
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5022592.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Revolution_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Miles_Matheson/Bass_Monroe, Nora_Clayton/Miles_Matheson/Bass_Monroe,
      Maggie_Foster/Duncan_Page, Maggie_Foster/Duncan_Page/Miles_Matheson/Bass
      Monroe
  Character:
      Maggie_Foster, Miles_Matheson, Duncan_Page, Charlie_Matheson, Nora
      Clayton, Bass_Monroe
  Additional Tags:
      TSC_Prompt
  Collections:
      Revolution:_The_Second_Coming
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-18 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 2526
****** No time to wallow in the mire ******
by JaqofSpades
Summary
     Miles finds demons hiding behind every door in Drexel's mansion. He
     looks at Charlie, and remembers a too-young whore wearing the same
     dress. He thinks of Nora, and knows that everything that went wrong
     in their lives had started here.
Notes
     Written to fill The Second Coming’s Claim 275: They put up with
     Drexel for exactly two reasons: opium and orgies, for both of my
     fills, Duncan/Maggie/Miles in chapter one, and Bass/Miles/Nora in
     Chapter 2. This is Miles remembering his time in the abyss, so be
     warned: it gets dark. But also joyous by turns and perhaps ultimately
     hopeful?
***** Chapter 1 *****
It’s the damn dress that does it.
Miles has no idea how long something like that can last, but the minute he puts
his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, the texture of it brings the memory rushing
back. He’d been high, of course, every crevice of his body singing with the
smoke, but he remembers the surprise of expecting lace and finding only nylon,
a cheap, ugly surprise.
He had expected more, at Drexel’s. They put up with the man for exactly two
reasons: opium and orgies. And neither came cheap.
The girl wearing the dress had been exquisite, lean and muscled but with
breasts so high and round that even Bass had stopped to ask just how old she
was. Nineteen, she’d said, and they’d looked at each other, knowing it for a
lie, but stripped the dress off her anyway.
He’d like to say it was the opium, the way they’d fucked that girl half the
night. He’d been raw in his skin, sure enough, and reality was a distant,
mocking light, but he’d known she was too young. Known the stubborn set of her
mouth spoke of a girl refusing to be victim, an uncommon type for a whore.
They’d gone out of their way to make it good for her, but he’s still surprised
when she’s snuggled between them come morning. But if she was still between
them … who was sitting on top of him? He’d squinted up through the opium fog to
take in long, moonlight-coloured curls, milk-pale skin, and huge green eyes
glaring out of a picture-portrait face, so fierce his cock had throbbed its
approval. Shame about the knife.
“What sort of leaders like to fuck children?” Mama Bear had growled, and
there’s no comeback for that, no possible defense, so told her to take the girl
and go. But then Bass made a sleepy noise of protest beside him, even as he
struck like a viper to grab the knife.
“Why shouldn’t I kill you both?” he’d asked, and Miles is listing the reasons
to himself, trying not to boil them down to ‘because she’s right’ when the
young girl, still naked between them, had kneeled up in panic.
“Because I’ll do anything. We’ll do anything,” she promised, and this time, he
can’t even blame the drugs, or Bass, because he’s the one who makes the demand
out of pure, unrestrained spite.
“Children, huh? Truth this time, kid. How old are you?”
“Sixteen. Sir.”
“And how old is blondie here?”
“Maggie? I don’t know, sir. Twenty-five maybe?”
The blonde objects, her cut glass accent tight with strain. “Thirty-one,
actually.”
“Hmm. Guess you are a mama bear. Protector of lost children? That deserves a
reward,” he grins, but whoever Maggie is, she’s not fooled, staring at him with
dread.
Miles lets his gaze shift to the girl, forcing himself to notice the slight
roundness of her face, and the bloom of childhood still on her skin. Sixteen.
He’s shot men for less. But every day he lives this life, he searches for a
boundary he’s not willing to cross. This horse had bolted even before he’d the
chance to discover whether he’d found one yet.
Blondie really shouldn’t have put a knife to his throat.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Paige. Paige Duncan.”
“Well, Paige Duncan, you’re going to give Maggie here her reward. You’re gonna
eat her out, and make sure she screams your name when she comes. Then she’s
gonna open you up so we can fuck you, and when we’re done showing her just how
much of a woman you are, she’s going to lick our cum out of your pussy and your
ass, and beg our fucking forgiveness. Because that’s just the kind of leaders
we are,” he says, voice heavy with mockery.
Maggie sobs through her humiliation, but young Paige surprises them both,
shuddering through a wave of orgasms that crashes down the minute they start to
rock her between them.
