WARNING: SLASH/VIOLENCE
Just something I had to take off my mind.
As a politician and a faithful servant of His Majesty Henry the Eighth, Thomas Cromwell knew perfectly he wasn't quite a beloved man among various circles of Court. Almost every man envied his skills, his ability to persuade the King. Their only way of forgetting their own inability to satisfy the quirky King (and God knows how that was a difficult task), was to mock him or speak ill of him, like mocking of his low birth, for instance. Everyone knew his father was a violent, drunk blacksmith, although Thomas himself tried his best to push those awful memories of his early life in Putney to the empty void of his memory, but he didn't give much credit to that ill-intentioned gossip. Unlike the others who gravitated around the King with nothing to show other than her supposed noble blood, Thomas was a fighter. He had to climb his way up to earn the King's favor. And that had been a hell of a climb, to say the truth.
Among those men was one who particularly annoyed him to the point of anger. His name was Charles Brandon, commonly known as the Duke of Suffolk. The title made Thomas snort inwardly. Charles was the son of a flag bearer whose loyalty at Bosworth earned him the charity and favor of the late King Henry VII. Due to that fact, Charles and the young Prince Harry had grown together, and young Charlie had been more than eager to reap the benefits of being the King's best friend. Starting by his title, which he only got in order to escort the King's sister, Princess Margaret, on her wedding trip to Portugal. Funnily enough, Fate seemed to smile upon him: only three days after the marriage, the old King of Portugal died of a heart attack in his sleep, and Charles took advantage of the events by bedding the King's sister and secretly marrying her. This was enough to unleash Henry's wrath, but soon the King reconsidered. He alleged his brotherly love for Margaret in order to do so, but it was whispered the King had fallen prey of Charles's male charm. That thought disgusted Cromwell. While he spent his nights and days working tirelessly in His Majesty's service, Charles Brandon had found the easiest and most known way of rising in the King's favour: climbing to the royal bed.
Things weren't fair, Thomas sighed. That's why he was always subtly trying to find a way of banning Charles from the King's sight and graces. And he had succeeded this time. Thomas had orchestrated the whole thing, of course. He was caught with Anne Seymour, Edward's wife. This was enough to infuriate Edward, and Thomas would have rolled on the floor laughing his ass off if he had the chance when he saw both of them arguing, a furious Seymour against a puzzled Brandon. Even now Thomas could imagine Suffolk's face hearing the King's verdict, and that thought amused him to no end. Suddenly he heard quick, almost angry footsteps on the way to his office. He arched an eyebrow when he saw a disheveled Brandon panting at his doorway.
- Your Grace - he greeted politely. - How can I be of service?
- YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE! - Charles yelled through gritted teeth.
Thomas felt his ribcage cracking with the efforts he was doing in order not to burst out laughing. Still, he tried to compose himself.
- I'm afraid I don't understand, Your Grace.
- DON'T PLAY INNOCENT WITH ME, CROMWELL! YOU'VE PLANNED ALL THIS. ANNE SEYMOUR TOLD ME!
Bitch, Thomas cursed. Whatever. He had other ways of keeping Brandon's mouth shut.
- And so what? What if I did?
- I'll have you hanged for this, Cromwell! I swear!
- Well, that will be hard to accomplish, since you will be gone from Court for a long time. Seems like His Majesty was jealous of his toy boy fucking another woman instead of being submissive to him... on every account - Thomas's voice was caustic.
- What? - Brandon was taken aback.
- You heard me - Thomas rose from his seat and got closer, so close he could feel Brandon's breath on his face. - Do you think I don't know how you have earned Henry's favor?
Charles blushed heavily, but recovered quickly.
- Are you jealous, Thomas? You wanted to be the King's bitch too? The son of the blacksmith bent over, moaning Henry's name while calculating his chances of rising higher?
Thomas could have slapped him, but instead he just crushed his lips against Suffolk's, who had to support his back on his desk in order not to fall. Thomas took advantage of it to grab his shoulders and make him kneel in front of him.
- What does my birth have to do with anything? You are nothing but the son of a flag bearer, Brandon. And right now, this son of a blacksmith is going to make you his bitch - and with that Thomas unbuttoned his hose.
Brandon looked up with a devious look. Although it enraged him to admit, he was starting to get aroused too, so he fiercely, eagerly took Cromwell into his mouth, chuckling when he heard Cromwell's loud groan of pleasure as he did so. His caresses continued until the Secretary couldn't bear it any longer. Brandon felt his whole body rise and bend on the desk, while Thomas' manhood entered him, not gently, as Henry used to do, but roughly, demandingly. And as much as it disgusted, there was something animal inside Brandon which made him cry in sheer pleasure and satisfaction while Cromwell moved deeper and faster inside him.
- You like that, Charles? You like being this scoundrel's bitch? - hissed Cromwell in his ear, grabbing his neck and nibbling his earlobe.
- You're mad! You're completely mad! – moaned Charles in denial.
- Lying is a sin, my child. Don't try to deny it.
And with that Charles felt a cold, long-fingered hand wrapping his manhood from behind. He almost screamed in delight, but the shame only made him whimper, until the tickling sensation in the bottom of his hips became unbearable and his body, mind and soul exploded in a thousand pieces.
- Yes - he gasped. - Yes, Thomas, I love it! - Charles said collapsing on the desk, while feeling Cromwell's laughter becoming a painful groan of pleasure while he released himself into him. Seconds later, Cromwell eased himself out of him and hugged him from behind, trapping him against the desk. Brandon's eyes were the pure expression of fear when Thomas whispered:
- I'll speak with the King to be merciful with you, but only if you are a good boy and keep silent. Do you think you can do that, Your Grace? – the Secretary's cold tone hurt Charles like a dagger, especially after what they had just done.
- I promise - he muttered.
- Good. Or else, heads will roll. Literally - and Cromwell left his office, leaving a flustered and panting Charles behind.