Embedded Files
Title: “Embraced…”
Author: xof
Feedback: xof1013@gmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian/Michael, Declan/Ashton (OMC/OMC)
Genre: Drama, Angst
Sequel to: “Encompassed…”
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, but damn it’s fun imagining I do. Declan and his Ash are my creations.
Status: Complete, but will be posted in 15 parts. (Over 140 pages total)
Summary: Six months into their new relationship/arrangement, and our boys get an invitation to take a journey across the pond. London calling…
Timeline: Set after the finale of Season 2, varying irrevocably onward from there.
Pairing Note: This is very much a Brian/Michael story. However, I have created two original characters based on (and only on) the physical appearance of the actors Aidan Gillen and Craig Kelly. My OMC’s are not meant to represent the actual actors or any of their onscreen roles.
Notes: This was the story that was never planned. I saw “Encompassed” as a one-off. But the characters obviously had a lot more to say and do. An embarrassing long year and a half later, and it’s not only done – but also longer than the original. Blimey…lol. Many thanks, and dozens of hugs to Em and Margo for their support and beta help. You are both very special, and I appreciate your encouragement so much.
Warnings: Deals with the subject of Dominance/submission and bondage. However, it is a story of love and sensual play that aims to build the spirit, not tear it down. I encourage readers to take a chance and follow our boys as they discover each other, and themselves, in this new way.
Embraced…
By xof
(Begun – May 2006)
- - - - - - -
Part 1
- - - - - - -
The intercom buzz caught Brian by surprise; and since he had requested not to be disturbed for the next hour, it wasn’t in a good way. Punching the button, he griped, “Cynthia, remind me why I haven’t fired you yet?”
Completely unfazed, his assistant answered back with equal albeit affectionate sarcasm, “Because of my short skirts and great tits?” The both of them laughed at that – especially considering how not-on-the-menu that truly was, then she added, “I know you’re up to your eyeballs, Partner Kinney. But you have a visitor.”
Partner Kinney – it was her latest in a slew of nicknames he’d acquired through their years of working together. This one due to his recent – and to his mind, overdue – promotion to full partner in Ryder Advertising.
Glancing at the clock, Brian wondered for a moment if it was Michael but knew she would have just told him to go on in regardless of the do-not-disturb notice. Curious, he turned the art specs he’d been looking at over and pushed the button again. “Come on in.”
He could hear Cynthia’s laughter before she opened the door; not that it was difficult given that his new and much larger office had been artistically designed with partially frosted glass walls all on one side. Esthetically, the patterned effect was stylish and *new* – but practically, it didn’t serve to muffle outside noises the way plastered walls would.
The smile on her face grew bigger as she waved his visitor in, receiving a rather praise-worthy catcall whistle in return.
Brian took one look at Declan Rai, and shook his head with a grin. “It’s your face, but I could have sworn that was Ashton’s whistle.”
Giving Cynthia a wink, Declan said, “Despite the implication of having reached puppet-dom, I can assure you I haven’t had Ash’s hand up my ass in … well, at least since last night.” And that was that, Cynthia was outright giggling, a rare accomplishment to produce in a woman who considered herself as cynical as Brian knew himself to be. Taking her hand, Declan kissed it warmly before she closed the door on her way out.
Shooting the man a false-glare, Brian asked simply, “How exactly did my assistant become your fag hag?”
Smiling, impish and elegant as always, Declan answered. “It’s the accent and my Irish charm.” The words were true enough; he had enough of both to have half the people he met in his back pocket in under an hour. The fact that he was a skilled therapist, uniquely striking to look at and had one hell of a sharp intuitive mind didn’t hurt, either. His manner and appearance alone were eye-catching; the ebony curls, loose and long, were unusual to see on any modern-day man – but it suited him well, lending him a dark angelic tinge – like someone in a painting from a time long ago. Eyes, blue and bright with sapphire fire, he had a fey face with angles sharp but beautiful. Body slim, petite but strong, he often wore his clothes tailored – but with a subtlety that belied the money involved in their creation. Like today’s pinstriped black trousers, leather shoes and a shirt of the softest looking dove gray silk – sleeves pushed up his arms and tails un-tucked to hang to his hips.
Brian just shook his head, unable to argue the point considering he’d seen the effect of the man on not only Michael, but several of their inner circle over the last few months of their acquaintance. Six months, or just over, since he and Michael had crossed Declan’s door, and met him and his lover, Ashton Foster – both men having become fast friends to them both. Leaning back in his chair, Brian waited for Declan to unburden himself of the garment bag he’d had slung over his left arm before taking a seat on one of Brian’s designer leather chairs.
Grinning as Declan absently and unconsciously ran his hand over his chin, Brian said, “It’s driving you nuts, isn’t it?”
Realizing what he was doing, Declan arched his brow and glared at Brian – his hand dropping to the arm of the chair. “I’m still blaming you, you know.” But even sitting there, frowning a bit – it didn’t detract from the newest addition to the man’s look. Closely groomed and thoughtfully styled – because nothing else would do considering the effect desired per his lover – Declan now wore a light beard, one that looked wonderful on him, but had yet to meet with his own comfort level. He was still getting used to it; and its continuing presence was still up for debate.
“Not my fault; Ashton’s way too impressionable – so blame him.” Brian leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment – and secretly enjoying that he probably was in fact to blame for it. After all, he’d been the cause for certain alterations to Michael’s changing look; and that was definitely where Ashton had gotten his latest desperate ‘pretty-please-for-me’ request to have his lover give it a go as well – but with a difference. Ash had wanted the full effect, and after much suggestion and seduction – he’d gotten his wish, if only on a three-month trial basis. Declan was just put out that he had one month yet to go.
“Or better yet, spank him.” Brian said in answer to Declan’s continued playfully vengeful stare.
“I have. He just considers it a reward for a job well done.”
