Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cub cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, listen up. The results are in. I’m warning you in advance, though: It’s not all roses. Here.” He clicked the slide open. “Bam.”

The rightmost bar was colored red. 

“I think it’s looking good!” Bdubs waved his hand towards the projector screen in a gesture that was both overly energetic and dismissive. “It’s looking so good. If you want to know what I think. It’s great! People love you!”

“He’s down three points,” Cub pointed out.

“Points, schmoints, who cares about points! It’s not even statistically sign—signified. It’s—Mr. Mayor, the bottom line is, you’re still overwhelmingly the city’s darling.” He smiled at Scar, sickly sweet.

“It’s the dogs, man,” said Cub. “The dogs. The dogs blew it for us. And that we did not get the pictures out of circulation.”

“The dogs! Bah. Joe’s on it.”

“True, true. Joe once again clutching it for us, and he’ll take the fall if necessary. Did you have a chance to read the report yet, Scar? He’s confusing things very well. Nobody could figure out what really happened there. Still, three points—”

“—is nothing! Right, my Mayor?”

Scar was not even looking at the screen. He was flipping through the memo, but he was not looking at that either. He put the folder down and tapped his chin. “I’m thinking,” he said. “What I’m thinking is, the final battle has to be between the smoke tree and the prairiefire crabapple tree, am I right?”

“Huh?” Bdubs scrunched his brow. Cub said nothing. “What’s that got to do with—”

“For the yards, Bdubs! We have to make a decision eventually. I’ve narrowed it down to these two beautiful specimens of a tree, but I can’t choose between them. Which would you pick? I want to hear from you both!”

“Oh.” Bdubs bit his lip and gave a very quick glance to Cub, who looked impassive as always, then back to the mayor. “In that case—crabapple hands down.”

Cub snorted. “No shot! The crabapple? Mr. Mayor, don’t listen to this man. He’s lost his marbles. Smoke tree’s got more color variation, longer bloom, better name and it needs far less watering so even an incompetent gardener won’t ruin your reputation. All-around the superior choice: The smoke tree.”

“Yeah!” Bdubs snorted. “Yeah, sure! ‘The smoke tree.’” He emulated Cub’s tone. “If you want to be tasteless tacky and decorate with a tree that looks like a duster.”

“In addition, crabappel is toxic to animals.”

“That’s only a bonus! If those dogs—”

“And we’re down three points,” Scar said.

Both Bdubs and Cub fell silent in an instant. Bdubs leaned back in his chair. The mayor looked at both of them in turn. All of the sudden he was fully present. His eyes were sharp. He was toying with his rings, one smooth and golden, the other with diamonds inlaid.

“That can’t be overlooked!” he said. “We are not gathered here to point fingers, of course, but we need—this is of prime importance, Bdubs. We need to get back on track. The people trust us, and we need to show them we are worthy of that trust. A well-kept garden is a start, but that’s not going to cut it, not by a long shot. So.” His hand that had been twisting the rings stopped, and he cocked his head. “What are we going to do?”

Bdubs was poised to answer any question, but despite his extremely short and efficient brain-to-mouth wiring, Cub for once got the better of him. “We should arrange something with children,” the enforcer said, like he had a plan prepared, the tryhard bootlicker. “Think of it, Scar. It’s the tried and true way to the heart of the public. People will forget about dogs if there’s heart-warming pictures of the mayor greeting the young. Maybe a children’s fair?”

Scar made a face at the start, but he began nodding and his expression brightened at the mention of a fair. “We haven’t had a proper fair in ages,” he mused. “There could be attractions. Ooh, there could be rides!”

Bdubs seethed. “That is brilliant, of course,” he agreed, glib. “Of course. Rides. Very wise, my Mayor! Now if I may add my own spin to the idea: Perhaps you could appear on a children’s program. A fair has physical limitations. Television does not. Maybe that show with the puppets? I could ask on your behalf, if you would—ah.”

