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Toby wonders about power often.
He supposed that's only what he was taught; the younger son of a count. It is expected. But then again, when did Toby do the expected? Not often enough to stop those with power from quietly moving him out of the way. Guiding James into power. But now James is gone and Olivia rules.
He loves his niece, in his complicated way, of course. He cannot stand to sit with grief long, though, so is it really a wonder that he found other company? People he has power over. He has no power over Olivia's grief.
He has Andrew, empty headed fool that he is. Andrew will follow him into ruin, a thought that contains an illicit thrill Toby knows well. Of tempting someone to hell, of pushing past boundaries. Boundaries he crossed with Maria often; chastity, power dynamics, propriety, so on.
But Maria is not only interesting because of that. No, Toby may not be the perfect conniving schemer that a count would require, but he notices people. He notices Malvolio, strict, severe, controlled. And he notices the looks that passed between Malvolio and Maria. It was what drew him to Maria in the first place.
She likes powerful men. Well, I'll be a step up from that steward, then.
That was what spurred him at first, then he grew to appreciate Maria in other ways. Her wit, her mind, her same appreciation for how power could move and excite in a way unparalleled by the bottle or the flesh. She had a kind of power over him before long and they both relished in it. He could press her down, or she could command him. Equally enjoyable depending.
But he always wondered about her and Malvolio. He was a curious man, or nosy, or possessive, whatever the humour would be named, and he wanted to know. Did she like Malvolio's power, as steward? Screwing the boss, is that all it was...? Toby was certainly a man of few boundaries, and could appreciate a kind of cold, cruel handsomeness in his features. Sometimes his wicked mind would drift to the two of them, before Toby.
He's a Puritan, he'd remind himself in those moments. Hardly the sort to have a woman up against a wall like that. But repression , deeply constrained desire… Terribly thrilling prospects in Toby's mind.
So tightly controlled, Toby mused. What a feat it would be to unravel him. After all, what was one body to another? Not as important as power, surely. It falls as it does with beasts in their kingdoms. He is above Maria, and she is drawn to power. I am above both of them, therefore she comes to me with more enthusiasm. But he… he is below me too. He wondered if the steward had shameful thoughts at night.
He certainly seems to get off on telling me what to do. Toby recalled Malvolio's imaginings of how he would lecture him. He is presented with being a count, and can only imagine how he would use his power over me. A marker of a small imagination, or fixation?
It was a delicious thought. Malvolio's imaginings of what he would do if he had the power over Toby. It set Toby's mind to what he could do to Malvolio now . He had drifted from Maria now, but he knew she needn't find out. Malvolio wouldn't speak of it, for certain. It. Now imagination blew him, as Fabian might say. The turn of phrase set an entirely new collection of filthy images blazing through his mind. He might be too proud for that nonsense with the wall, but I'm not, not when there's power to take and skin to touch.
Oh, the things he could do if only Malvolio would bend. It was worth trying, Toby supposed. To see, at least. He knew well enough that Malvolio would say nothing aloud, no, he wasn't that sort, but Toby had other ways of wringing a confession free of someone. His heartbeat nestled in his bare collar, that slender pale throat and how it would betray a dry swallow… What he could do with a few moments of teeth and hunger and power over that neck, throat, collar, flesh .
And then, he imagined, he would know. The way Malvolio's entire body would stiffen, unwilling to give himself away, and how Toby would tease out the first noise. It would be a breath, nothing more, just a helpless gasp. Pleasure shot through him at just the idea. Malvolio, with his power stripped. Put in his place . Indeed, ideas worth trying.
A Puritan, perhaps, would in the end be more exciting than someone perfectly in touch with their own desire, hunger. Toby was filled with sudden possibilities; to teach Malvolio his own lust, to surprise him with the filth that lingered at his own edges, to guide him along a path that ended in depravity. To move him roughly, pull him out of his place, disrupt his self-imposed tedium and make him beg for the sin he so categorically rejected.
Malvolio professed purity, simpleness, cleanliness, and there was nothing more licentiously glorious than the idea of forcing him to the brink of carnality. He would indeed have to ask Maria how Malvolio used her. Perhaps some ideas would be seeded of how to return the favor. Toby knew him well enough at this point.
The steward believed he had power over Toby and the rest of his little gang, and so he tried to order them about like footmen. But Toby saw the way he treated his niece: all simpering and deferring and eagerness to please. Like a lapdog. If I could change his perception of my power…
Toby was many things. Subtle was not among his virtues.
His first ideas for how to drive him out of his preconceptions of outranking Toby were wrapped in physicality and the hunger that now swayed him almost utterly. Find him in the garden. Find a secluded bench. Grab those flimsy arms and wrestle him to the ground. That was another delectable prospect. Toby was not young anymore, and certainly indulged enough, but he was trained and dirty as a fox. Malvolio knew how to strut, but Toby would eat a tankard if that Puritan had been in a single fight in his entire life. He could overpower him, doubtlessly.
It wouldn't be as much fun, though, in the end, would it be? He could put his knee to most people's backs whether they were under him or not. No, he wanted to use Malvolio's rigid adherence to hierarchy against him. He wanted a lapdog. He wanted a deep bow, and for Malvolio to be overtaken with stillness and stiffness when Toby drew near and traced lines between familiarity and impropriety. To run his hand over his shoulders, perhaps in a reminder of his own physical power over the other man, without ever saying a word. To stand very very close, breathe, and wait for Malvolio's black little eyes to swell with silenced desire.
Then he would begin, then he would start testing Malvolio. It would take patience, certainly, not another of Toby's virtues, but he could tame himself if the promise of a reward was the prize. He would circle him. Find him in hallways and approach, disorient him, touch him featherlight on the cheek or grab his wrist so tightly that he might hiss in pain. Then draw away just as quickly. When Malvolio inevitably arrived to break up their revelries, he would approach again, a cat stalking its mouse.
Art thou any more than a steward?
He would continually remind Malvolio of his place, of Toby's due, until the man's values forced him to bend to Toby's will. Until he had no choice but to bow his head and agree. He would simper, by God, he would defer to Toby, and finally, he would come undone. Toby would make him hate himself if it took that, hate his own body for betraying him to a man antithetical to everything he stood for, and that would be when Toby would take his prize. Malvolio's dignity. What a pretty gift it would make for Maria.
He could just see it now. Red cheeks, ruffled dark hair, pale throat bruised with the fury of Toby's passions, lips vibrant, parted, pliant, willing. Oh, yes, so willing he would be. That would be the sweetest victory of all. Malvolio outranked Maria, yes, had some degree of control in the household, but that man was a servant through and through. He would fall to power, open his mouth or whatever else was commanded, give himself over, surrender. That would be his prize. When not only did Malvolio turn against himself in discord, but the final concord when he accepted Toby as his lord! When he would obey his commands with no complaint, Toby would drive the contrary nature out of him with a strong hand and a clever mouth and he was certain, oh-so-certain, that Malvolio in the end would prove far more subservient than any other Toby had conquered.
It was already so deeply ingrained in him, to serve and be below another, that Toby found all he would need to do would be to harness it, leash the man's servile nature and beat out his sourness until all that remained was compliance. Then of course, Toby would toss him aside. For what fun is a solved puzzle? But he would be a great delight during the process of breaking each piece apart, and of course the natural pleasures of that pale skin, those wiry arms, everything that was so tightly bundled beneath stiff cotton and laced up too tightly… He would have him undone, indeed.