Work Text:
There were probably worse things for your boss to walk in on you doing, but having a panic attack in an abandoned office room wasn’t exactly ideal.
“We really must stop meeting like this.” Monty’s drawl cut through the quiet room like a hot knife through butter. Charles flinched at the sound, jumping as if he’d been burned. He’d assumed no one else knew about his hiding spot - which admittedly was a rather dramatic way of referring to an empty office tucked away in a corner of the building that nobody would have any reason to visit.
“H-how did you find me?” Charles managed to stutter out, between heaving breaths. He had more questions than just that - wasn’t Monty supposed to be in a meeting with the admirals, how had he managed to see through Charles’ genius lie about having to run over to the archives to double check something, had the bloody Germans found their corpse yet - but in his panic all he could concentrate on was ‘Oh god, I’ve got to find a new abandoned office to have breakdowns in’. Maybe Jean would let him share hers, or wherever it was she also disappeared off to when it all got a bit much. Then again, he was starting to suspect the answer to that might turn out to be Hester’s flat, and he and the indomitable Ms Leggatt didn’t really have that kind of a relationship.
He only had a hiding place in the first place because Monty had walked in on him the week before breathing into a paper bag in a corner of their shared office, and the embarrassment from that occasion had haunted Charles’ dreams ever since. It certainly didn’t help his pervasive feeling that he, Charles Chomondeley, absolutely should not have been trusted with this much responsibility. Whose bright idea had it been to leave some... bug boy in charge of a crucial bit of military deception?
Before his thoughts could spiral even more dramatically, Charles was distracted by Monty clearing his throat loudly. “It wasn’t hard, Charlie. I spotted you skulking off in completely the wrong direction to the archives, and followed the sounds of abject despair and anxiety from there.”
Charles’ face flushed, this time with annoyance. “Well I’m sorry not all of us can be so laissez-faire about this whole thing, but in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war on - and for some godforsaken reason, we’re the ones they’ve picked to help stop that!”
To his surprise, Monty actually seemed to be taken aback by his outburst, and a small nasty part of Charles felt rather satisfied. It certainly hadn’t helped his anxiety much, being met with a wall of blithe reassurance from the man who was technically supposed to be his superior.
“Right…” Monty said, trailing off and looking at Charles quizzically. Charles repressed the urge to curl in on himself like a woodlouse, tucking up into a little ball and simply rolling out of the room and away from this conversation. “You’re really not enjoying this, are you?”
“What gave it away?” Charles snapped.
Monty raised an eyebrow. “Feisty, aren’t you? It’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for.” He strode over to where Charles was sitting, hunched painfully in a particularly uncomfortable wooden desk chair. Carefully, Monty crouched down to Charles’ eye level, knees cracking as he did so. He reached out a hand and firmly grasped Charles’ shoulder reassuringly. As much as Charles hated to admit it, the feeling of firm pressure against him did feel slightly soothing - somewhere between a grounding weight and an incredibly protracted massage. Despite his lingering irritation, he couldn’t help but lean into it slightly, earning him a grin from Monty.
“There we go,” Monty said, somehow managing not to sound patronising - which, for him, was no mean feat. “Feeling a bit better?”
“It’s certainly an improvement on your usual tactics.” Charles grumbled. “Being told ‘It’ll all be fine, just trust me, I’m the great Ewen Montagu’ is not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.”
Monty frowned. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” It said so much that he was able to say something like that with a straight face, without a trace of irony. It probably said more that Charles was starting to see it as endearing. Perhaps it was just the comforting presence of another person beside him, or the absurdity of the situation finally starting to outweigh his anxiety.
Monty’s hand left his shoulder, and Charles let out an involuntary noise of disappointment. Luckily it turned out Monty was just pulling up his own chair, wincing slightly as he settled in it. There may very well have been a reason why this office had laid dormant so long, if these were the only seats on offer. “Listen, Charlie, I know this hasn’t exactly been fun for you-”
“Again, I can’t imagine why you might think that.”
“Indeed. And I am willing to admit, I haven’t been… the most attentive to you and your struggles.” This time, Monty held up a hand before Charles could butt in. “If we’re being perfectly honest here, as much as I despise that idea, I often forget that not everyone feels as reassured as I do by simply refusing to admit anything is wrong.”
“And how well has that been working out for you?” Charles couldn’t help but sound a little bitter - he was pretty sure he knew exactly what the answer would be.
To his surprise, Monty shrugged. “Swings and roundabouts, old boy. For example, sometimes it leads to one of my greatest minds hiding in a dusty old office, when he could be out with me having a gay old time ignoring our problems.”
