Chapter Text
Rafferty should have seen the proposition coming from the moment he lingered over the newlywed couple on their wedding night.
The way that Arthur held his eye as he caught his wife’s bottom lip between his grinning teeth had been an exceedingly absurd gesture from the man, like he had been aware of the way that Rafferty’s eyes followed the drapes of his wife’s wedding dress, so intricately woven for her frame, all thanks to the great Guinness name and all of the shillings that followed it.
Lady Olivia was a finely cut gem, and Arthur liked to dangle her in front of him, like a farmer sparingly casting seeds to his livestock.
So it came as a surprise when Arthur proposed that he was to adhere to his wife’s wants and needs, lest there be any real feelings involved.
Rafferty had ever only aided the Guinnesses with iron fists, leading on to be bloody knuckles by the time he was finished with whatever rubbish he had been ordered to remove with a flick of a ring-clad hand.
Never this.
And never with such tenderness.
The first night he fucked Lady Olivia until her neatly manicured nails dug into the thick, scarred skin of his back and she howled his name under his calloused palm, he knew that their next fuck could not be labelled as so.
Rafferty should have declined Arthur’s proposition, should have been aware that he was incapable of having something as insignificant as a mere fuck. He had compassion.
So much pent up compassion and nowhere plausible for it to go.
Not since Anne.
And Lady Olivia was like candle wax, gradually melting under a delicate flame and seeping into every crevice in his body, yet the wax always seemed to cool and harden under Arthur’s cold gaze, until he grew bored again and allowed the flame between he and Lady Olivia to continue on.
And Arthur knew exactly what he was doing.
A monotonous game of tug and war between one of the most well-off men in Dublin and his fucking lapdog, tied to chain of his desired length and branded with a collar with GUINNESS proudly etched onto the leather.
Now he stood adjacent to Arthur Guinness, his hands clasped dutifully behind his back, tongue-in-cheek.
“Mr Rafferty.”
He tilted his head to glance down at his boss, whose feet were kicked up haphazardly onto his mahogany desk. Arthur had a cigar pinched between his lips, which were partially obscured by his styled moustache.
“Yes, sir?”
With a hesitant eye, Rafferty watched the smoke billow from Arthur’s mouth as he parted his lips.
“Do you enjoy fucking my wife?”
Rafferty blanched, “Yes, sir.” The man may have controlled his payroll, but that did not mean that he was about to lie to save face for himself if it meant that he did not hurt his superior’s feelings.
He was honest.
Honest when he warned whatever shuddering body he had trapped under the heel of his boot that they were about to lose the ability to use their mouth if they did not cooperate with him.
Honest when he nestled his nose into the crook under Lady Olivia’s ear and breathed in her marmalade and feminine perfume smell, his lips pressed to her porcelain skin and whispering his love for her.
“Mr Rafferty?”
He didn’t realise that he was licking his lips until he came-to, and he immediately took a slight step forwards, muttering an awkward apology under his breath.
“Apologies, Mr Guinness. Did you, er… say something?”
Arthur seemed to find Rafferty’s question amusing, for he stifled his mouth with the back of a ring-clad hand and swivelled until his feet were both placed neatly on the ground once more.
“You see,” Arthur intertwined his hands and rested them in his lap, his head tilted in a way that gave Arthur the countenance of a little dog.
Or a cat, if he were to continue his big, fucking metaphor for the Guinness family.
“My wife does talk an awful lot about you. About your skills in bed.” Rafferty’s eyes involuntarily dropped down to Arthur’s finger encircling the rim of a whiskey glass on his desk.
Which Arthur used for Guinness too, of course. He was non-discriminating.
“Does she?” He gently rocked back and forth on his heels, his palms growing increasingly clammy in spite of his poker face.
It’s not that Lady Olivia herself never had anything kind to say when their limbs were entangled and his cock was still deep inside of her, but there was something so… indescribable about hearing it from her husband’s mouth.
“And what does she say?” Rafferty could hear the smirk in his voice, despite the impassive demeanour he attempted to express in the company of his boss.