“Why? Why is it so good?” she had asked, green eyes full of confusion, and of
all the things he has to hate himself for, how weird that this one stings the
most. He’d pulled out of her, unable to answer, and it had been up to Bass to
cuddle her close and explain.
“Different people like different things,” he’d soothed her, and “never let
anyone make you ashamed for feeling good.”
Maybe Bass’ altruism is catching, or perhaps it’s some fancy conceived in the
smoke that made them take the girl with them when they left. Maggie Foster,
too, stony faced bitch that she was, but they’re in no position to turn down a
doctor, especially one who is willing to trade right of passage for her
services as a spy.
He should have joined the dots, he knows, when she walked into his bar and
pretended not to know him. It had been him who sent her to Ben in the first
place. But Charlie’s fierce golden beauty had knocked out his ability to think,
and in that moment all he could think was that his every last sin had flown
home to roost.
Except he’d been wrong. He’d forgotten about Nora. The woman who loved him, who
always put him first, and suffered for it.
The irony isn’t lost on him, he wants to tell her. Everything that went wrong
in their lives had started here. The drugs. The orgies. Their dazzling parade
of addictions.
And now, she is lying close to death in the basement, her life hanging on a
tenuous thread of goodwill, back in this place. They’d dug their own graves, he
accepts.
But he’ll be fucked if he’s ready to surrender Nora to hers just
yet.                        
***** Chapter 2 *****
 
His demons howl for blood as Miles stares at Charlie’s reflection in the
mirror, and sees another face, darker, sharper, more sad. She’d been a girl,
too, when they’d first brought her here. Not sixteen, not twenty one, but yet
to unfurl into the full power of her womanhood.
He doesn’t have to ask himself whether they corrupted her. He knows they did.
Nora had come highly recommended as a bounty hunter, but no one had warned them
about just how beautiful she was. Miles had taken one look at her and sent a
messenger for Bass. The President, he explained, had taken a particular
interest in her work.
“Uh huh,” she’d said, and looked away with a smirk.
They invite her to eat with them that night, and she’d declined so prettily
that Bass hadn’t even bothered to pout. “She’s a good girl,” he’d sighed, and
Miles had just gazed after her, wondering if the sister waiting at home was a
fabrication.
When a grumpy younger version on Nora opened to his knock a week later, he’d
conceded the point and invited them both.
“I’ll be away for work,” Nora had smiled, and he resisted the urge to revoke
the contract.
Bass is off inspecting the newest addition to his empire when Miles first
convinces Nora to eat with him, and that’s where the trouble starts.
He’s already half in love with her, she’s losing the will to resist, and he
never thinks to explain exactly how things work with him and Bass.
Until their first trip to Drexel’s.
“What on earth is this place?” Nora asks, eyes wide, as they’re ushered into
the grand foyer, half-dressed girls hanging over the balconies like exotic
potplants.
“This, darling Nora, is the most exclusive brothel and opium den in the Monroe
Republic,” Bass had pronounced. He’d bounced about the place like an over-
excited puppy, Miles remembers, desperate to touch and taste everything in his
path.
Nora had been appalled.
“We’ll lock ourselves in our room and get high together,” Miles had placated.
“I don’t need anyone but you, babe.”
“But, in the past – you … you’ve done this. Like Bass is. With lots of girls.”
He hadn’t been able to hide the wince, and Nora had narrowed her eyes at him in
a silent demand for the truth.
“Yeah. Mostly just me and Bass and a couple of girls. Three at the most. Though
once – okay, four.”
 
She’d punched him. Later though, when they’d been mellow on grass but not yet
blitzed on opium, her curiosity got the better of her.
“Is that something you’ve wanted? You and me and Bass?”
He’d thought about lying, but he reckoned she already knew he’d be lying if he
said he hadn’t thought about it.
He took a deep breath and waded into the ugly truth. “That’s all I wanted, at
first. Kinda – how we did things. But then …” he had shrugged, the words
sticking in his throat, not for the first time. He loved her. He knew it, and
he hoped she knew it.
Because he had never been able to say the words.
And now, Nora lays dying and he still hasn’t, he flagellates himself. He’s
never told her that she was the first person he’d wanted to keep for himself.
The first person who really existed for him outside of Bass.
The only person to ever look at his relationship with Bass and understand how
terrifying it was, so much naked, heedless devotion.
That first night at Drexels, she had snuggled into him and dragged out secrets
he had told anyone else, even Bass. The glory of drowning in a tide of opium as
soft hands all over your body dragged you into the beyond. The way every cell
in his body would shudder with delight when his cock found a warm, wet welcome.