The last time that had happened, Charles had somehow found himself in a club he was nowhere near posh enough to be setting foot in, standing on a table and yelling about how he was about to single handedly take down Hitler. It hadn’t been the worst evening of his life, but the hangover the next day had been truly spectacular.
“I'm not going drinking with you again, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” he said, straightening up in his chair. “Neither my wallet nor my head have recovered from the last time.”
A strange look stole across Monty’s face. “Oh I have a much better idea - and you’ll certainly want to be sober for this one.”
“And do I get to know what it entails?”
For a second, it genuinely did look as though Monty was considering not telling him, which would have been bloody typical. Ewen Montagu was exactly the kind of man to drag you along by the hand to some adventure, with no more information that ‘Oh trust me, you’ll love it.’ In Charles’ experience, that never ended well.
“Of course, of course. I just-” If Charles didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Monty looked ever so slightly sheepish. “Well, it’s a little delicate. And quite possibly not the kind of thing one discusses at work. Luckily, I have the authority to get us both the afternoon off for good behaviour, since it’s not like we can do anything useful here until the Nazis find our dear departed Bill. What do you say to heading back to mine for an evening of… well, let’s just call it relaxation.”
If he were being perfectly honest, Charles wanted nothing more than to escape home, where he could curl up with a cup of tea and a good book. But, if he was going off more than just base instinct, the logical part of him knew that wasn’t what he needed, or indeed what would actually happen if he did decide to go hide himself away alone somewhere. He’d had enough sleepless nights recently to know how well that would end, his brain spiralling into further depths of despair as his book lay on the bedside table unread and his tea beside it, cold and abandoned.
It couldn’t hurt, going home with Monty. Or, well, it absolutely could - and Charles’ brain helpfully supplied him with the myriad ways in which it could ruin him completely, ranging from social disgrace to his body being found in the ruined streets of London the next morning. But this was Monty for goodness sake. Sure, he was exactly the kind of posh arsehole that one usually avoided like the plague, and sure he was technically Charles’ boss and there was probably some rule somewhere about this sort of thing, but at the end of the day, he didn’t mean any harm. Probably.
Charles sighed. “Fine. I’m no use hanging around here anyway. Might as well have a crisis in a new and exciting location.”
“That’s the spirit!” Monty slapped him on the back. “Grab your things, meet me at the front door in five. I’ll go and sweet talk Bevan into letting us off early. If I annoy him enough in the process, we can probably buy ourselves the next day too.”
The prospect of what Monty considered ‘annoying enough’ sent shivers down Charles’ spine. He just prayed the two of them had made themselves indispensable enough that they couldn’t be fired yet. “Fine, I’ll see you there.”
“There’s a good chap!” Monty beamed. He gave Charles’ shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before disappearing off into the corridors of MI5.
Charles stayed for a moment, sat on the world’s least comfortable desk chair, questioning what decisions he’d made that had led him to this. Would the Charles Chomondeley who lived before the war have ever considered that in a few short years he would be sitting in the headquarters of the British Naval Intelligence Division, still coming down from a panic attack, and trying to work out if he’d just been propositioned by his boss? Hell, the current Charles was still trying to wrap his head around it, and he’d been there for the whole thing.
“Well, Chomondelely,” he said, slapping his thighs. “No time like the present. At least if he’s luring you to his home to murder you, he’ll probably make it quick.”
The journey to Monty’s flat was almost concerningly uneventful. The anxiety still hadn’t fully left Charles’ body, and he spent the first part of the cab ride with his leg jumping up and down like a pneumatic drill. After a few minutes, Monty reached out and placed a hand on his knee, gently squeezing like he had on Charles’ shoulder. Once again, the touch felt grounding, and when Charles looked over, Monty flashed him a reassuring smile that made something in his heart grow warmer.
So wrapped up was he in his own thoughts, and the grounding presence of Monty’s hand on his leg, that Charles barely noticed when the car’s engine stopped and the driver cleared his throat. Monty thrust some money at him - almost certainly more than the ride actually cost, but that was Monty all over - and the two passengers clambered out of the taxi and into the cool London air.
Monty’s flat was, to Charles’ surprise, fairly nondescript. It was comfortable, of course, and definitely larger than the attic lodgings Charles was currently living out of, but nothing to write home about. If he was being honest, Charles had been imagining something a lot more elaborate - velvet curtains, maybe, or gold furnishings. Instead he was met with a fairly modest apartment, sparsely furnished and strangely impersonal.
“I’d give you a tour,” Monty said over his shoulder, striding into the flat, “But I think it's best we get down to business.” He dropped his hat and coat onto a convenient rack, gesturing for Charles to do the same.