Arthur mirrored his smile, as inward as it may have been. “She says little, but I have learned to read her quite well.” Arthur moved swiftly to pop open the cork of a Guinness bottle, obviously, and the splashing of the liquid into the fondled whiskey glass momentarily filled the empty silence. “Her tongue is much looser when we drink together under our orange trees.”
Rafferty’s brows furrowed at the intonation in Arthur’s voice.
It was out of the question as to why he had been employed by the Guinness family: he was damn good at his job. In the empty warehouses and cells he dominated, Rafferty could read his targets like a crinkled newspaper on a Sunday morning.
Unfortunately, his skill in reading people extended outside of his job as well, yet the sincere jealously radiating from Arthur’s chair, masked behind his tight smirk, utterly perplexed him.
Above all those that had wronged the Guinness family and paid for their insolence, Arthur had been the hardest subject that Rafferty had ever had the pleasure of reading.
And as much as Rafferty loathed to admit it, Arthur intrigued him, emphasised by the period in time in which Arthur had spent in London prior to his father’s death.
“And what secrets does her tongue tell you under those orange trees, Mr Guinness?” Rafferty inhaled slowly as Arthur took a swig of his drink, the ring on his pinky finger in particular clinking on the crystal of the glass. He didn’t wait for Arthur to swallow his Guinness before continuing: “Nothing too… untoward, I hope.”
Rafferty held Arthur’s gaze over the rim of his glass, unblinking.
Above all, Lady Olivia was more than just her sex. She was sharp-tongued and earnest, always keen to tell Rafferty what made her feel good and what didn’t. She wasn’t afraid to shed her propriety as she slipped her cotton stockings down her pale legs, her body soaked in the moon’s glow from her open-curtained window, for all to see.
She had no shame.
And he loved her for it.
The slam of Arthur’s glass on the desk brought Rafferty back to reality.
“She likes your cock.” Arthur whispered in an entirely untoward way.
“She does, and you’d like to know why?”
Rafferty regretted the easiness of his response as soon as Arthur’s face fell, his groomed, dark brows furrowing with discontent.
What the displeasure was aimed towards, however, Rafferty wasn’t entirely sure.
“She is my wife.” Arthur’s voice shook like the windowpanes of his home. It was coming to be a harsh winter, and Arthur’s tone was laced with ice-cold fury. “I let you fuck her but when I sit there and listen to her talk about you over and over…”
Rafferty pursed his lips unhappily as Arthur slammed a fist down onto his desk, his teeth clenched. “You must be… discreet.”
“Sir, I have only done what you have asked of me.”
“Well, why does she adore you so? What do you say to her to make her attentions escape from me?”
Arthur’s face crumpled into something softer, like a boy yearning for something that he couldn’t quite place his finger on.
Rafferty knew of Arthur’s… preferences, so to say that he was addled by his superior’s clear abhorrence for the way that Rafferty had ‘stolen’ his wife would’ve been an understatement.
“I thought that you…” Rafferty swallowed, his posture relaxing. “Do you intend to… sleep with her?”
So the man had changed his mind; allowed Rafferty a taste from his silver spoon before snatching it away and popping it straight back into his own greedy, bastard mouth.
Rafferty didn’t realise that his fists had clenched until a hoarse laugh erupted from his superior. At a loss, he observed as Arthur stared up at him with wide eyes, his lips drawn up into a grin so wide that his moustache seemed to change shape.
“Hells, no. But as my wife, I require other sorts of attentions from her, Mr Rafferty.”
“May I ask-“
“Yes, just go for it.”
“What sort of… attentions then, if not sex?” Rafferty paused. “Companionship?”
“Yes…” Arthur’s eyes grew distant as he pinched a corner of his moustache between two fingernails, which were both meticulously looked after, quite like his Olivia.
Some time passed before Arthur continued, his eyes shifting uncomfortably about the room. “She holds me. Strokes my hair.” Arthur spoke more swiftly to conclude his sentence, as if it erased the weight in which his words held.
“Ah. I see.” Rafferty tried to catch Arthur’s gaze, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the bottle of Guinness in the middle of his desk, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “And Lady Olivia, she has been neglecting those duties? Because of me?”