Genius brainstorming as always from the campaign manager-cum-mayoral advisor, but it came too late. Scar had turned full-body towards Cub. Most likely he was already thinking up a theme for this made-up celebration. Every sentence of his would be an idea more extravagant than the other, and how those would fit to the city budget Bdubs had no idea, but he would need to figure it out quick because it would fall on no other than him to scale the mayor down. Cub would arrange for Scar to be the judge in some kids’ game that he would have by the time of the fair completely forgotten about, but nonetheless he would charm his way through it and he would gain back those three points and that was a good thing, Bdubs reminded himself.

He wanted the mayor to succeed. Selfless Bdubs! He asked nothing for himself, the satisfaction of the job well done reward enough for him. That, and—

Bdubs looked at the mayor, his animated face, the flash of perfect teeth, the captivating movement of his hand as he explained his vision. He could afford to stare, because he knew Scar didn’t mind. Scar put his hand on top of Cub’s and squeezed, to emphasize the point he was making, and something ugly moved in Bdubs’s chest but he did not act on it.

The meeting took another half an hour. Most of that time went on preliminary event planning, but the slide screaming three point drop stayed on the screen all through it. Even though the mayor appeared to be ignoring the presentation, Bdubs couldn’t help but notice the occasional moments of—tension, for the lack of a better word. The mayor’s gaze almost stopping there, his smile freezing, his tone sharpening. The mayor loved his people. All he asked was that the people loved him in turn.

They got up. Scar clasped Cub’s shoulder, drew him closer and whispered to him something that Bdubs could not quite make out, even though he very inconspicuously tried to lean in, and then, “Go do it.” 

Cub smiled. “Got it,” he said. “Mr. Mayor, you can count on me.” He turned to walk out of the room, and Bdubs followed him—glaring daggers to his back; but he had his own schemes, just everyone wait, the enforcer would yet see who served the mayor best, when—

“All this talk,” said Scar behind him. “It’s making me thirsty.”

Bdubs stopped on his tracks. Cub did the same. Scar’s words were casual, but there was an edge to his tone that had a series of shivers run down Bdubs’s back. He made himself proud by managing a very collected,  “Shall I bring you a glass of water, my Mayor?”

“No,” Scar said, “Oh no, I’m not thirsty for water , that’s not going to cut it. Cub, you can go.”

Cub raised an eyebrow. “Now that you mention it, I could use a drink too. Oh man, I’m actually parched.” He glanced at Bdubs. The way the corner of his mouth twitched would’ve been easy to miss; regardless, that little look felt like fingers crawling on Bdubs’s skin.

“Hey!” His shoulders rose up. “The mayor said go!”

Scar gave a little laugh. “It’s alright, Bdubs! There’s no need to get defensive on my behalf.” He took a step around the table and put his hand against Bdubs’s back; a comforting gesture that at this moment offered very little actual comfort, but it did make Bdubs’s breath catch in his throat. “Cub, you go get that drink. Go, on your way! Bdubs will help me out here.”

“Y-yes!” Bdubs managed. “I will!”

Cub hesitated a moment longer, but then he rolled his shoulders and the tension (impossible to even notice if you didn’t know him well) left him. “Cheers,” he said. “See you later, Mr. Mayor. Bdubs.” He touched a finger to his forehead and walked briskly out of the room.

The door closed behind him.

Bdubs dared not move. Scar’s hand rested at the small of his back and Scar’s fingers were moving ever so slightly, curling and straightening. He could even feel a hint of Scar’s breath on the side of his neck.

“There he goes,” Scar whispered, part pleased and part wistful.

“Should I—” Bdubs rolled his tongue against his teeth. Then he coughed. “What should I get you, my Mayor?”

Scar’s hand slid around his waist and settled on his side, just over his hip, and the grip tightened. “You seem nervous, Bdubs,” he said. “Are you comparing yourself to the mayoral enforcer again? I advise against it. Comparison is the thief of joy!”

“I’m not jealous of him!” Bdubs tried not to think about the weight of Scar’s hand, nor how close the mayor was standing behind him. “No! Wait. I’m not comparing, is what I meant to say. There’s nothing to be jealous about. He can never serve you the way I can.”

