in this: as much as he hasn't worked him open too carefully, Mead slides slowly, easily inside, wet with grease.

It feels good.

It feels so good Don moans low in his throat, feels the wide stretch of himself around Mead's fat prick, and when Don's mouth falls open, Harrison shoves his cock into Don's mouth.

Don doesn't choke this time out of sheer stubbornness, trying to straighten himself up slightly to swallow Harrison's prick inside him, but from this angle it's even messier than before -- but Harrison can fuck deeper.

Harrison grips him by the hair to fuck his face, and Don is distracted by the wildly different treatments at each end: Harrison's cock shoves hard over his tongue, makes him gag every few thrusts, tastes sharp and bitter on his tongue, so overwhelming his eyes are watering and he's breathing raggedly around it; meanwhile, Mead slides his cock inside him slowly, inexorably, carefully.

When he finally bottoms out, Don whimpers.

"Harder than that," says Harrison.

Mead rocks his hips gently into Don's arse, barely pulling back, and it's wonderful, large, his bollocks rubbing against Don's own.

"Fat muscled cunt as you are, like a prize bull," says Harrison, "and that's the hardest tha can move?"

Mead, who had been sliding his cock slowly back, drawing it out like he was unsheathing some prized sword from its scabbard, snaps his hips forward: it shoves into him again all at once, feels like it's going to push his lungs to wrap around Harrison's cock, and Don yowls.

He'd need gagging, if the sound wasn't already muffled.

"There's nice," growls Harrison, fucking into Don's throat. "Do that again, and he'll come right quick."

"I don't want to hurt him," says Mead.

"He fucking loves it," says Harrison. "Will hurt him more denying him."

It takes a little for him to warm up to it: Don can feel him working up to it, rocking his hips forward a little harder, but deeper, too, the movements faster. When he starts really slamming his hips forward, each time making a slapping sound that rings off the stone floor, Don loses the ability to think clearly.

He's aware of Mead leaning over him, Mead's great weight on his back, fucking into him harder than Don has ever let himself dream of, hard enough to leave bruises on his arse, and to shove him further forward onto Harrison's cock as its fed further into his mouth.

There are tears streaking down his cheeks, but that's not all -- his cock is leaking too, jerking and dribbling every few thrusts, and when he comes, he feels like the orgasm is being wrung out of him, because it just seems to spur them to ride him harder.

It's sublime.

"Bet I can come before thee," says Harrison.

"I can't -- I'm hardly -- hardly going to come inside -- " Mead is out of breath, and the thought is so arousing that Don grips tight at the table and presses himself back, feeling his prick give an eager jump even though it's still mostly soft.

"Do it," says Harrison. "Make a mess of him. We'll send him to bed after with spend leaking out of his cunt and he'll sleep happy as anything, slag as he is."

Don sobs around the twin pricks inside him, clenching hard, and he feels Mead come, feels the hot pulse of him, and Harrison comes down his throat a second after.

Harrison shoves his cock as deep as it will go, and Don tries his best to swallow all of him down, licks his cock clean before Harrison pulls back, and drops his grip on Don's hair: Don drops limp over the table, and Don laughs as he walks around.

Mead is cleaning himself up, he thinks: he can feel himself left open to the cool air of the room, and Harrison slides two fingers up his thighs, pushing some of Mead's come back into his hole.

Don shivers.

"I can hardly believe I just did that," says Mead in a low voice.

"Look for the evidence if it don't seem real," Harrison advises. "That hole won't be closing for days with the ploughing's been given it. Shall I give thee a beating, all open palm, lad, see if we can't make it pucker up again?"

Don can't summon words, but he can spread his thighs further apart.

"Want to know something, Mr Mead?" asks Harrison as he comes to examine him, nudging his thighs even further apart, no doubt to better see his arse.

"What is it?" asks Mead tightly.

"Bet of a night we could both fit in this hole," says the footman musingly. "Better than we could both of us fit in his mouth."

"Good Lord," whispers Mead. He sounds scandalised, but there's an excitement in it too, and Don inhales reedily.

Harrison laughs. "Like that, eh?" he asks, and with one hand resting on the base of Don's back, he brings the other down in an open-handed slap.