Rafferty should’ve known that his late contractor’s eldest son had a longing for comfort. In some ways that made him just like his father, who seemed all together quite isolated since Arthur’s late mother had died.
But he wasn’t about to give his proposition with Lady Olivia up because his contractor hadn’t anyone to rest his corrupted head on as of late.
Arthur merely nodded, his lips drawn into a thin line as he quite pointedly attempted to remain stoic. “You don’t know how hard it is after all of this bloody election… crap. She’s supposed to be there for me when I’m at my campaigns, but i can feel her…” Arthur’s chin quivered, as if his frustrations were so severe that he had no other release other than to cry. “I can feel her staring at you.”
~••~
Later that evening, once Rafferty’s cock had long been buried inside of Lady Olivia and each had exchanged a string of sweet expressions towards one another, he allowed himself the pleasantry of starting a post-coital conversation with her.
Even if it were about her husband, he hoped that this detail in particular would go missed.
He traced a finger up the length of her arm, and she sighed happily in return, yet her cunning eyes bore into him as she glanced over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Your husband.”
“My…” Olivia shrugged off her satin bedsheets and turned over. “Yes, what about Arthur?”
For a moment, the only thing Rafferty had the capacity to do was stare; stare at her beauty under the soft candlelight illuminating her bedroom. He could feel the wax melting again, weaving into his soul.
He captured her soft lips in a gentle kiss, licking into her mouth and tasting marmalade on her tongue: her mouth used for for eating oranges, yet his mouth used to tear the flesh of his enemies, like a dog on a bone.
He felt her fingers brush his stubbled chin as she parted their lips. He hummed discontentedly. “What about my husband?”
“He believes you’re neglecting him.”
“And he asked you to relay this message to me after you’ve been inside of me?”
“No.” Rafferty dismissed her comment once he spotted the humoured twinkle in her eye, his large hand shifting to her waist. “No, but he seemed pissed.”
With that, Olivia’s smile simmered, and her face adorned that serious expression that he’d grown to enjoy, despite the circumstances. “Angry as in… serious?”
“Serious that he will not tolerate our… he won’t allow this to continue.” Rafferty was quite addled when it came to expressing the feelings of the heart, but he believed Olivia’s tightened grip on his face to mean that she understood.
“I can give him the affections he needs, but there may be times where I cannot reach him.” Olivia spoke quickly, as if this were something she had thought about often. Rafferty kept his gaze on her yet allowed his hand to migrate along her stomach. “Perhaps if you…help me?”
Rafferty’s hand paused on her skin. “Help you.”
“You work for the Guinness family, yes? You protect them and their reputations.”
“Yes, by any means possible.”
His own words sunk in like lead as Olivia nodded, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and exposing her pearly smile in juxtaposition with the darkening bedroom. Rafferty sunk into the touch as she enclosed her soft fingers around his own and guided his hand towards her breast, finishing his pursuit.
“Is that a yes?” She pressed her lips against the rough skin on his cheek, her moving lips sending goosebumps down his arms.
Rafferty had never had any qualms about the more… defined tastes in others regarding who they wanted to fuck. There had been multiple occasions where Mr Champion had become the object of Rafferty’s interest, and often times, slinking about Mr Champion’s territory, did he stumble upon particular housings.
Rafferty vividly remembered one evening in particular where there had been dreadful rains, hard enough to baptise you, up until the last hour of the day. The night was black like coal and Rafferty had been vaguely mapping out Mr Champion’s territory for his own personal sake, when he had caught sight of a man. He had been merely a black outline against the moon, but there was a certain sway to his body which had lead Rafferty to the conclusion that he had been drinking, most likely at the club just down the path.
Slowly, this shadow of a man had unashamedly stumbled his way towards Rafferty. A stranger seeking something in the company of another stranger in the night.
Once the man had come close enough, he made his intentions clear: a cigarette for the walk home.