They smiled, both knowing the promise of punishment wasn’t necessarily anything Ash took as a deterrent. Nodding at the garment bag resting over his other chair, Brian asked, “Is that for tonight? I thought Ashton was dropping it by Michael’s store.”
“It is, but Ash was a bit hesitant considering yesterday.” Declan’s tone growing more serious, he said, “He’s concerned about Michael’s reaction, having witnessed what he saw – out of context.”
Yesterday being when Michael had stopped by Dec and Ash’s house – a three-story brownstone that served as both Declan’s office, their home and Ashton’s studio – in order to check with Ashton on any details that may still need doing for their planned dinner on Friday night. He’d been buzzed in with a winded, “head on up,” by Declan, but he’d heard a loud crash over the speaker before the sound cut out and had rushed up to see if everything was alright. Not finding anyone on the second or third levels, Michael had gone back down, looking through the office and coming face to face with *the* door – the one that led off from Declan’s office, and down to the basement level. The one he knew from past talks, to be the doorway to Dec and Ash’s playroom.
He’d hesitated, but his concern had pushed him forward and he’d gone through and down the stairs. Coming round the corner of a track-lit hallway, he’d knocked on the door at the end – opening it when he’d heard no response. What he’d seen upon entering was the cause of Declan’s presence in Brian’s office – several hours before they were all to meet that evening.
Ashton, naked and on the floor, holding onto Declan, clinging to him as he ran hands through Ash’s hair. Whispering soothing sounds that were lost in the hiccup and gasp of Ashton’s crying laugh … the hitch of his voice as he broke raggedly from one emotion and back again, a loud chorus to the scene Michael had witnessed. Or rather, the aftermath of a scene played by Dec and Ash – willingly, with Declan as Master and Dominant to Ashton’s sub and slave. It wasn’t the nature of the scene that had caught Michael unawares, and the cause of the crash was easy to find – a side table next to the leather T-stand used in their play had been knocked to the floor, contents strewn all about. No, even that wasn’t truly a surprise. What was, because seeing was much more stark an introduction to truth than the knowing, was the sight of Ashton’s body mixed with the emotion of his response.
Marks, red and bright – like a high flush, covered Ashton’s entire back, ass and thighs. And lines, here and there, that signified a strike, a hit – one for each that was visible on his flesh; the whole of them journeyed down his body in stark contrast to his tan skin. Each of them meaning that he’d been, that Declan had…. The flash of it had slapped through Michael’s mind with a suddenness that took him back a step, his gasp sounding loud enough to be heard now that Ashton’s laughter-high had begun to settle. Declan had looked up at the interruption, Michael’s name on his lips sounding alien through the room – the last thing Michael had heard as he’d turned and run back up the stairs.
With a sigh, Brian finally replied, “We talked about this yesterday when you called.”
“Not enough,” was Declan’s rejoinder. “You just got the basics and then rang off when Michael came home.”
Turning his head away for a moment, Brian paused and then pulled open his desk drawer. Tossing a half empty pack of cigarettes down by his computer keyboard, he snagged one, lit it and took a long drag. Closing his eyes as he enjoyed the first taste and the warmth of the smoke as it played through his body before he let it go.
“Aren’t you supposed to be quitting?”
Rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand, Brian just pushed the pack and lighter back into the drawer – defiantly retaining the one in his hand. “I’m down to a half a pack a day, officer. Honest. What, are you offering to play hypnotist? A new talent to add to your line of professional services?”
A small smile slipped across his face as Declan dryly answered, “Hardly.” And then he sat there, calm and serious – waiting, like he did so well. For more, for anything that Brian might want to say. When it became obvious that Brian was using the silence as his best offense against the coming conversation, Declan prodded gently. “Michael….”
“Says he’s fine, embarrassed for doing a runner – but okay.” Flicking the ash into a nearby tray, he continued, “Which means it’s all bullshit; he’s covering.”
“A ruse of normality, yes?”
Shaking his head, Brian muttered, “Anything not to be a bother, but it’s still hiding.” He stubbed out the cigarette – only half burned down, the gesture agitated as Declan laughed. “Deflection, to use one of your favorite words. But a lie is a lie.”
Brushing a hand down his thigh to rest on his knee, Declan took a moment and then said, “You’re angry.”
“No, I’m impatient. This is how Michael works. He says he’s fine, and then you wait. You wait for the truth to burst out of him; it’s like trying to catch a fly ball to center field. But….”
“But?”
“This time he’s missed his cue.” Seeing the question on Dec’s face, Brian’s lips quirked in a smile. “It usually takes him half a minute to spill, but this? He’s been holding out for an entire day.”
Declan grinned, “Which means you’re aggravated and he’s tense.” Pause. “How was the sex?”
A laugh, ironically, burst from Brian. “Aggressive.”
“That’s a good sign, actually. Besides the obvious benefits, which I’m sure were – explosive, it’s a tell.”
Leaning forward, arms on the desk – Brian asked, “A tell? Like with poker?”
“It means his reaction to what he saw wasn’t one of revulsion.”
“What was it then?”
“At a guess, I’d say arousal and fear.” Rising from the chair, Declan checked his watch then looked back at Brian. “I’ve got a date with a caterer; we still on?”
“Same as planned, yeah.” A shared look, and Brian grinned – turning back to his computer as he added, “All of it.”
Declan’s laugh sounded softly as he left the room.
- - -
A quick sharp double rap on the door some time later, called Brian’s attention away from his computer. Turning, his face broke from its look of serious concentration and warmed with a smile. One that was answered back in kind as Michael walked into the office.
Holding up a brown bag, Michael asked, “Hey, can you take a break? I brought lunch.”
Humming like he had to think about it, Brian said, “I think I could be persuaded.” He eased back in his chair, eyes tracing over Michael as he added, “Close the door.” His tone of voice growing a little firmer, “Lock it.” That done, he ordered more softly, “Now come here.”