“And… what exactly is this business?” Charles said, obediently hanging up his own garments. Monty led him into what was presumably his living room and dropped into an impressive wingbacked chair. For a second, Charles froze in the doorway, unsure where to sit, until Monty waved an arm vaguely in the direction of a nearby sofa. Charles perched on the edge, shoulders tight and hands twisting in his lap.
Monty frowned. “Charles, you look like someone’s about to jump out and arrest you. Sit back in the seat and relax, for goodness sake.”
“Is that an order?” Charles said, trying desperately to inject some Monty-esque humour into the situation, but Monty just looked at him, expression unreadable.
“Would you like it to be?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious. In that moment, several things suddenly started making sense to Charles, like keys turning in a lock.
He’d noticed, over the past few weeks, a subtle but noticeable shift in Monty’s behaviour, specifically towards him. There had always been little things; small touches that lingered maybe a beat longer than normal, cheeky winks thrown almost carelessly in Charles’ direction. Never enough that Charles could convince himself they meant anything, other than Monty simply being Monty, but just enough that they consumed his thoughts, constantly playing in his mind when he tried to get to sleep.
But recently, things had changed. The brief touches had become longer, arms thrown around his shoulder or, on one memorable occasion, Monty draping his entire body over Charles as he leaned from behind to read some file. Even Jean had given him a strange look after that one, and Charles had been forced to hide behind his paperwork until his cheeks had stopped burning. He’d tried to just accept it, tried with all his might to pretend that this was platonic, the kind of friendly male bonding he’d simply missed out on at school. They’d grown close as a group, after all - Jean certainly wasn’t afraid to pull him into a hug, and even Hester would put up with Monty slapping her on the shoulder with only a mild eye roll. Surely Monty was treating him just as he would the others?
But Monty didn’t linger with the others. He didn’t turn that dazzling smile on them, throwing out compliments and pausing just a little too long to gauge the reaction. And he certainly hadn’t taken Jean or Hester out on a bar crawl, dragging them from venue to venue often quite literally, as the night wore on and alcohol and exhaustion had taken their toll.
There had been a moment in that last bar, a quieter place than the others much to Charles’ relief, where the two of them had caught their breath. They’d been sitting at a table together, tucked in the corner of the room, and Charles had been talking about goodness knows what, babbling on like an idiot, tongue loosened by booze. All the while Monty had been sat beside him, letting him ramble, head resting on his hand as he stared at his companion. Charles feeling the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical force, had trailed off midsentence to simply stare back.
Something could have happened. Something should have happened. Charles should have taken the chance, leant forward and closed the gap between them, sealed his fate with a loving kiss.
But then the bell had rung, and last orders had been called, and the moment had been shattered. Monty made some quip about them continuing the party at his, Charles had reminded him of the fact they both had work the next morning, and the two of them had gone their separate ways. Morning had come, and with it, the grim reminder that there was in fact still a war on. There were more important things to focus on, and so the two of them simply hadn’t brought it up, dancing around the moment but never acknowledging it outright.
Not until now, at least.
“Monty…” Charles said, “What are we doing here?”
“Well,” Monty said. “That rather depends.”
“Depends on what?”
Monty shrugged. “Depends on how far you would like to go. If you want, we can share a drink, play cards - spend a perfectly pleasant evening as friends, enjoying each other’s company.”
On any other night, with any other person, Charles would have been happy with simply that - thrilled, even. But this was Monty, this was the man he’d been fascinated by for god knows how long. This was the man who stared him dead in the eyes and told him to seize the moment, that just for tonight he could have whatever he wanted.
“And, if… if I wanted more?” The words seemed to come out of Charles without his permission, spilling from his lips before he could stop them.
To his relief, Monty simply leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Now that, Charlie boy, is where things get interesting.”
Interesting, as it turned out… meant ropes. To be more precise, and Monty clearly understood Charles enough to know he needed things to be painstakingly precise, it meant Charles being tied up and Monty having his wicked way with him. His words.
“I don’t understand,” Charles said, “How one earth is getting tied up supposed to help me relax?”
“It’s less about getting tied up,” Monty said, “And more about what it… represents?”
“Rope burn?”
Monty laughed. “Ever the sceptic, Charles. It’s about giving you the chance to let go, to switch off that beautiful brain of yours for an evening. You won’t need to worry about anything, just let me take the reins.”
It did sound enticing. Charles was fully aware of how quickly his mind leapt to worse case scenarios, even in the most enjoyable of circumstances, and the idea of having a physical reminder that he had nothing to worry about was certainly interesting.
“It’s just, well, it’s a lot, for a first encounter, that’s all.” Charles smiled shakily, “I feel like I should at least buy you dinner first.”