Rafferty could do nothing but comply, of course, for every foreman had to do one good deed in the midst of a thousand broken bones and missing teeth. He remembered bringing the match up to the stranger’s face, the orange glow casting a shadow over his soft, effeminate features. His cheeks were hollow from where he had taken his first inhale of the cigarette, until the match whittled out and the burn of the embers did a below-par job at replicating that beautiful, orange light.
It was then, in the darkness, that Rafferty came to a plain and simple realisation about himself.
“Yes.” He moaned into Olivia’s mouth as he caught it in a harsh kiss, turning their bodies until she lay flush on her satin pillows, her chest heaving. “I’ll stroke his hair for you.” He pulled her cotton underwear back down to her ankles, which proved more difficult considering the material was still heavy with her come from their previous round.
“I’ll let him cry in my arms if it makes you happy.” He breathed raggedly over her cunt, his eyes flickering closed as her thighs brushed his cheeks with every flex of her muscles.
“It’ll be killing two birds with one stone. Arthur will be happy and I will be happy.” Olivia’s fingernails scratched over his scalp as Rafferty ran his tongue over her clit, barely stopping himself from rubbing his own hardness down onto her mattress.
Between the delighted sighs of his lover, Olivia choked out a final question on the matter: “But would you be happy, too?”
He did not pause, not even for a moment.
“Yes.”
~•~
An idea always seemed much easier to convey when one was in-between the legs of his lover.
To execute an idea, however, took time. And planning.
On the rare moments that Rafferty and Lady Olivia were in the presence of one another and were able to speak freely, they spent it in deep consideration.
Lady Olivia assured Rafferty that despite Arthur’s nerves regarding the upcoming election, he was bound to succeed with flying colours. Rafferty, despite respecting her certainty in her husband, chose to disagree.
“You know him from what you are told by him and about him, Lady Olivia.” He swallowed and brought up a hand to cup an orange hanging lowly from one of its branches as a servant bustled past them. “He…” he gritted his teeth.
To be torn between the respects of his boss and his lover was a difficult pill to swallow. “He has many doubts regarding the election; a lot you are not present for.”
“Then that is why you must do something about it for me, Sean. I cannot be there for him all of the time but you are his shadow. Do what I cannot.” Rafferty was already looking at her when she glanced up from where she was perched on a white garden chair, her eyes hard with certainty.
“If a moment arises-“
The patter of servant’s shoes and the slam of the greenhouse’s white doors silenced him abruptly as Arthur made himself present, his top hat dangling from his hand.
“Let us be on our way, Mr Rafferty.” Arthur’s gaze slid down to Lady Olivia, and Rafferty watched from out of the corner of his eye as she smiled sweetly up at him. The adoration in which she spoke about him felt true, and Rafferty never knew how to feel after those feelings were acknowledged.
In some moments, it seemed as if he and Lady Olivia were speaking as one when regarding Arthur.
Her husband, and his boss.
“Yes, sir.” He gave Olivia a final, fleeting nod of acknowledgment before he followed in Arthur’s stead. Once he and Arthur were matching paces, he spoke: “Have you looked into the new saddle you had commissioned yet, Mr Guinness? I believe it’s been sent to the stables by one of my men-“
Arthur dismissed his statement with a wave of his hand, and Rafferty bit his tongue. “That does not matter, we are taking the carriage today.” The smaller man flipped the top hat onto his head, before impeccably smoothing out the loose strands of hair curling at his forehead. “You will be riding in the carriage with me.”
“Sir?”
“Today is an important day for my career, I want to appear as… official as possible.” There was a slight downwards intonation of his words, exposing his apprehensions as clear as day. “You’ll be my bodyguard today.”
Rafferty took great pleasure in the knowledge that Lady Olivia had been correct. As a man who traded his fists for coin, Rafferty did, on occasion, submit to his first instinct.
His plan to offer up the idea to Mr Guinness about finding his affection in somebody other than his wife was, to put it simply, in the equivalence of having a quick fuck: he’d do it swiftly and conveniently, acting on actions alone rather than testing the waters first.