Michael shook his head and laughed, “I know that look; I am not getting on my knees with a load of your co-workers on the other side of the glass.” He walked over to Brian’s desk, leaning in to kiss him. Whispering, “I’ve already had a protein shake from you this morning, Mister Sir,” before he hopped up to sit on Brian’s desk, facing him with his back to the glass.
“I’m gonna kick a certain Englishman’s butt for getting you started on that nickname.” But even as he said it, it was obvious that Brian was amused. He knew it could have been worse, considering Declan’s latest nickname per Ashton Forster’s irreverent wit was “Master Man.”
“Declan’s already beat you to the pop.” It was an attempt at humor, but Michael’s comeback obviously touched on a more serious reaction as he sat up straighter – his arms rising to circle his own waist. The gesture a sure fire sign that he was still upset by the memory of what he’s seen.
Giving his lover’s legs a jerk, Brian pulled Michael closer to the edge of the desk – catching him by surprise so that he had to lean back on his hands to keep upright. Pushing Michael’s legs wide, Brian rolled his chair closer until he was sitting between the V of his thighs. “Mikey, he’s fine."
Michael gave a nod, looking at Brian as he sat so close – looking so good. The manhandling had taken him by surprise, but in a way that … hell, that flat out did it for him. Brian’s eyes, his voice, his hands – they were equal parts comfort and demand, assurance and possession. Michael bit back a sound as Brian’s hand started stroking his thigh, each pass going higher in the silence between them. Blinking, he tried to speak – to distract himself from trying to touch back given that they were somewhat in public. “He, huhh. He emailed me at the store.”
Watching Michael react to his touch, Brian murmured, “What did Ash have to say?”
Shifting as Brian’s leading hand grew bolder, Michael breathed out a quick answer. “Wants to play show and tell.”
A snort as Brian brushed his thumb along the inner seam of Michael’s jeans, hitting just the right spot to make Michael shiver. “Sounds like him.” He knew then what Ash was planning; it was a way to ease Michael’s worry and probably answer a few of his questions without making him do the asking. Brian saw the expression on Michael’s face, and grinned, “In fact, I think it sounds perfect.” Loosening his tie, he slipped off his jacket and dropped it on the desk. A hand back on Michael’s leg, he leaned back in his chair and let Michael see as he pressed his other hand to the answering bulge in his suit trousers. “A little game of tell, and show. I tell, and you show.”
Jeez, it was *the* voice. That tone that said they’d already begun the game. Michael fought not to glance around, feeling Brian’s control settling around him with just the look in his eyes. The hot/cold thrill of it passing through him as Michael managed to say, “The glass….”
“Doesn’t matter, we’re the only ones here.” Brian tightened his hold on Michael’s knee. “Say yes.”
Need already creeping into his voice, Michael agreed. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more, starts with a P.”
With a small smile, Michael answered, “Please.”
Brian dropped his hand from Michael’s knee and settled back, not touching – not talking. Just watching, looking his fill. Enjoying the way Michael’s breath could change just by this, just by being the focus of Brian’s eyes. His passion. But then, considering how Michael looked today – it was a natural response for Brian, the need to admire his lover and friend, one of the many pleasant effects of their changed dynamic. One that Brian had found was all the more enjoyable now that he knew that Michael understood what was behind the act, and understood that there was an end to it – a purpose that was more, rather than the disappointment of the less that had been their status quo for far too long in the past.
“You look good in red and black.” Brian pressed down a bit, rocking the palm of his hand over himself as he spoke to Michael. “The shirt, the jeans.” Grinning, “With the rest.”
The rest being the black leather of Michael’s collar necklace and cuffs, and the laced up boots that Brian had found for him a week back. The purchase made with the same delight as all his other additions to Michael’s wardrobe, buying something for the pleasure he found in seeing it on Michael, and in knowing that as Michael’s Dominant as well as lover and friend – Michael couldn’t turn any of it down. Unlike so many times in the past….
Well, he could – but it would be bad form, not to mention silly considering that Michael was enjoying being the object of Brian’s attention as much as Brian was enjoying doing the attending. Besides which, Michael had already had the ‘don’t deny your lover the pleasure of giving you things’ speech from both Emmett – and now Ashton. Funny how those two sometimes showed up in Michael’s mind like a Greek chorus, despite being very different men.
The shirt was a long-sleeved, silk-blend China red t-shirt, with a v-neck collar and a textured vertical weave that fit Michael’s torso like a dream. Simple, but a touch more body-conscious than he used to wear. It seemed being with Brian had increased Michael’s self-awareness, not to mention his confidence – considering the tight fit of his black jeans. Jeans that were straining now, confining him as he reacted to Brian’s gaze.
“Bri….”
“Unbutton your jeans.” Brian’s words interrupting Michael’s question, answering the ‘what next’ before he had time to ask. “Let me see you.”
Closing his eyes to keep from second-guessing, Michael chose to ignore the paranoia about the people walking past the office. He knew his back was to them anyway, and there wasn’t any chance for them to see if he took things slow. Drawing in a breath, Michael steeled his nerve and did as he’d been told. A flick of button after button, and the job was done. Hearing Brian’s appreciative hum, he opened eyes. A grin turned up at the corners of his mouth as he saw Brian’s reaction to his adherence to the no-underwear-until-I-say-so rule that had been their morning’s goodbye.
“That for me?”
“Always.” The word was intentional. Their word, and Michael’s promise. One they each knew cut both ways, as signified by the engraving on Michael’s collar – the word etched on the small platinum medallion that hung at his neck. The A on the front that others took to stand for Astro, thinking it a private joke between Brian and Michael – and the “Always” on the back, touching Michael’s skin, representing Brian’s promise to him, a part of him even when Brian was not at his side.
