An Unconventional Arrangement

“…Excuse me?”

Rarity’s straight expression changed into one of vague amusement, a small smile curling on her face.

“I believe that you heard me, Mr. Patchwork.”

Patchwork’s anger was sparked by the mocking tone, but dimmed as the blood drying into his hair reminded him of his predicament.

“Why?” he asked curtly.

“I daresay your ears had something to do with it.”

Patchwork just glared at her for several moments, an unamused frown on his face. It was as if he was trying to burn a hole through her pretty little skull with his stare. Rarity eventually returned the frown and looked away from him. Her right hand moved to rub her opposite arm in discomfort.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” she pouted.

“And you’ve just been a ray of sunshine,” Patchwork mumbled before his mind could catch up to his mouth. His eyes widened as he realized what had passed his lips, but he didn’t hasten to apologize. He’d rather just take the punishment and be done with it.

Rarity went deathly still, her back pressed up against his Patchwork’s body, the back of her head resting on his shoulder.

Patchwork waited for something, for her tear the robe hook out of the wall and bash him in the head with it, for her to slam her fist into his jaw, for the sensation of her nails digging into his cuts.

But the pain never came.

Instead, Rarity sat up in his lap and turned around, her knees on either side of Patchwork’s waist, the bathwater shifting as she moved. She began to reach out to him with her right hand, but pulled back as Patchwork instinctively cringed. After a moment of stillness, her hand moved forwards onto his shoulder.

Rarity’s small silky hand rubbed gently across Patchwork’s shoulder before advancing up his neck, and finally up to the back of his head.

Patchwork suppressed a pained grunt as her hand ran over the gash, but nevertheless Rarity noticed his hurt expression. She pulled her hand away quickly, an uncertain look in her eyes.

“…I’m sorry,” she practically whispered, crossing her arms over her breasts, her hands holding her shoulders tightly.

Another uncomfortable silence reigned.

“…Patchwork?” she asked after a while, her brow furrowed in concern. “Did…did you hear what I said?”

“Yes,” Patchwork replied quietly, his eyes cast down and to the side, not daring to meet her gaze. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her, didn’t want to have her bare body pressing against his, and certainly didn’t want to be looking at her.

Rarity uncrossed her arms and hesitantly draped them over Patchwork’s shoulders, gently wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt him shiver in her grasp; despite their intimate contact, she knew that it was not out of arousal.

She sought to fix that.

Leaning forwards, she pressed her lips into his, tasting him. He immediately tried to pull away, but Rarity simply leaned forwards to compensate the distance.

His resistance caused Rarity to falter, but only for a moment. Her tongue jabbed at his lips, silently asking for entrance. Patchwork hesitantly permitted her, and before long her muscle explored him, flicking around the tip of his own. She ran a hand through his hair and another rubbed at his neck, her soft moans of pleasure strikingly audible from the otherwise silence of the bathroom.

Rarity pulled away to breathe, intent on diving back in, but her mind still lingered on one thing.

Patchwork wasn’t kissing her back.

“Patchwork?”

He still wasn’t meeting her eyes. Rarity caressed his cheek with a silken hand, feeling his rough, hardened features.

“Patchwork,” Rarity repeated, tilting Patchwork’s head up. “Kissing is a mutual action, is it not?”

He finally looked up at her demure face, the face that had conveyed so little of its true nature to him. A beautiful face. An untruthful face.

“Given what you did last night…I guess I wouldn’t know,” he replied flatly.

“Oh, you liked it,” Rarity mocked. Patchwork tightened up as anger washed over him, but with a deep breath, he managed to keep his composure.

“My point is that you don’t seem to be in the mood for mutual action right now,” Rarity continued, her hand idly descending: down his face, his neck, his chest…

“But…” Rarity’s hand submerged into the water before lightly palming Patchwork’s half-erect member, causing the man to start in surprise.

“There are things we can do that are not mutual…would you like that?”

She didn’t even bother waiting for an answer. Her hand began to quickly pump up and down his length, water splashing about as her hand took him from base to head. Patchwork let out a shallow breath, looking down before flicking his eyes back up to Rarity’s face.

“R-Rarity, sto-“

He was cut off as Rarity clamped her opposite hand over his mouth. She gave him an odd half-smile as her hand continued its ministrations.

“Patchwork, dear, I’m doing you a favor here…” Rarity said softly. “Now, I’ll admit, I did tease you a bit last night, and it was so inconsiderate of me not to give you any…release. It’s obvious to me that it has made you rather moody today.”

Patchwork suppressed a groan as Rarity quickened her pace. He bucked his hips, but Rarity’s weight kept him pinned. The young woman giggled at his reaction.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Rarity said, amused. “Now, about that lunch: We’ll be picking an outfit out for you at around eleven thirty, and-“

“A-Are we really having this conversation?” Patchwork said, exasperated. “Now?”