“If anyone’s buying the dinner, it’s me, and I already did - or don’t you remember the bar crawl?”
Charles was about to argue that a portion of fish and chips on a night out hardly counted as a romantic meal, but then remembered how Monty had looked in the warm glow of the chippy’s light, and thought better of it. “Well, yes, but… are you absolutely sure you want to do this with… well, me?”
Monty looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. “Charles Middle Name Cholmondeley-”
“Christopher, it's Christopher’
“Irrelevant. What is very relevant is that you, Mr Cholmondeley, are a captivating individual with absolutely rock bottom self esteem, and it would be my absolute honour to tie you up and drive you so far out of your mind with pleasure that you forget every concern and worry that's ever entered your gorgeous head.”
Monty spoke so matter-of-factly that Charles almost didn't want to argue with him. Still, there was one last thing playing on his mind.
“Isn't it strange, though, that we haven't even kissed yet?”
“Well,” Monty smiled, “that is something that can very easily be rectified.” Before Charles could say anything, Monty had risen from his seat and was standing in front of him, one hand reaching out to cup Charles' cheek. He paused just for a second, staring intensely into Charles’ eyes as if waiting for permission.
A blink of an eye, a quick nod, and Monty's lips were on his.
His skin was surprisingly soft, especially when pressed against the stubble that covered Charles' jaw. For a moment he worried that it would be uncomfortable for Monty, or would at least cause some kind of chafing, but the other man let out a soft moan that seemed to indicate he was perfectly fine with the situation. One of his hands was still cradling Charles' face, but the other had slipped lower. At first, Monty was just running it over Charles’ chest, but as the kiss deepened, his movements became more like groping, kneading over Charles’ pectorals almost like a cat. Still, Charles certainly wasn’t complaining. His own hands had migrated to Monty’s waist, pulling the other man as close as he could - close enough to feel a burgeoning hardness pressing against his thigh.
For a while they just stayed there, mapping each other's bodies, learning the planes and contours of another person, a new lover. But all good things must come to an end, and eventually Monty pulled back. “As much as I am enjoying this - and I am thoroughly enjoying this - I believe we had something else in mind for this evening?”
“Lead the way.” Charles said, embarrassed to discover quite how hoarse his voice had become. Monty grinned wolfishly and stepped back, extending a hand to pull Charles to his feet.
“Any questions? Before we start, that is?”
Charles couldn’t help but ask the question that had been playing on his mind ever since Monty had breached the subject. “How on earth did you learn about all this?”
“I’m a sailor, Charlie, I know my way around a rope or two.”
“You sail?”
Monty looked at him, confusion writ large on his face. “Charles my dearest, what part of Naval Intelligence gave it away?”
“Oh…” Charles felt a blush spread across his face. Monty leant forward and patted him on the shoulder.
“I’ve got a yacht moored down in Southampton - remind me to take you out on the old girl some time, once all this is over.”
Charles wasn’t sure if he was referring to the mission, the war, or just their evening together, but this wasn’t the time to be considering such matters. Not when Monty was striding off towards his bedroom, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he went. Instead, Charles simply clambered to his feet and followed, ready for whatever fate awaited him.
Charles wasn’t the most… experienced person in the world, but even he had heard rumours. From late night hushed conversations in dormitories at school or at flight school, to jokes around the canteen when there weren’t any women present. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about it, in the privacy of his own time and with a hand wrapped tightly around his cock, but it had never felt like anything that would go any further than a fantasy. Sex for Charles was opportunistic - it was stolen moments amid the tension of discovery, far too rushed and anonymous to work out things like dynamics or ropework.
And yet, here was Monty, offering exactly that. And here he was, enthusiastically reporting for duty.
He barely noticed the details of Monty’s bedroom as the other man led him through it. It all paled in comparison to the man himself, standing in the centre of the room and looking at him expectantly. Charles softly closed the door behind them, resting his back against it and staring back. He had no idea what happened now, what the expectations and protocol for something like this entailed.
Thankfully, Monty seemed to sense his hesitation and strode over to him, confidence oozing from every pore. Charles was almost in awe of him, how comfortable he seemed to be in such a bizarre scenario - and how reassuring it felt to be on the receiving end of that confidence.
Monty leaned in, so close Charles could feel the other man’s breath hot on his cheeks. “You do trust me, don’t you Charles?”
“Of course,” Charles breathed, staring directly at Monty’s lips.
Monty smiled. “There’s a good man.” he said, and closed the gap between them.