Rising from the chair, Brian stood between Michael’s legs and threaded his hands into his lover’s dark hair. Hair that had grown, and remained longer than he’d seen Michael wear it since their high school rock ’n roll days – the hair touching Michael’s collar and covering his ears, with a sweep of bangs falling over his forehead. Giving the hair a pull, gentle but teasing as Michael pressed back into his grasp, Brian murmured, “You have no idea how hot you’re making me, sitting on my desk with your dick showing, being hard for me without being touched.” Sweeping a hand over the line of Michael’s jaw, Brian brushed his fingers through the soft facial hair that was one of the newer additions to Michael’s appearance. The close cut goatee had started as a curiosity, and had stayed for more than two months now because they both loved the look of it. “Tickle me a little.”
Michael rose up into the kiss with a laugh, the familiar words having now become one of Brian’s favorite playful requests. He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting to keep his hands still. It was one of the harder things for him to learn, the not touching until given permission. Once he’d become Brian’s lover, the impulse to touch had grown. And truthfully, often it didn’t matter – when they weren’t playing a scene, Michael could touch as much as he liked. Which was a lot, since they didn’t lacked for public displays of affection. But once a scene had been started, even impromptu ones like this, he needed his Dom’s word before he was free to do as he wanted.
Brian’s control will out.
Just as Michael had wanted, and still craved. His submission his gift. Brian’s dominance his reward.
“You want me to touch you.” The words said against his lips, Michael nodded as he leaned in a little. “Taste you-” Brian’s voice against his ear as he turned to lick the curve of Michael’s ear.
“Yes, sir.” Said in a rush, it was an answer, a request and an admonition – for driving him crazy in a place where they were limited on what they could do to each other.
“I could just drink you down for lunch. Take your cock in my mouth and suck you until your nuts pop. Would you like that, Mikey?” Brian knew what he did to Michael when he talked like that; how he could work his words and voice with a power that mesmerized, seduced and conquered. And he was using it now, tempting Michael to risk reaching out when he shouldn’t.
His knuckles were white as Brian pressed in against him, the fabric of his dress pants brushing against Michael’s hard length. A moan at the sensation, and Michael almost lost the war. Almost reached out to pull Brian closer, but managed to keep still.
Chuckling, Brian pulled back and said, “Seems someone deserves the prize. What do you want?”
Swallowing, Michael answered, “What you just said. All of it.”
Seeing the hungry look on Michael’s face, and feeling it himself – Brian pulled at Michael’s hips, shielding him as he stood. “In there, now.” Grinning as Michael walked towards Brian’s private bathroom – another perk to having earned a partnership, and followed at his back.
Lunch, it seemed – was served.
- - -
The buzz was answered straight away – as though the person on the other end had been waiting anxiously for its call.
“Hiya and hello.” The English accent and the words more than enough to signify the speaker, and the hour – considering Michael hadn’t heard the proper office hours greeting that Declan had imposed on his lover/assistant in the last few weeks. One that had met with some playful resistance, considering, “Hello. Dr. Declan Rai’s office. How may we be of assistance?” – was more than a mouthful. And sounded ‘awfully stuff-shirt’ to the party who had just answered Michael’s buzz.
“Ash, it’s me.”
“Misha! Be right down; come on in.”
Michael had to laugh, despite his nervousness. He’d found that no one really could maintain a sour or hesitant disposition in the face of Ashton Forster’s enthusiasm. He was a master at putting people at ease, one of his many gifts. Add in the teasing nature that had produced the latest in a slew of nicknames for all, including ‘Misha’ for Michael – and most folks didn’t stand a chance.
Misha being the Russian equivalent of Michael as Ashton had discovered one day while talking to Declan, who was himself half Russian. Since then, the name had stuck because, “Michael is what everyone calls you, and Mikey belongs to Brian.” He’d proclaimed “Mike” would never do – “It sounds like you should be on a stage in one of those wannabe bands with a guitar strapped around your neck.” To which Michael and Brian had exchanged a look filled with memories of by-gone high school days – which indeed had included guitars strapped around their necks and singing off-key; and they’d fallen into a fit of snickering giggles. To which Ashton had looked perplexed and said, “What?”
Michael had laughed, “What’s Misha sound like?”
A gleam in his eye, Ash replied, “Someone warm to cling to on a cold winter’s night.”
So it had been decided in Ash’s mind that Misha would stay. To which Brian had asked, “So what am I, then?”
Without missing a beat, Ash had answered, “Michael’s.” Then he’d smiled. “‘Tall Drink of Water’ has too many syllables.”
Hearing feet on the stairs, Michael glanced up from the reception area of Declan’s office to see Ash coming down from the second floor in a rush. Looking in his own words, “happy, handsome and brown” – which was a joke because of his brown hair and tan skin; though today there was the added touch of blue on blue. He was wearing soft worn blue jeans and a blue pullover that matched his cerulean eyes. Eyes that sparkled as he pulled Michael into a quick hug, his voice teasing as he said, “None of that, give us a tight squeeze,” when Michael hesitated to hold him too roughly – thinking that if he put too much pressure into it, he’d hurt him. All things, and the other from two days ago, considered.... “Put your back into it, boyo.”
Doing as he’d said, Michael shook his head fondly as they separated. “You look better.”
His face taking on the quiet calm it usually held when he was being serious, Ash replied, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before you left the other day. I didn’t even know you were there until later when Declan told me.”
“No, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just didn’t expect….”
“You thought something was wrong, and then you came down and saw what looked like something very wrong.”
It was a question and a statement both in one, but said with an understanding kindness that belayed Michael’s embarrassment over being concerned.
Taking Michael’s hand, Ash gave him a wink. “We’ve got a little time to kill before we have to set up for dinner. And not much to do until then, which means in fine fairy tale fashion – I get to be your very own Pied Piper. Care to follow me down the nefarious path that leads to the aforementioned show and tell?”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
Pulling Michael up the stairs to their home on the second floor, Ash laughed, “Like a fox. Now shift it.” He opened the door to the loft space, and walked through towards the bedroom. Flicking on the lights, he ushered Michael over, indicating he should sit on the bed.