But who was Rafferty to question the topic of Arthur’s vulnerabilities when it concerned his wife? She had insisted that Arthur was a dog with all bark and no bite, but if Rafferty were to pounce too early, the consequences may have been dire.
Yet the mere suggestion from Arthur that they share the carriage was altering their dynamic- even without the gentle coaxing of Rafferty himself!
“Of course, sir.” With that, he hung back slightly and allowed Arthur to pull himself into the tight carriage, his black coat billowing behind him as he disappeared through the entryway.
What was it that Olivia compared him to?
A shadow.
~•~
The Guinnesses had always had complexions which may have led strangers to believe that they did not know the sun, but to suggest that Arthur’s paleness inside of the carriage was due to a different matter entirely may have been true.
“Are you alright, sir?”
The carriage was silent, except for the occasional creaking of the frames as they shuddered over the cobblestone roads. Arthur was a ball of jittery nerves, his gloves abandoned on the plush seat beside him.
Rafferty pursed his lips. “Arthur?”
That caught his attention. Arthur’s eyes sifted to him and away from the vacant corner that he had been monotonously doting on for the past five minutes. For a while, he just stared, his widened eyes shifting about Rafferty’s face.
“My brother, Edward, wrote me a speech.” Arthur reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and brandished a piece of crumpled paper between two fingers. He moved them towards Rafferty. “Take a read: Tell me what you think.”
Stifling a sigh, Rafferty took the paper in his hand and dropped it into his lap. “Arthur, has Lady Olivia been… tending to your needs as of late?”
Arthur guffawed, yet his smile did not quite reach his eyes. “I do not need this conversation today.”
“No, you don’t.”
To hell with Lady Olivia’s approach.
“But what you do need, I can give to you.”
Arthur wasn’t smiling. “And what is it that I need?”
At last.
Verbal permission to tell his boss exactly what was wrong with him.
For more years than not, Rafferty hung along the sidelines of the Guinness family, taking care of certain businesses that shielded them from starring in any sort of scandal. In order to do so, Rafferty was informed of each member’s most sensitive, private matters.
The matters of the mind were more difficult to pinpoint exactly; take Benjamin for example.
That boy had more skeletons in his closet than the whole of Dublin.
Arthur, however, was more of an enigma to Rafferty.
Rafferty didn’t like secrets therefore, despite Olivia’s lack of consent on the matter, Rafferty had done some digging; visited London for a fortnight.
And Gods did Arthur get up to quite a lot in those five years.
“You crave for a connection with somebody; someone who knows your innermost wants and desires and can give them to you freely, without question.”
Arthur’s shoe knocking into his as they travelled over a particularly bumpy part of the road momentarily pulled him out of his rambling. The man in question wore a pinched expression, his brown eyes undoubtedly zoned in on Rafferty.
“Yes, and my wife-“
“Lady Olivia and you have a connection, Mr Guinness, but she can never truly satisfy you.”
Suddenly, an un-gloved hand was clenched around his cravat, and Arthur practically growled in his face, his teeth bared like a dog.
Here was the bark that Olivia was talking about.
“You watch your next words very carefully, Mr Rafferty. I don’t know how my father treated you but I will not stand for such disrespect.”
Arthur’s breath was hot on his face, Olivia’s marmalade smell replaced by the tar of cigarette smoke and brandy.
“Your father valued my honesty,” Rafferty continued, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur’s bared teeth with a look of practiced indifference. “And I will not lie to you, Mr Guinness.”
The grip on his throat loosened and, as if he had come back to his senses, Arthur’s expression dropped. He sunk back into the plush seats of the carriage, yet closer still that Rafferty’s knees bracketed Arthur’s legs.
No bite.
“Tell me the truth, Mr Rafferty.”
“And you will listen?”
“Yes.”
“You desire a loyal partner. A routine.”
The carriage came to an abrupt stop, and it was clear that Arthur was attempting to suppress an eye roll as Potter wrenched the door open.
Before Rafferty even had time to think, Arthur was squeezing past him and toward the exit. He cast one, final glance at Rafferty over his shoulder, which spoke more words than anything he had said during the entirety of the journey.
Another time, then.