Scar pulled him closer. His other hand held Bdubs’s shoulder, and he talked right to Bdubs’s ear. “Correct! You provide an invaluable service to me and to everybody in this town. Never forget that.”

He swallowed. “Should we—ah. Should I lock the door?”

“Oh, no one’s going to disturb us, don’t you worry! Don’t you worry about a thing, Bdubs. All you need to do is follow my instructions. Now go ahead and open your shirt.”

No one was going to barge in, surely; though Bdubs suspected that if someone did, Scar would find it (and anything that would follow) delightful. Bdubs himself would find it mortifying. Only mortifying, nothing more. His hands were shaking a little as he undid his buttons, from top to bottom. Scar pulled the collar of his shirt to the side and brushed fingers along his neck. Behind his ear. Gentle, even if his nails were sharp.

Bright outside. The shades on the windows half drawn. It was quiet in the room, save for the faint hum of the projector. Quiet enough that any little noise Bdubs made sounded loud to his own ears. Scar traced his collarbone, and he shivered.

The hand stopped. “You’re jittery today.” Conversational tone. “Can you keep still or should I restrain you?”

“Please,” Bdubs blurted out, breathless. Then his brain caught up. “I, no, I mean—”

“What was that?”

“What—whatever you want, my Mayor.”

Scar laughed. “Don’t be silly, Bdubs! Of course I will do what I want.” His right hand squeezed Bdubs’s hip. “But since you want what I want, it’s your lucky day! Now don’t be going anywhere.”

He pulled back, and even though the mayor was not the most warm-blooded person, Bdubs felt cold in his absence. He kept standing very still because he was such a good and obedient servant he anticipated his Mayor’s wishes even when Scar did not explicitly order him to keep his feet nailed to the floor, but he dared to risk a quick look over his shoulder. Scar went to open an office drawer at the corner of the room.

“I do believe the enforcer left here… ah! Found them!”

The mayor pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Standard issue for security, for what Bdubs could tell. He cleared his throat. “Don’t you think it’s careless of the enforcer to leave his equipment lying around?”

Scar snickered at that. He snapped the cuffs on Bdubs’s wrists—Bdubs had helpfully brought his hands together behind his back, though he pretended to struggle a little, for Scar’s sake.

“Really, I think that’s a liability if he’s so sloppy with his tools. I would never—”

“Hush, Bdubs,” said Scar, and Bdubs shut up. Scar hovered behind him, and his fingertips were again touching his shoulder. Moving towards his neck, up his throat, until the tip of the nail of the pointer finger was pressing on his Adam’s apple. “Forget about Cub. Thinking about Cub will only get you agitated. See?” Scar dragged the finger down to his pulse point. “Your heart is going fast.”

Damn right it was going fast! That had nothing to do with Cub though, and Scar knew it very well. Surely. Bdubs swallowed, and his throat bobbed. “Yes.” He gulped again. “Okay! I’m forgetting! I’ve forgotten.”

“Good,” said Scar, and when his right hand once more snaked around Bdubs’s waist and to the frontside of his hip, forgetting for real was not difficult at all.

Scar toyed with Bdubs’s belt. Slipped it off the buckle. Opened the button, opened the fly. All the while, his breath was brushing Bdubs’s neck, and his fingers under Bdubs’s chin gently coaxed him to tilt his head back and to the side. Pants slid down and he made a small noise, from the back of his mouth, that Scar ignored. The mayor’s long fingers were petting his throat, caressing him cool and slow and appraising like he was touching expensive fabric instead of skin.

Bdubs was cold on his neck and hot in his crotch, and in between his body was strung taut. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to wriggle and to move his arms, but the cuffs locked his wrists tight and the wriggling was stopped by Scar’s touch on his throat tightening to a grip.

The mayor was not annoyed by his discomfort though. Lucky him, Scar liked seeing him in duress. Scar’s voice dropped lower. “Are you ready now?”