Charles melted into the kiss, feeling like his whole body was being drawn to Monty’s, like a magnet seeking its partner. He felt Monty’s hands on his body, gentle caresses that quickly morphed into tugging at his clothes. For a second, Charles froze, completely overwhelmed with sensation and the pervasive thought that this couldn’t be happening, not to someone like him, not here. Then he felt Monty’s teeth nipping at his lower lip, and for a beautiful few seconds, Charles forgot how to worry about anything other than ‘how do I get Monty to do that again’.
It was almost a shame when Monty pulled back, and Charles couldn’t help but lean after him, chasing the soft feeling of his lips. This earned him a fond smile and a gentle hand reaching up to cup his face.
“Charlie,” Monty said, and Charles watched his lips shape every sound. “You are wearing entirely too much clothing.”
He didn’t even need to ask. Charles was already leaning back and stripping off, any considerations of dignity completely lost as his body moved on Monty’s orders. The other man watched with an appraising look, eyes scanning up and down Charles’ body as more was revealed.
It didn’t take long before Charles was standing in front of Monty’s bed, completely nude, trying very hard to recall the series of events and decisions that had led him to this exact situation. Before he could get too lost in thought, however, Monty was striding forward, already loosening his own tie.
“May I?” asked Charles, reaching out towards Monty. Monty stared at him for a second, a strange look on his face, before stepping forward and allowing Charles to tug at the bottom of his shirt. His hands were shaking with anticipation and nerves, but he managed to quickly unbutton Monty’s clothing, slipping his shirt down his arms and failing to resist the urge to smooth his hands across Monty’s chest as he did. For his part, Monty seemed to be enjoying himself, preening like a peacock under Charles’ touch.
Once both men were naked, Monty took charge once again. He pulled Charles in for another kiss and used the momentum to push him backwards, slowly moving the pair of them towards the large bed in the centre of the room. They stopped only when Charles felt his legs hit the bedframe and he stumbled slightly, clutching onto Monty for dear life. Monty chuckled and broke the kiss, leaning back and regarding Charles with a heated gaze.
“If you want to stop, just say the word.” Monty said, his tone slipping into something more serious. “We’re not playing those kinds of games.” He suddenly grinned wolfishly. “At least, not tonight.”
That all sounded perfectly reasonable to Charles, except- “Wait, what do you mean, ‘not tonight’?”
He hadn’t thought it was possible for Monty’s grin to get any wider. “Well, let’s not rule anything out, hey? Now, less thinking, more relaxing.”
Monty gently pushed Charles back onto the mattress, running a hand through the other man’s hair as he did. Even the feeling of his short, well manicured nails dragging across Charles’ scalp sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. He could help but let out a quiet whimper, tension easing out of his limbs.
Before he could do anything as embarrassing as begging Monty for more, please, God, Charles was pulled into a searing kiss. His eyes slid closed as he tried to lose himself in the moment, the feeling of soft lips on his. As skeptical as he had been at the beginning of all this, it would be wrong to say all this wasn’t helping, at least somewhat. It was certainly a lot more difficult to worry about counterfeit corpses and Nazi schemes when you had an extremely attractive man straddling your lap, radiating authority like a… particularly stern heater.
Perhaps mid-coitus wasn’t the best time to come up with a good simile. Literature had never been Charles’ area of expertise, and Monty seemed hell-bent on making sure he forgot about anything that wasn’t how good this all felt.
As if he could read Charles’ mind, the man in question pulled back. Out of pure instinct, Charles tried to follow after him, as if magnetically drawn to Monty’s mouth, but all he got for his efforts was a wry chuckle. “Ah, ah, patience. I need you to lean back for me, darling, that’s it.”
Perhaps it said something that, of all the filthy language he’d been subjected to that evening, it was hearing the word darling in Monty’s drawl that made Charles blush the hardest. He did as he was told, trying his best to relax back into the pillows beneath him. Monty clambered off Charles’ lap, keeping himself grounded with a hand firmly planted in the centre of Charles’ chest.
“I’m not going anywhere far,” he said, and a small part of Charles that he hadn’t realised was worrying exactly that allowed itself to relax slightly. “I’m just fetching some things from my drawers.”
Charles craned his neck to watch Monty’s path across the room, torn between trying to see what was being retrieved and watching the smooth lines of Monty’s body as he walked, fully and gloriously nude. Generally speaking, people in their line of work weren’t exactly muscle bound hunks, but Monty had a lithe strength to him that was extremely appealing, particularly in motion. Charles was suddenly reminded of the fact that Monty cycled to work every day, had even seen his bicycle chained up to the railings outside his flat as the two of them entered. Then the image of Monty pedalling around London with a little basket on his bike entered his brain , like that dreadful woman from the Wizard of Oz, and Charles couldn’t help but laugh.