Getting comfortable, Michael kicked off his shoes – and sat with his legs folded Indian style. He was used to the room, and the large bed. Not for any lascivious reasons, it was just that the only television in the building was in their bedroom. Which had been a hard won battle, according to Ash – but one he’d put all his methods of persuasion into until Declan had agreed. After all, a boy couldn’t be without his sci-fi fix – could he? The only drawback had been the fact that his time was rationed, “The bloody dictator. I have to earn my viewing privileges, like a naughty school boy.” Michael had only been able to smile at the time, thinking the role fit Ashton perfectly – and noticing the wicked look in the man’s eye, it was obvious that he enjoyed having to ‘earn’ the privilege, one of a number of little tug-a-wars that was often played to the benefit of them both.
“You know if Brian was here, he’d be asking where’s the Pied Piper’s pipe.”
Shooting Michael a look of faux-shock, Ashton crossed his arms over his groin and said, “This man’s pipe is property of one Declan Rai, and only gets played with his permission.” They both cracked up, not so much because it wasn’t true, as because it was.
The mood still light with their shared humor, Ash toed off his socks and pulled the shirt over his head. He was facing Michael, and at his back was a full-length mirror. It was one of those elongated oval mirrors in a black ironwork frame; it reflected the tan line of his back and once the jeans and underwear joined his shirt on the floor, his bottom and legs. Standing naked, beautiful and bare – he moved closer to Michael and turned around.
It wasn’t the man’s nudity that drew Michael’s attention; that was something Michael had seen many, many times over the last few months. And it wasn’t that Michael was immune to the man’s attractiveness; he’d have to have been dead not to notice and admire it. It was that in that moment, the only focus for Michael’s eyes was the image in his head from the day before and how it did and didn’t correlate with what he was seeing now. “The red’s gone. I mean… ”
The smile obvious in his voice, Ash said, “It fades quickly when done right.”
Michael reached out, touching the marks that did remain. It was strange to him, that there wasn’t any bruising per se. Instead, in various lengths down Ash’s body, there were lines – each about a hand span apart – softened and pink, less angry and red like before. They were on the way to being gone, truly. But what they had been, and were, seen again in Michael’s mind’s eye made him drop his hand and ask, “Do they hurt?”
Knowing that Michael meant *still*, Ash shook his head. “It’s more of a soreness, one that’s not really felt so much as remembered. If that makes any sense.” He looked back over his shoulder, “You’ve said your mother wasn’t the spare the rod kinda girl.”
“Still isn’t, though she’s more likely to whack you upside the head these days. But she didn’t; I wasn’t… ”
“She didn’t whip you much, growing up. More like a spanking now and again when you were younger?”
It was an old conversation – one they’d had back on the day he and Ash had first met, when Michael had answered questions pertaining to his history – or rather lack of one, in sex mixed with scene play. “Basically.”
“Ever been switched, or tapped with a ruler in school?”
Michael nodded, “Couple times, before they stopped corporal punishment – I got my hand slapped with rulers.” He frowned, eyes dropping. “Only one switching, though.”
“By whom?” Ash’s voice was soft, but the inflection was insistent. Like the answer was important. And since it was new ground they’d not covered before, it was necessary to ask.
“My grandmother, when I was younger. It was the day she found out I was gay.” He picked at the cuff of his jeans, face a little lost though he didn’t know it. “At my house, with Mom and Uncle Vic – you could say pretty much anything. It was open, free. I mean, there was a difference in being irreverent and being disrespectful; you could be the first, as long as you weren’t the other. But visiting my grandmother’s house, it was so closed off. Watch what you say. Watch what you do. One day I just said too much, talking to my cousin about who was cute and who wasn’t during a TV show – and this hush kinda fell in the room. It felt like all the air had been instantly vacuumed out.”
Ash asked, “What happened?”
“I got pushed out of the house, hauled into the backyard and laid into with the nearest switch she could find. Leaves still attached. She, she was cursing me as a sinner, but the whole time – she was the one who looked possessed.” He looked up, eyes shining. “She got me a few times, made me bleed a couple places before I ran away. It took me over an hour to get home on foot. I don’t think my mother ever forgave her.”
“How old were you?”
“Don’t remember really. Probably thirteen. It was the summer before I met Brian. So yeah, around thirteen or fourteen.”
“Did you ever tell him about this?”
“Brian? Yeah. He’s had some bad times with his folks, especially his dad. I wanted him to know I understood, if even in a small way. But in the end, it didn’t even compare.” How could it? A switching over and done with once versus years of living with Jack Kinney’s fist. No, no comparison.
Ash turned around, and gave Michael a warm hug. Holding him as he said, “Well, no wonder.”
Michael looked up at him, “What?”
Ash smiled, “No wonder you ran the other day. It must have pushed a button or two.”
Michael waited until Ash gave him a squeeze, then laughed. “Ash, you’re naked.”
Pulling back, Ash looked down the line of his body and then back at Michael – grinning. “The man has eyes, bravo!” He patted Michael on the head, then turned and reached for his pants. According Michael quite the view in the process…
Biting his lip, Michael looked again at the fading marks as Ash got dressed. “Why do you like it?”
Leaving the shirt on the floor, Ash climbed on the bed opposite Michael and lay down on his stomach wearing only his jeans. “Like what, Misha? The pain, the getting hit?” He leaned up, resting his head on his palm. “It’s actually not about that; that’s surface – a way of getting where I want to go.” Taking a second to phrase his thoughts, he said, “I don’t want to be harmed, and I haven’t been. You’ve seen me, all of me. Not a scar from head to toe, aside from the odd nick or cut on my hands from my sculpting. The only true marks I bear are the ones I had inked in.” He extended his arms, resting them parallel with wrists up so that his tattooed cuffs were on display. Not that they weren’t always, considering he had three inch bands around each wrist – each a variation of Declan’s name. A master’s gift from a man who had wanted to be, and now was Declan’s slave.
