Nuttopia

Moar!

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  Iris smiled, hugging dear Delilah. "What's he done to you, now, hm? Made you realise you'd assumed the worst about him?"
  "And he *let* me!"
  Iris found Delilah's drawers, and handed them over before scooping up her own and sliding into them. "Just out of curiosity, m'lady, but would there have been anythin' he could'a said to convince you otherwise?"
  Sigh. Glare. "You know... there are times when I despise it when people are smarter than me."
  Iris tried her utmost to not feel like her heart was being crushed and burned to cinders.
  "No. Wait. No. I didn't mean it like that." Delilah kissed her impending tears away. "I love you, I do love you. And you have a point. I was determined that he was like all the others and nothing would have turned my head." She added a hug. "I'm so sorry I hurt you after all..."
  Gentle kisses soothed her fears. Chased away the last of her bad mood. They helped each other get dressed. A scene of such mundane normalcy that Iris found it easy to believe that their former efforts had been something of a dream. At least, she could have, were it not for the gentle attentions that dear Delilah lavished on her.
  "I need to think," announced Delilah. She strode off without another word and left Iris to her duties.
 
  Peter found Iris when it was time to put the automatons to sleep. The machines had spent the entire day learning music from anyone willing to come upstairs and earn two dollars an hour.
  Or, more correctly, she found him. Reading to his dear boys and helping them get settled. Once again, they had difficulty with the concept of 'bed' and snuggled into a gigantic cuddle-pile in the middle of the floor.
  "...and wherever they did wander," he finished the story, "they lived happily ever after." He carefully closed the tome and put it away in a locked cupboard. Then he tiptoed away from the boys like a thief.
  "Ah, Miss Iris. I trust you're feeling well?"
  "My health can bide," said Iris. "You and I and Miss Delilah need t' have some talkin' done." She lead him away from the boys and into a little drawing-room where she sat Peter just so and ordered him to sit put and not move a muscle.
  Then it was a mad dash around Delilah's favourite walking route, counter to her usual rotation, to catch her up and fetch her into the same room.
  Odd, now, that she only needed one lamp to light the place.
  "We need to talk things out," she told them. "Love don't profit much from secrets, and it don't profit none from anger. So anythin' you're hidin' or anythin' you're mad about... out with it. Here and now. I love you both, and I ain't hardly got no secrets. I s'pose you already know I'm bog Irish."
  "I knew," said Peter. "It's the accent. And your gift with potatoes. And I can promise that your status amongst society doesn't matter a mote to me. I love you."
  "I saw that you'd changed your name and I heard that you were trying to sound more -ah- upmarket..." allowed dear darling Delilah. "I felt that you were doing nothing more than fighting the criminal suspicion against your people. And I'm glad I'm correct. I love you, too."
  Iris sat down with a sigh and opened the floor for volunteers.
  Delilah cleared her throat. "I suppose you could say I've been... wounded... by my previous experience. I've learned to be suspicious of men and to trust them to be the worst. And... ever since I began learning about *you*, Peter... I've been angry with you for proving me wrong. That's... that's incredibly unscientific. I *should* be delighted to be wrong and excited to discover more... but I'm finding that more than difficult. Around you, Peter, I have no idea how to feel. And that scares me."
  "Any time I become an ogre for you," he offered, "do tell me how I may amend my behaviour. I adore you, Delilah. I wish... to help cement that concept into your psyche. In any way I can."
  She reached across to touch the nearest of Peter's hands. "I promise, the effort is mine. Simply allow me to accept you as you are... and not as I believe you to be."
  He turned his hand around so he could support her fingers in his in a gentle almost-grip. Not holding her... not exactly. Cradling her fingertips gently with his own. "As you wish," he whispered. He offered his other hand to Iris, and echoed the grasp with her fingers, as she did for Delilah.
  Now it was Peter's turn. He cleared his throat and began to blush. "I... too... have been wounded by love," he began.
  He got no further, because an unholy ruckus carried up to them. Someone smashing and crashing about like a furious bull.
  "Sounds like the foyer," murmured Peter.
  "If it's Rabbit smashing things to hear how they sound again..." Huffed Iris.
  The circle broke, but they moved together in a rush to the foyer.
  There, at the centre of a pool of darkness was a short and bulky man with a greenish hue to his skin. He was unkempt, his clothes were filthy. And he was very clearly as drunk as a skunk.
  "DELILAH!" He roared. "Get away from that *scum*! I'm much more of a man than he'll ever be."
  Then Peter said something to make Iris' jaw drop. He said, "Taddie..." and he said it... lovingly. In the same breathless adoration that he usually reserved for Delilah.
  "You shut up!" 'Taddie' hollered. "You've no right to her! You've no *right*. I'm the better man. I AM! She belongs to *ME*."
  "Who is that?" Iris whispered.
  "Thaddeus Becile," Delilah whispered in return. "Peter invited him into the Cavulcadium. I've often wondered if that was a mistake."
  Peter was descending the stairs, simply repeating "Taddie... please..." as he moved.
  But Becile's focus was on her and Delilah.
  "Ah... *AH*! Bribin' 'er with a woman. Never've thought of that. Get 'er some strumpet from the gutter and sneak y'r way in that way. Huh! I should've expected perversion from *you*..."
  "Taddie..." Peter chided. "It doesn't have to be that way." He reached the parquet floor and opened his arms as he crept closer to the inebriated Becile. "There are threes in the Cavulcadium. There are fours, too. We could all be happy *together*. We can make it work. We both love Delilah and with time and gentleness, we can help her trust us. Remember how I kept showing you? Tenderness is *key*, Taddie..."
  "STOP CALLING ME THAT!"
  Peter inched closer. Wheedling. He was wheedling for Becile to calm down. And, like a snake charmer, it was working. Sort of. At least he wasn't throwing things any more. "All you have to is surrender this notion of owning people. One can only ever share that which is offered freely." Then he made the mistake of cupping Becile's face in his hands. "For example... like I'm yours."
  Becile moved faster than any viper. Laying Peter flat on the floor in one quick and vicious strike. "You'd rather **** that scum than *ME*?" he bellowed. "Or is he too busy watching you and that other **** to get it up?"
  Iris only had a lantern, but she held it between herself and Becile. And she held herself between Delilah and Becile. "When I say 'run'..." she murmured.
  One quick movement would be all she'd need. To smash the lantern on him and set him aflame. She had to strike true, though, or the whole mansion would be ablaze.
  But her preparation proved unnecessary. Rabbit stepped out into the foyer and said, "Bad man hurt Pappy." He very simply marched over and lifted the offensive Becile into the air. "You need a time out."
  Now she bolted down the stairs to check on Peter. "Summon the police," she ordered Delilah.
  Peter moaned and moved at last. He had a wicked bruise forming already. Iris sent one of the newly-roused staff to fetch a steak from the ice box. And another to brew some mint tea. And a third to go with a lantern to bring the policeman in when he came. All over the terrified hullaballoo kicked up by Becile as Rabbit held him aloft.
  When the constable came, Peter was sitting up and alternately sipping tea and sniffing at smelling salts as both Iris and Delilah both tended his bruised and swollen face and the small bleeding in his nose. And, because Constable Rourke's beat included the Cavulcadium, he took in Rabbit, Peter's blue pallor, the struggling Becile, and the ever-curious Three without turning a hair.
  He also took Becile away and politely asked Peter to press charges.
  "He used to be my... friend," croaked Peter. "I tried to teach him. He didn't need to be so..." a sigh. "Yes. Take him to trial. I can't-- I tried my utmost. Perhaps it's time that life teaches him."
  Only once Becile was lead away in cuffs did Rabbit kneel and reach towards his creator. "Pappy broken?"
  Peter summoned a smile and said. "Just a little dented, dear. I'll patch up quick." He forced himself to sit straighter and look more energised than he really was. "You go take your brother back to bed, eh? You all need your down time."
  Reluctant. "Yes, Pappy."
  "He'll be fine by tomorrow," promised Iris.
  Only then did Rabbit eagerly scoop up his brother and rush him back into the elevator from whence he had originally come.
  Three waved them bye-bye as they ascended.
  Iris helped Delilah haul Peter up to his room.
  "One day," he sighed, "it will be a happy occasion in which I find myself in both your arms."
  "Well, for now, we need to walk off that concussion," said Delilah.
  "Keep talkin'," begged Iris. "Tell us how you knew that man..."
 