Rarity frowned thoughtfully, outwardly oblivious that she was giving Patchwork a hand job under the bath water.

“How do you mean?”

“I-I just-“

Rarity pulled up and twisted her hand around Patchwork’s sensitive tip. Patchwork let out a small gasp as his shoulders arched back.

“What was that, darling?” Rarity asked innocently, returning to her pumping motions. Patchwork shook his head and clenched his hands.

“I…nothing.”

Rarity shrugged, continuing to rub away at Patchwork as if he hadn’t interrupted her at all.

“As I was saying, we’ll need to pick out an outfit for you. Given that dreadfully dusty suit you were wearing yesterday, I’d say you could use some advice on fashion.”

Patchwork barely registered the slight on his fashion sense as a shock of pleasure spiked through his shaft. He’d been worked up since yesterday night, after ‘de-stressing’ Rarity with no reward in return. His balls were tight and full, his cock was swollen to a painful degree, and he needed release, now.

“R-Rarity,” he warned vaguely.

“After that, we have to talk about how we’re going to act towards each other, how you’re going to act to them, what to-“

Rarity was interrupted as Sweetie Belle’s voice suddenly rang out from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

“Rarity?”

Rarity’s face suddenly fell, and she clamped a hand over Patchwork’s mouth. She faced the door and cleared her throat.

“Yes, Sweetie?” Rarity called back, her opposite hand still jerking at Patchwork’s length. Patchwork’s muscles tensed in a desperate attempt to hold himself back, but to no avail. His willpower ran dry, his balls emptying as ropes of cum spurted from his engorged tip, the juices jetting into the bath. Rarity’s expression remained unchanged, her smooth palm wringing out the last of Patchwork’s spunk.

“You’ve been in there for a while…are you okay?” Sweetie asked concernedly.

“I’m just having a nice relaxing bath, darling,” Rarity said. She looked directly at Patchwork, as if daring him to speak up. Sweetie Belle

shrugged and walked down the hallway, oblivious that Rarity was carefully listening to her footsteps as she did so.

After a while, Rarity let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, and let her hand drop from Patchwork’s mouth. There was a moment of silence between her and Patchwork, before it was finally broken when Patchwork caught Rarity’s gaze lingering on his softening member, and a smile creeping onto her face.

“…What?” Patchwork finally objected with heavy breath, reaching down and forcing Rarity’s hand off of him. Rarity raised her clean hand to her mouth to muffle a giggle.

“It’s just…that was hardly a challenge,” Rarity said through her amusement. “Either I am far too skillful for my own good, or you are far too inept for yours. I have a sneaking suspicion of the latter.”

Patchwork didn’t deign her jab with a response.

“Oh well, it can’t be helped,” Rarity said haughtily as she stood up and carefully stepped out of the bath. She took a fluffy white towel off of a hook protruding from the bathroom wall and wrapped herself up, finally covering her figure. After a moment of though, she picked another towel off an adjacent hook and held it out towards Patchwork.

“Now get out of there and clean yourself up,” Rarity ordered. “I’m going to put Sweetie to bed, and then I’m coming back to my bedroom. "If you’re not there…well…you’d best be there.”

“You don’t think I’m above sneaking out?” Patchwork asked humorlessly. Rarity smirked and threw the towel to him.

“You’re right,” Rarity conceded mockingly, walking towards the bathroom door as she spoke. “Here I was, thinking you had even a shred of dignity.”

Patchwork sighed to himself and got out of the tub as Rarity exited the bathroom. He dragged the fluffy towel over his body, rubbing it vigorously against his skin. He wasn’t sure if he was trying cleanse himself literally so much as symbolically. Once dry, and clean downstairs, he placed the dececrated towel on the hook on the wall and crossed over to the door. Before he exited, he flashed a fleeting glance to the mirror, and then back again. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around and placed both hands on the counter, studying himself in the mirror.

The recession had not been kind to him. His face had become gaunt and pale from lack of nourishment; he couldn’t recall the last time he had a good meal. He put a hand to his face and scratched at the dark blonde scruff he’d accumulated. His hand glided over the parallel red lines left by Rarity. He felt as if she had marked him, as if she had made him her property.

His opposite hand clenched to the countertop, his knuckles turning white. He took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth, trying to calm himself down. Eventually his hand unclenched from the countertop, but he couldn’t look in the mirror again.

Patchwork turned to his clothes, which had been haphazardly thrown to the corner of the room. He quickly threw them on, not bothering to tuck in his shirt or button it fully. He gripped the bathroom door handle, held his breath, and opened the door.