Nodding his head back to indicate the fading lines, Ash said, “These hurt, but didn’t harm me – you need to understand the difference. They’ll be gone soon. They weren’t placed there to punish; they were a reward.” He smiled, seeing Michael’s raised eyebrow. “Eleven marks – one for every year, and our coming anniversary. Feeling them on my body, seeing them in my skin – they’re our lasting years made flesh.”
Ash blinked, his attention coming back to Michael. “There are all kinds of players, Misha. Some are sluts for abuse; they are broken and so numb to life that the only way they can feel is if they are taken down to nothing but the pain. That’s never been me.” He rolled up onto his side, and closed his eyes for a moment. “I fly when I play; it takes me out of my head and I’m floating free.” Opening his eyes, he continued, “The way of getting there varies, too. Between players, there are different tolerances, different limits and different tools. There is no one right or perfect way. As long as both people do it safe, sane and consensual with someone they trust, someone who’ll take care and be cautious – then it can be one of the best experiences in life.”
When Michael didn’t reply for a bit, Ash chuckled, “This is not a paid endorsement, I swear. I won’t be making the infomercial for another month yet.”
Michael gave him a playful shove, yelling as Ash grabbed him and they ended up in a tangle – tickle torture commencing. Crying out and wiggling, Michael forgot about the tension he’d felt before as they wrestled about, the two of them tussling like puppies, laughing all the while.
Finally ending up on their backs, breathing hard and smiling – Ash asked softly. “We okay?” It was rare to find him sounding unsure of things; he seemed so confident in life that the question caught Michael off guard.
Turning his head, Michael nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
Shaking his head, Ashton rubbed his hands over his face and grinned. “No need to apologize.”
The words coming out on automatic, Michael replied, “I’m sorry. I know, I… ”
“Do that,” Ash interrupted, saying what he’d heard Michael say numerous times in the past. “It’s so cute!”
“Cute? I’ll show you cute!” Michael reached over and pinched Ash’s nipple, feeling the ring for just a second before the Englishman yelped and rolled his way.
“Oh that’s it; this pillow fight is so on!” The two of them raced off the bed, Michael in the lead and Ashton just behind.
- - - - - - -
Part 2
- - - - - - -
“Whose idea was this again?” Michael asked, feeling not for the first time as if he were Ash’s own life-sized Ken doll. Well, that is if Ken were a half-Italian, half-drag queen, gay submissive with black hair.
“Master Man’s, actually.” Ashton tisked, “Don’t move; I’m not done yet.”
The slide of a liner pencil over his eyelids caused Michael to fight the impulse to open his eyes and glare. So he stuck his tongue out instead, grinning when Ashton murmured, “Be still my heart,” in response to their on-going joke about its length. When Ashton added, “It’s a wonder Brian’s not dead, yet,” Michael had to pull back so he could laugh without getting poked in the eye.
“One more thing,” Ashton stuck the pencil in his mouth and waited for Michael to close his eyes again before brushing his thumb gently over both lids. “There you go; you’re now properly smudged. Have a look.”
Michael turned to the mirror, seeing them both standing in its reflection – a matched pair. For once, they were dressed in the same outfits. Or what there were of them. Black square cut, tight-fitting Lycra trunks that were skimpy at best. Each with a silver zipper that followed completely from front to back, through their legs – stomach to spine. Barefoot, their ankles were encircled by black cuffs – each with a steel ring on the outer side. Ash had added leather cuffs to his wrists that were similar to Michael’s, along with a collar around his neck. “Don’t want to throw off the symmetry,” he’d said when Michael had asked, because Ash’s true Master-given collar was still in place – or rather they were, meaning the engraved nipple rings he wore every day.
As for the rest, both men had armbands on the left and right. Each band had a series of satin ribbons sewn into them that had been crisscrossed down and around each arm, then tied off at their wrist cuffs to create a diamond pattern that proved a striking contrast to their differing skin-tones. Michael’s paleness and Ashton’s tan wrapped in black. The same pattern continued on their lower bodies; the satin ribbons also crisscrossed down each leg from the bottom of their trunks to their ankle cuffs.
With the last minute touch of smoky smudged eyes on both, the look was done.
“I don’t know what Brian gets more of a kick out of, the looks you come up with or the fun he’ll have in unwrapping me.” Michael smiled. He was used to Ash and Dec’s exotic ideas when it came to scene fashion, at least enough now not to feel foolish. How could he question the effect when he knew from experience that Brian would take one look and his eyes would burn with heat? Not that they didn’t tease each other about it all afterwards, but in the moment – one look and Michael left all doubts at the door.
They’d developed a routine in the months that had followed the change in their relationship from friends to lovers, and more. Their friendship with Ashton and Declan had grown stronger, and it was often that they’d end up paired off on a given night every other week or so – just to have fun, eat dinner on the town, see a movie or go dancing. They regularly intermixed with the rest of Brian and Michael’s crew of family and friends when out and about – all of whom seemed rather enamored with the new exotic British arrivals to their Liberty Avenue world, though none of them knew the true circumstances of how Brian and Michael had come to meet Dec and Ash.
But along with the rest, there were also the couple times a month that focused on their continued learning under Declan’s off the clock counsel. Evenings like this one, where a scene was organized and the details were often kept a mystery from Michael and Ashton until they were actually in play. Although, as the ‘submissives,’ – it was usually up to them to ‘frame’ themselves for the evening, all the while not knowing the outline of their Dom’s plans.
Then there were the evenings like tonight where Declan had decided the outfits as well, since Brian usually deferred – probably because he got so much pleasure in tweaking and adding to Michael’s regular wardrobe as it was.
“Why do you think Declan chose these outfits?” Michael was curious.