For a split second, his anxiety spiked. What if Monty thought he was mocking him, that all this had been a clever ploy to… well, Charles wasn’t entirely sure what the end goal would have been. There was a reason why he stuck to plans involving fake corpses and underwater thermos flasks.
Luckily, Monty’s response was a surprisingly sweet smile. “There we go. I told you this would help you relax - and we’re not even at the main event yet.” As if to punctuate his words, Monty leant down - giving Charles an exceptional view of his arse - and pulled a length of rope from one of his lower drawers. It wasn’t the rough, hempen kind that Charles had been expecting, and instead slipped through Monty’s fingers as he wrapped it loosely around his forearm. Charles couldn’t help but watch the way it moved, sliding so gracefully and catching the dim light of Monty’s room.
“Alright,” Monty said, snapping Charles out of his rope-induced reverie. “We’re not aiming for anything too elaborate here, but I am going to have to get pretty up close and personal. Luckily, all you’ll need to do is lie back and let me work. Just follow my lead, and we’ll be glorious.”
He sauntered back over to the bed, allowing Charles an even better view of his front. It was almost bizarre, Charles mused, how nonchalant this all felt. This wasn’t a rushed coupling in the back alley of a bar, scrambling to get off before anyone caught you. There was a luxury in this, a luxury that felt very Monty. They could take their time here, a small haven of intimacy away from the war and the mission and anything that could interrupt them. Charles could look as much as he liked, taking in his fill of Monty in all his glory, and no one was going to tell him he couldn’t. In fact, judging by the heated look Monty was giving him, his staring was almost certainly going to be encouraged.
“Like what you see?” Monty asked. Charles opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a purred “Because I certainly do.” that seemed to echo up and down Charles’ spine. The other man was back at his side, looming over him with a wicked grin that only made Charles’ heart beat faster. Monty uncoiled part of the rope, letting it drag across Charles’ chest and catch on his nipples, pulling a quiet groan from Charles.
Clearly satisfied with the reaction, Monty reached forward, hand on Charles’ shoulder once again. “Right, sit up for me just a bit. I’m going to need to reach behind you, so just hold yourself- there, that’s perfect, you’re perfect.” He guided Charles into position, hands roaming over his torso perhaps slightly more widely than was strictly needed, but Charles wasn’t complaining.
Monty took the rope in his hands and looped it around Charles’ neck from behind, fussing and adjusting until it lay even on both sides. Charles closed his eyes, trying to focus on nothing other than the feel of it against his skin. He couldn’t see what Monty was doing, but he could feel as the rope coiled around him, looping around his chest, his arms, even dipping down lower to snake around his legs. Every now and again, Monty’s knuckles would drag across Charles’ skin, and even those small flashes of contact had him tingling. His breath was coming faster now, not panicked heaving but more like gasps - whether they were of pleasure or surprise, Charles honestly couldn’t tell.
After what felt like an age, Charles felt Monty give one final tug of the rope before letting go, his weight shifting on the bed as he sat back. Slowly, he opened his eyes, as if waking up from a nap. His head certainly felt fuzzy enough, but Charles found it strangely comforting. It was like the edges had been sanded off his brain - less chance for his thoughts to catch and ensnare.
He took in the ropes criss-crossing his body, the dark fibres standing out against his skin. There was a beautiful symmetry to Monty’s work, the way it twisted across his chest. The knots and lines framed Charles’ pecs, trailed down along his stomach to… it felt weird to blush at the sight of your own dick, and yet somehow, Charles managed it.
Monty stepped back, as if to admire his work. Charles couldn’t help but stretch his body out, tilt his head back - putting himself on display. Somehow it didn’t feel like showing off so much as allowing Monty the best view possible. Charles wasn’t bragging about himself so much as he was a vessel for his partner’s creativity, rough stone sculpted into something new.
“You are gorgeous.” Monty breathed, and for once in his life, Charles believed him wholeheartedly. For all his bluster and charm, for all the many many times he’d tossed out compliments like confetti, in this moment, Ewen Montagu had never sounded more sincere.
Charles blushed, feeling the heat spread across what felt like his entire body. He felt somehow simultaneously disconnected from his body and incredibly present at the same time - hyperaware of every inch of rope touching his skin, but with no concern as to what that rope was attached to. He strained his body up as far as his restraints would allow him, seeking out Monty like a flower searching for the sun. To his relief, Monty met him halfway, capturing his mouth in another searing kiss.