Bdubs closed his eyes. Say yes! Yes is the correct answer! He knew it, and he really, truly wanted to say it, but Scar’s thumb under the waistband of his underwear had an unfortunate effect on him, and what spilled from his lips was,  “Scar—Mr. Mayor, please. Touch me.” 

There was a brief but very loaded moment of silence before Scar deigned to give him a response. “Tsk. That’s not what you’re here for.” Regardless, the mayor’s fingers danced over the fabric of his briefs, following the curve of his regrettably hardening cock. “This is not what you’re here for, Bdubs. I don’t mind if you enjoy yourself, remember, but your obligation is to serve.”

Of course. Obligation. Of course, my Mayor, your needs must come first—and if there was irony there, Bdubs had hidden it so well he couldn’t even find it himself. He was not sure if he had said any of it out loud, because Scar’s mouth was at the side of his neck, and his thoughts were melting into goo.

Scar’s mouth, Scar’s soft lips and Scar’s sharp, skin-piercing teeth. The mayor bit down, and the gush of blood came faster than he could or cared to suck it in. Warmth pooled to the depression on Bdubs’s collarbone and flowed down his chest and belly, almost quick as water to begin with, but by every passing beat of heart increasingly sluggish, until another fresh spurt spilled over and stained him worse. For all his posturing and pretense of propriety, the mayor was a messy eater.

He could afford to be. Who would chastise him? Not Bdubs, that was for sure. Next day, the gracious Mayor would gift him a new shirt. To replace the one he had ruined, ostensibly, but really because he liked seeing his staff and especially Bdubs in clothes he had picked for them.

Scar quenched his thirst on Bdubs’s blood. He gorged on it; and every mouthful lost Bdubs grew increasingly light-headed. His knees might have buckled if Scar had not been holding him up. By the throat. By the nails that dug to the inside of his thigh. The wet noise coming from—from him, from Scar’s tongue lapping up his life —it should have terrified him, and it did! It did. His grasp of physical reality was faltering. Darkness swam at the edges of his vision. He could die of this. Nothing he could do if Scar decided not to stop. He was not even struggling anymore; but still that noise warped in his dazed mind to the most erotic sound he had ever heard.

He whined. He could not feel his hands, because his diminishing blood was escaping the extremities, but against all the commonly accepted definitions of what constitutes a vital organ that blood kept rushing downwards. He felt constricted, cock hard, hard to breathe. Heat between his legs grew until he was about to burst.

Until he would have screamed in frustration if he had strength enough to scream.

The flow of blood from the punctures was slowing down. Scar had stopped sucking and started licking. He felt softer, less on the edge, and his hands began to wander once more. He dragged his palm down Bdubs’s wet chest, over his navel, over the waistband of his briefs; his blood-stained hand slid all the way to Bdubs’s crotch. While drinking him dry the Mayor rubbed his best and closest advisor’s erection in lazy circles, half-hearted, like it was only an afterthought. Which to him it was.

Scars’s tongue moved in a sluggish swirl around the wound on Bdubs’s neck. Bdubs breathed shallow and fast and gulped into his lungs the smell of Scar, dangerous; and the metallic smell of blood; and then, sudden and strong, the shameful smell of his own depravity when the light and unconcentrated pressure of the mayor’s fingers tipped him over the edge. His cock twitched, his mind went blank and his release spilled, sticky and warm, not even on the floor but inside his underwear.

“You’re very tasty,” Scar whispered to his ear. Even through the haze, Bdubs could hear it in his voice how his lips stuck together. “Look.”

Scar made him turn his head. On the wall, there was still that proof of failure, that three point drop.

“It will be okay.” Scar’s lips touched his earlobe. “We’ll make it better together. Alright?” His finger, the one with the diamond ring, swiped one final time Bdubs’s cheek. “Alright. You don’t need to worry at all. Now, go get cleaned up.”

The mayor released the lock of the handcuffs and let go. Bdubs had to fight to not slump to the floor. He was still trying to find his balance, arms aching and briefs ruined and pants around his knees, when Scar walked out of the door. He did not even look back. His suit, somehow, was spotlessly clean.