Ash groaned, and then said, “It seems I was a bad little slave.” He laughed, adding, “I got so caught up in my latest piece, like a prat, that I forgot to call and reschedule one of his clients. The person showed up later that week to an empty house.” He stopped, growing serious as he said, “I don’t mean to lose track of time, but some days – it’s like I’m in a fugue when I work. But I’m Dec’s assistant, as well as being *his*. And I should have made the call before I started chipping away. It doesn’t look good when things like that happen with clients. They can feel slighted, like it’s something personal – and then not only can you lose their business, but it puts them in the bad situation of having to start all over again with someone new.”
Michael nodded. “Sounds like you thought about it; that must make things a little better.”
“I was fortunate, this time. The client is a dear, and accepted my apology. Written, I might add.”
“Let me guess, Declan’s idea.” It was a known fact that as Ash’s Master, Declan could be a strict authoritarian. He loved old fashion, sometimes seemingly banal methods of correction. Like for instance, having Ash write out an apology and then recopy it by hand however many times Declan felt necessary.
With a snort that sounded both amused and fondly disenfranchised, Ash said, “At least I only had to deliver the one; the others got shredded. All fifty of them.”
Michael asked, “What’s that got to do with what we’re wearing?”
Ash glanced at the mirror, and shook his head. “Have I ever told you how much I hate, make that abhor, ironing?”
Michael frowned, looking down at himself and then at Ash. The trunks didn’t need ironing; the Lycra just molded to their bodies. Which left…. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!” Each and every ribbon, perfectly smooth – not a wrinkle in sight. Looking to Ash for confirmation, Michael tried to sound solemn, “Okay, you’re not kidding,” but failed miserably when he broke out laughing.
“Har har,” Ash grumbled, though his lips were pulling up by the time Michael had caught his breath.
- - -
“They may be at risk of hyperventilating,” Declan grinned. He and Brian were both feeling a little self-satisfied. And rightly so considering how they looked for the evening, both having taken special steps to acquire clothing that was as captivating as that of the other man’s.
It wasn’t that they were being overtly competitive when it came to how they dressed on scene night. But each man was of a prerogative to look his best, and when there was another dominant on the scene that did the same – well, that usually proved inducement enough to spend a little dosh as Ash would say.
The fun was in doing it behind their subs’ backs. It was ironic how much time both the submissives and the dominants spent on what to wear, when the usual intent was to have it all off as quickly as allowed or enticed. But it was one of a number of ways to keep things fresh, creative and fun. And considering that Dec and Ash seemed to be as attracted to each other after a decade as they were from the start, there was something to be considered in making the effort. Or at least, that’s what Brian had found.
Sitting in Declan’s office, they were waiting for the turn of the hour – the appointed time for dinner to be served and their evening to begin. Brian had his legs up on Declan’s desk, smoothing his hands over his thighs as he nodded. His mood a little mixed due to thoughts of the coming scene. He was looking forward to it, expressly. But it wasn’t something he had taken as far in the past with Michael and that made him quiet.
Declan settled back in his leather chair, one of those you’d expect to find in an elegant appointed private men’s club. High-backed with studded upholstery, it was majestic and looked to be practically Victorian. He was watching Brian, paying attention to the soothing stroke of his hands over the fabric of his trousers, taking in the man and his mood.
Brian was wearing custom fitted supple black leather boots and tight black suede pants, the kind that adhered to his body and framed every inch. His shirt was of a dark burgundy mesh material, a long-sleeved see-through that had an added silver-ish sheen that rippled when he moved. The only other adornment was the cuff on his right wrist. The one that was a match to Michael’s collar, black leather with a platinum oval engraved with the M/B that represented them both, intertwined together with a shell sewn in on either side. The shells, like the ones integrated into the design of Michael’s collar, having been taken from the bracelet that Brian had worn each day since Michael had placed it on his arm, more than ten years back.
“Second thoughts? Or maybe third?” Declan asked, kind but cautious.
Brian looked back at the man, drawing himself up straighter as he said, “Just playing it out in my head.” He glanced down at his legs, enjoying the feel of the soft pre-worn suede for a moment before he drew his hands away and stood. “Time?”
Declan stood as well, glancing down at the watch hanging from his belt. It was a unique design; he was wearing a slipknot, slim silver chain around his neck – one length falling from the loop that circled his throat, coming down his chest and hanging attached at his waist to the watch itself. One that was expensive looking, and made Brian think about the kind of watches you would have seen a gentleman wear in the late nineteenth century. Face on one side, elegantly engraved on the back. It stood out even in the wake of the dangerous darkness of Declan’s outfit.
Slender, but strong – his arms were bare while his torso was covered with a tight velvet vest, one that zipped up the middle and ended in a mandarin collar. The oriental motif continued throughout its design, as Brian had seen when Declan had had his back turned earlier. There was a large fierce silver dragon embroidered on the back; the stitches were so intricate and beautiful, one could almost feel that the creature was three-dimensional. The pants were leather trousers, straight legged but well fitted his hips and ass. At his waist, a belt – one that held three custom-made steel knives sheathed to the left of the clasped buckle. Each of the small, three-inch, flame-shaped blades were smoothed to a stark shine on the flat, but had an edge all the way from one side of the steel t-shaped handles to the other. Add in the shit-stomping steel-toed boots, and the man looked like he had menace on his mind.
Nodding, Declan said, “Time.” And together they left the room.
- - -
“Bloody hell.” It was a whisper, emphatic and awed, Ash looking over Michael’s shoulder as the door to the loft opened and Declan came through. He murmured in a voice half broken, “Mop me up ’cause I’m now just a puddle on the floor.”
Turning, a laugh beginning to form at Ashton’s words, Michael froze as he saw Brian following in at Declan’s back. “Fuck….” The word tumbled out without restraint as his eyes caught and held on the image of Brian – sex personified coming his way.