Every movement tugged against the ropes holding him, until it felt like they were the only things keeping Charles together. He flexed his arms experimentally and felt the way the ties caught them, a tight pressure that held rather than constricted. From the way Monty’s eyes suddenly darkened and the hitch in his breath, Charles could tell he wasn’t the only one affected.
“Monty, I…” his words trailed off as Charles realised he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to say. Presumably there was something he should be doing, or saying, or asking for, but the whole situation was so foreign to him that he was completely at Monty’s mercy.
Which, given the indulgent look on the older man’s face, seemed to be his plan all along. In that moment, Charles finally realised the point of all this, why Monty had come up with the idea in the first place. He didn’t need to worry about trying to work out what he should be doing, because no one was expecting him to. All Monty needed him to do was sit there, look pretty, and follow his instructions.
That, he could do.
“Monty, how…” Charles swallowed. “How can I serve you?”
It almost felt like too much - Charles had to fight back a reflexive flinch hearing his own words - but the look on Monty’s face was absolutely worth it. His eyes darkened with lust, and Charles could see the way his partner’s breath caught in his chest.
“Oh you genius,” Monty breathed, reaching out and running a hand down Charles’ face. “You beautiful genius. We are going to have so much fun together.” His hand snapped up to grab Charles’ hair, fingers tangling into the strands. Charles keened as he felt the tug against his scalp, the delicious sparks it sent down his spine with every pull.
“First order of business,” Monty said, an authoritative tone bleeding into his voice that made every part of Charles want to stand up and pay attention. He straightened his spine, feeling the ropes pull at him as he did, and watching how Monty’s eyes followed the movements of the cords and Charles’ muscles beneath them. “You asked about serving me? I can think of something you can do.” He reached down and took himself in hand, not breaking eye contact as he did so. It took a second for Charles to fully understand what he was implying, but as soon as he did, his mouth went dry.
Monty grinned wickedly and moved forward, still standing over Charles but closer now. One hand was on his prick, but the other was still laced into Charles’ hair, and as Monty moved his body closer to the man on the bed, he gently pulled Charles to meet him. Charles went willingly, letting his own body relax enough to be manipulated, tugged and pulled wherever Monty needed him. Which, as it turned out, meant his mouth on Monty’s cock.
As he felt the blunt pressure against his lips, Charles’ mouth moved almost on instinct, opening wide to let Monty in, letting him take over completely. He didn’t have a ton of experience in the art of fellatio - most of his previous encounters had been hurried handjobs or frantic frotting - but this felt almost like second nature. It was as if Monty’s cock was some kind of missing piece, and this was his natural state - on his knees, arms bound to his sides, mouth agape, letting another man take his pleasure as his cock slid into the wet warmth of Charles’ body.
For a second he watched Monty’s calm and controlled façade slip, as the other man’s eyes fluttered shut, a deep groan emanating from his throat. “God, Charlie, that’s good, that’s so good - you’re taking me so well.” Charles couldn’t help but let out a moan himself at the praise, revelling in the way the vibrations caused Monty to grip his hair even tighter, as he thrust himself just a little further down Charles’ throat.
At first, the pair were still, Monty allowing Charles some time to adjust. At first, Charles was perfectly happy to simply stay like that, feeling the warmth and weight of Monty’s prick on his tongue, his mind empty of anything other than how good he felt. But a familiar restlessness started to creep over him, and with it, an equally familiar doubt. Was this what Monty wanted? Was he supposed to be taking a more active role in the whole thing? Charles started to wrack his brain for anything, any nugget of wisdom picked up from gossip, or the kinds of books one kept firmly secure under one’s bed, just in case.
Monty clearly sensed his apprehension. “Oh Charles, what did we say about you fretting?” he said, his hand moving from Charles’ hair to stroke his cheek. There was no disappointment or pity in his tone, only a soft understanding and sympathy that caused Charles to blush harder than anything else that had happened to him that evening. “Clearly I’m not being… distracting enough.”
He punctuated his words with a shallow thrust, and Charles can’t help but groan, all his attention focussed on Monty’s movements. It seemed the other man was prepared to do his part, and so it was only right that Charles keep up his own end of things. He started to suck, gently at first but spurred on by the moans that fell from Monty’s lips. Monty for his part continued to move him, taking full advantage of his bound immobility to tug Charles wherever he needed him. Charles felt his eyes slip shut as he moved, finally able to lose himself in the rhythmic movements.
The world seemed to slip away, as all his focus narrowed to this. The feeling of Monty in his mouth, the soft gasps and moans spilling from the other man’s lips, the juddering thrusts of his hips as he drove himself into Charles’ mouth. Charles wasn’t even aware of his own body anymore, outside of the pressure of the ropes and the slight aching of his jaw. Monty seemed to be losing himself in the feeling as well, his eyes slipping shut as he moved.