How the pleasure was magnified tenfold when he could share the experience with
his brother, their cocks caressing each other through a thin wall of skin.
“I want to watch first,” she said.
He gave her a day to back out before he told Bass.
The blue eyes had fired slowly, and Miles had almost smiled as his lover (his
leader, his brother) had tried to look disinterested.
“If that’s what she wants, Miles. If that’s what you want.”
He hadn’t missed the rebuke – once, Bass had never had to guess at what Miles
wanted – but promised himself he’d deal with it later. It’s had been nearly six
months since he’d been with Bass, and to share him with Nora … anticipation was
clawing at him like a Fallujah alleycat.
“Tonight, then?”
“Tonight.”
They’d locked themselves in Miles and Nora’s room and sipped on top-shelf
whiskey as Bass lit the pipe. “Ladies first,” Bass had smiled, and had held it
to her lips as Nora took her first, unsteady lungful.
Then he’d brought it across to Miles and his lips, his lips … they’d never
shared the pipe, he and Bass. They took the smoke from each other’s mouths,
trading it back and forth, loving the way their favourite high came flavoured
with their favourite taste.
Bass is licking his chest by the time Miles starts to fly, his tongue passing
over him in long, wet stripes of brightly coloured sensation. His hair, Miles
smiles, is a familiar, fiery blue, even if he can’t recall where he’s seen that
colour before. His skin is a sad, monotone black, though, he tries to explain,
and Bass laughs and laughs and laughs until suddenly, he’s all gold and pink.
Miles crawls over to where Nora is sitting in the chair at the end of the bed,
and rhapsodises about the colour for a minute before lurching back to Bass.
There’s a giggle in the room, suggesting they should have taken their clothes
off, and he wonders who else is floating in his bubble until Bass hands – Bass!
Bass! Bass! – land on his hips.
“Put your head in Nora’s lap,” he whispered (or possibly shouted). “But
remember. She was the one who said she just wanted to watch. Make her pay for
it.”
“Mmmm,” Miles agreed, and it’s the thing he remembers most from that first
visit to Drexel’s – Nora’s beautiful eyes, endless pools of black that still
managed to look by turns shocked, and jealous, and hungry as Bass fucked him.
She didn’t beg the way Bass clearly expected her to, but he could feel the heat
rising from her, and taste her want in the air.
Maybe not tonight, but soon, he remembers thinking.
Nora being the stubborn, contrary womanchild that she is, makes them wait. It
was the last night of their first visit, and most of Drexel’s whores had
enjoyed the longest vacation they were ever likely to get, Nora making it clear
than she needed to be the only woman in either of their beds if this was ever
to happen.
There were other rules too.   Just like their dalliance with opium, the
threesome would only ever happen at Drexel’s, and would never be spoken of
outside of that room. Philadelphia was their life, and this was their escape –
not their normal.
He and Bass practically yelled their assent, then stripped her between them,
hands and mouths colliding in their frenzy to convince her of the wisdom of her
decision. Nora had scolded them, told them to slow the fuck down – more a
marathon, less a sprint, she’d said, bringing their hands to back to her body
with a smirk that got them back in line real quick.
At the time, he’d thought she had all the power. They’d put themselves under
her command, offered their lips and tongues and cocks up as mere instruments
for her pleasure, and she’d ordered them around with a husky enjoyment that he
knew she couldn’t fake.
The orgasms – they’d stopped counting after the fifth - were pretty damn
convincing, too. It had been a near religious experience for him, sharing the
rich bounty of the woman he loved with the man who held his soul, but had it
been the right thing for Nora?
Could anything that ever happened in this house emerge untainted?
Miles fights his way free of the past to find Charlie still staring into the
mirror, eyes unseeing as her hands pull convulsively at the lurid scrap of a
dress. If anyone could escape Drexel’s corruption, it would be Charlie.
His hands move restlessly on her shoulders, and he meets her eyes in the
mirror. “No. You’re not doing this. We’ll find another way.”
Perhaps Charlie can be the girl he won’t let down. The innocent he won’t
debauch. The boundary he will not cross.
Her mouth sets into a pugnacious line, and she tells him she can’t let Nora
die. He agrees wholeheartedly, but says they need a better plan. One that
rights the wrong he and Bass committed so many years ago when they let their
most base needs stop them from crushing this cockroach.
There’s a demon waiting for him behind every door in this damn house – too many
memories, too much weakness, too many lines crossed – but he’s done letting
them fuck him over. It might have taken Maggie, and Nora, and Charlie to make
him realise it, but all he’s ever done is feed them.
Time to grow a backbone, believe in himself a little, and cut them down to
size.
Starting with Drexel.
fin
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