  Peter couldn't remember a day when he didn't know Taddie. He was a fact of life like Mama and The Admiral His Father and the big old house he lived in that had many secrets.
  Peter taught Taddie how to feed the ducks, and could get them to come to his hand for vegetable scraps and soggy bread.
  Taddie would throw his handfuls at the birds and set up a howl when they flew away.
  As the years passed, Peter would try taming foxes for the boy. Leading the docile animals for him on a string.
  That ended when he found Taddie skinning one of the poor creatures for his mother.
  Where Peter was gentle and indrawn, Taddie was rough and tumble. The Admiral His Father spoiled Taddie as ruthlessly as he punished Peter for being soft.
  Peter's life with his friend was full of him trying to soften Taddie's rough edges. Showing him again and again how to be kind and win the hearts of all the Earth's creatures.
  Taddie saw no value in it.
  But it was the war that cemented Peter's feelings. He hadn't known he was in love with the rough boy until they were trapped behind enemy lines. Scurrying from shelter to shelter in a desperate attempt to get back to their troop.
  Footsore, travel weary, and more than a little ill, they'd holed up in someone's root cellar. There was a well. Which was fortunate because Taddie's fever demanded water. And there were preserves. Which was fortunate because he couldn't get Taddie to eat any of the hardtack.
  He nursed Taddie in hushed whispers as intermittent footfalls clattered over their heads. Enemy boots.
  And when Taddie took a chill, Peter used his own body heat to warm him.
  In the height of madness, they kissed. And Taddie came alive for him. Conquered him. Pushed himself roughly into Peter in a frenzy of hard passion.
  His illness broke, that night. And then Taddie broke one of Peter's cheekbones.
  Peter told himself it was the last of his paroxysms.
  But ever after that, whenever they were alone... Taddie would come and conquer him again. Peter didn't care how much it hurt. He thought it was normal. And he gladly surrendered his comfort for his friends' ease.
  Peter loved him. He'd loved him forever. And he thought he would love him forever.
  It wasn't until a friend and mentor invited him to the Cavulcadium that entire worlds opened for Peter. He learned, for example, that a loving male-to-male congress did not have to involve pain.
  And when he tried to teach his learnings to Taddie... that was when it all went sour.
  Taddie demanded to learn these lessons for himself.
  And Peter, in love, could not refuse him.
  He brought Taddie to attend a lecture on mutual enjoyment by none other than Doctor Delilah Moreau.
  Peter fell in love again. He feared his heart would burst.
  Taddie only said two words, "She's *mine*."
 