“Oh god, Charlie, this is… you’re brilliant, we’re brilliant.” Monty breathed, swallowing hard. “I’m going to…” His grip tightened in Charles’ hair, forcing a moan from the other man and an answering groan from Monty himself. Before Charles knew what was happening, Monty was tugging him off his dick with one hand before reaching for said cock with the other. He pulled at himself frantically before his whole body stilled, tensing for just a second as he spent into his fist. A small part of Charles was perversely disappointed that Monty had pulled out, but maybe that was too much for a first encounter. Particularly when Charles was hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t be the last.
So wrapped up had he been in pursuing Monty’s pleasure, that Charles had almost forgotten his own. Now, sitting back and watching a panting Monty come down from his orgasm, Charles was made painfully aware that he did in fact have a physical form, and one that was demanding a very specific kind of attention. He tried leaning forward slightly, in the vague hope of at least rubbing off against the bedsheets. Unfortunately he’d also forgotten that his arms were bound behind his back, throwing off his balance and almost tipping Charles directly onto Monty.
Monty reached out to steady him, his hand a firm weight on Charles’ shoulder just as it had been in the office what felt like a lifetime ago. “Steady on, boy. I know I’m irresistible, but you’ll do yourself an injury falling like that. Come here, let father take care of you.”
Before he could interrogate his feelings on that particular title, Charles found himself being gently tipped backwards, his head coming to rest on Monty’s pillow. Monty was on all fours above him, eclipsing Charles’ view of the room- and really, what was the point of looking at anything else when he could have his fill of the gorgeous man above him?
“Please,” he gasped, not entirely sure what he was asking for but knowing full well he’d be content with anything if it meant Monty’s hands on his body.
Monty obliged, running a hand down Charles’ chest, skimming across the ropes that bound him before coming to rest just above his cock. He hesitated for just a moment, eyes flicking up to meet Charles’ gaze. Whatever Monty saw there must have reassured him, because seconds later his hand was on Charles’ prick, and everything else was suddenly irrelevant.
He groaned loudly, hips bucking up into Monty’s touch. Monty grinned and tightened his grip, twisting slightly as he moved his hand up and down. Charles had given up on words entirely, reduced entirely to babbling nonsense punctuated with moans and gasps. It wasn’t like he had anything important to say, that wasn’t why he was there - all he needed was to let Monty know how good this felt, how much he needed the other man’s hand on him like he’d needed nothing else in his life.
His orgasm hit like a dropped bomb, and was just as devastating.
He felt it in his whole body, from his fingertips to the soles of his feet, and in every spot where the ropes made contact with his skin. Charles had no choice but to sag back onto the bed, every muscle relaxing at once as if he was melting into the mattress.
Above him, Monty chuckled fondly, reaching off to one side and returning with some kind of handkerchief, with which he delicately wiped both his hand and Charles’ stomach.
“Well,” he said, as smug as the proverbial cat with its cream. “That seemed to have gone well.”
Charles didn’t answer. He was still trying to remember how words worked.
Monty, who had considerably more energy than he did, set about untying Charles’ bonds, gently moving him when needed. Charles offered no resistance, allowing himself to be puppeted if it meant more of Monty’s hands on his body. It wasn’t long before the last knot was untied, the rope inelegantly coiled and tossed to the side. Monty came to join Charles on the bed, tucking up against his side and pulling Charles’ arm over him as if it were a quilt he was snuggling up under.
“Did you enjoy it?” Monty breathed, and Charles suddenly felt the weight of his words, the emotion behind them. Monty needed this moment of quiet reassurance just as much as he did, the confident mask of Ewen Montagu slipping away to reveal a softer side.
“Yes, Monty,” Charles replied softly. “It was… wonderful, you were wonderful.”
“Of course I was,” Monty said, some of his earlier cockiness seeping back into his tone. Charles, who felt how Monty had relaxed in his arms at his words, didn’t say anything. “I’m great at this stuff. Really Charlie, you did get lucky, meeting me.”
It was a sign of how relaxed he was that Charles didn’t bother rising to Monty’s words. At this point, he’d known the other man long enough to tell what was an actual brag, and what was Monty saying what he himself needed to hear more than anyone else. Instead, Charles simply allowed himself to press closer into Monty’s embrace, feeling the warmth and weight of another body next to his.
Maybe it was just post-coital endorphins, a simple biological reaction relaxing his muscles and calming his mind. Maybe it was the simple comfort of physical connection, another warm body pressed against his own. Whatever it was, for the first time in god knows how long, Charles Chomondeley found himself finally, blissfully, relaxed.