  The swelling had gone down a little by the time Peter finished his story. His wooziness was evaporating.
  Delilah walked with him and Iris in a gloomy silence.
  "When did you realise you were ****?" she asked in a hushed murmur.
  "I gave myself willingly, Doctor Moreau. Every time. I didn't care that it hurt... I loved him."
  "You need tenderness," Iris decided.
  "I would be very willing, Miss Iris... but the flesh is still weak."
  "Who said anything about you reciprocating?" said Delilah. "You need to learn that a caring touch is not necessarily rough."
  Iris beamed her a huge grin at those words. Like she'd been waiting to hear them for a very long time.
  "Patience, dear," she soothed. "Tonight will probably be all snuggles."
  "I'm amenable to snuggles."
  The beginnings of an eager smile began to grow on Peter's face. It was lopsided, and shaky and shy. And a breath of a giggle floated out between his blue-tainted lips. "May," he stammered. "May... May I kiss you each?"
  "Of course," said Iris instantly.
  Delilah felt compelled to add, "You won't hurt us at all."
  And that was the first time he turned away from her. So he could plant a soft and tender peck on Iris' cheek.
  Delilah tried not to let jealousy ride her. But there was a burning sensation in her cheeks that remained until Peter turned back to her.
  And...
  Very hesitantly...
  As if he were afraid he would spook her..
  Laid the tenderest kiss that had ever caressed a cheek, onto her face.
  She was left entirely breathless by the encounter, and proceeded towards his bedroom in a hypnotic haze. Perhaps Becile's howling about magnetic mesmerism had some element of truth in them. He certainly had a knack for generating love. The automatons adored him. The staff worshipped him and wished him all kinds of happiness. He had Iris in his thrall since she'd first laid eyes on him and now...
  Now she felt the fall happening, at last.
  She hadn't wanted to be in love with him. Through necessity, she'd cared. And she told herself that she was staying because she loved Iris. And bit by bit, his gentle mein and simple adoration of herself had won her over.
  He was a loveable man.
  It had to be that simple.
  "Just so you know," she said, "Not every lady of sapphonic inclinations has been hurt by men."
  "I know," he said. The smile had finally settled evenly on his features. "I do pay attention."
  She chuckled. "It's hard to tell when you're constantly moony-eyed at my lectures."
 
  These women had seen him in the depths of fever and delirium. They'd seen him wandering the halls in just a dressing-coat. And yet... when it was time to prepare for bed, he came over with a crippling bout of shyness and retreated to the ensuite to change into his nightshirt.
  When he emerged, both ladies were only wearing their shifts and pantaloons. He covered his eyes out of an instinct beaten into him by the Admiral his Father.
  "Honestly," tisked Delilah.
  "You think we wear our corsets and petticoats t' sleep in?" clucked Iris. She was the one who took an elbow and guided him to bed. "They're right uncomfortable, take my word."
  He peeked only so he could settle into the middle of the bed. And blushed up a storm when both lovely ladies bracketed him in. Iris on his left. Delilah on his right. There was not even a bedsheet between him and them to protect them from his animal lusts.
  "Do you plan on sleeping with your hands over your eyes?" teased Delilah.
  "'Ow can we kiss you if you're hidin'?" asked Iris.
  The fire in his cheeks spread to his entire face. "Oh, my darlings... I'm so afraid. What if I get like Taddie?"
  "Then we'll fetch Rabbit to hold you up and out of harm until the fit passes," soothed Iris.
  "Clever woman," Delilah cooed. "I'd never have thought of that. Put your hands down, Peter. I'm certain you won't be overcome by looking at us."
  Iris started kissing his hands and gently caressing his arms. "Come on out of there, m'darlin. I won't bite."
  "I might," Delilah volunteered. "But not for a good long while." She, too, kissed his hands and teased at his arms.
  Slowly, he emerged from hiding to find two entirely delightful ladies smiling for him. And not one atom of much-feared aggression or rage in his heart.
  He put his hands to good use, that night. Revelling in his ability to remain as tender with them as they were with him.
  It was glorious.

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