Brian quirked his head at Declan. “I’m guessing that we got their attention.”
A nod, face never losing its direct focus on the two men who stood staring back, and Dec replied, “And I’m thinking they have ours.” Walking at a pace this side of a prowl, he crossed the room and stood in front of Ash. An inch between, his eyes traced the line of Ashton’s body from foot to face. And only two words passed, “Darkling, mine,” before Declan’s hand was at the back of Ash’s neck – pulling him in as he took his next breath with a kiss.
The possession displayed would have been eye-catching for most, but for Michael, he only had eyes for Brian. Brian had crossed to him and was circling round, touching him with his hands as well as the hazel heat of his eyes. A stroke across Michael’s ass, blatantly appreciative – and Brian was back around, head bowed and lips against Michael’s ear. “Mikey, Michael.” A warm, lungful breath – then Brian’s voice, gruff and low. “You make me a very hungry man.” Coming closer, he turned his head and said, “Need a taste,” before he claimed Michael’s mouth with his own.
To say the dinner went by in an interesting fashion would have been an understatement. Between the candlelight and roaming hands, the subs serving or on their knees and the Doms lording like kings – there wasn’t a man left unaffected. Ashton swaying under his Master’s touch as Declan continued to run his fingers over the black satin crossed over his slave’s skin. Michael biting his lip and trying not to moan each time Brian touched his ass, stroked it – touching him there, every chance he got until it was all that Michael could do not to speak, to beg. But neither was allowed to voice their need, permission not yet granted – their eyes and bodies left to speak where they could not.
It wasn’t until the meal ended, and Michael and Ashton were clearing the table that things shifted still further towards the night’s intended purpose. For Michael, it was the sudden and swift swat of Brian’s hand against his bottom – one that caused him to start and the dish in his hand to clatter loudly back onto the table. Brian pressed against him, angled to the side and rubbed his palm over the curve of Michael’s ass. “Feel warm?” When Michael nodded with a jerk of his head, Brian gave him another tap and then another – the strikes hitting on one side, then the other. And again he rubbed, working the slight sting into Michael’s skin until the heat took over and warmed him as he moved back into Brian’s touch. “I want to get your skin hot; spank you till you squirm. Hear you moaning as you’re taking more.” He pulled Michael fully against his body, circling his hard-on against Michael’s bottom as he reached round and began stroking Michael’s dick through his shorts. “Yes?”
Eyes falling shut, Michael moved against Brian and pushed into his hand. He was hard, so hard – Brian’s control doing what it always did, pushing his buttons and opening new doors. Doors Michael had secretly wanted to peek through for years, the way now offered at the hands of the man he loved most. “Yes. Sir, yes.”
“Still, Michael. Be still.” When Michael stopped moving his hips, Brian said, “Hands flat on the table, lean forward. Stay just like that.” Glancing over, Brian saw that things had progressed for their hosts as well. “Open your eyes, Michael. I want you to watch them as I do this. Watch them, but feel me.”
Michael hissed as Brian’s hand slapped down, spank and rubbed – and then did it again. He worked to open his eyes, to see past the sensation that was warming his skin, and firing his blood. When at last he managed, a sound – startled and raw, escaped him at what he saw.
Ashton with his hands raised above his head, secured by a chain hooked to each cuff and attached through an O-ring imbedded into one of the loft support columns. His body stretched taut, caught between the wood and Declan at his back. Declan who was licking each fading line on Ash’s back, swiping his tongue over them as he pulled Ash’s head back by his hair – his other hand… reaching. Reaching for and unsheathing one of the flame blades at his waist, the steel flashing in the candle light and causing Michael to jerk as he watched it rise closer and closer to Ash’s skin.
Grunting softly as Brian’s hand landed and held, Michael started to move up – on the verge of breaking form with Brian’s name on his lips, until Brian caught him, and clasped him close. Pressing him down again as he spoke in Michael’s ear. “Easy. It’s okay. Shhh.” When Michael held silent but still tense, Brian laughed. “All those perfectly ironed ribbons, so little time.” His amusement at Declan’s story, plain. Stroking his hands down Michael’s arms, the satin so smooth and his skin so warm – Brian murmured, “Watch him.”
Declan was holding Ash still, captured and bound – whispering to him as he held the knife for the other man to see. Arching his hips just a bit, thrusting against his slave’s ass until Ash was shivering with the effort to not move. The jingle-clank of the chain at his wrists sounded as he gave a nod to something Dec had said, Ashton grabbing the wood as he eased back and surrendered to what was to come.
Raising the blade, Declan brushed Ash’s arm – his knuckles tracing a ribbon as if mapping out his plan; and then with a smooth flick, slice – he’d slipped the knife under the satin and severed it as Ashton whispered, “One.” Then again, “Two.” And again, “Three.” To, “Four.” Each time, the cut just as clean – the sight just as affecting – and Ash’s voice that much more needful with each number he said.
The severed strands falling down his right arm like a cascade, Ash circled back against his Master as Declan dropped the blade and took his slave’s lips with a kiss. Hungry and deep.
Michael was caught in the watching, his fear gone but heart beating fast when Brian rose above him and started again. Slap, press, rub. Slap, press, rub. His strikes louder than they were strong, easing Michael into it until he was again rising back into each hit. When he saw Michael’s hands gripping the table’s edges, Brian nipped a bite at the base of his neck. “Are you wet for me, Michael?”
Even with the desire-muddled matter that was his brain in that moment, Michael knew what Brian was asking. “Yes, sir,” the words escaping with a sharp exhale as Brian jerked his hips back, standing closer between his spread thighs. Michael held onto the table, glad of its support as he felt Brian’s hand reaching beneath to pull the zipper on the trunks down and through, all the way back. The fabric parted, held to his body only by the elastic band at his waist – his most private parts open to Brian’s view. Michael groaned and pressed his forehead to the table as Brian tested the way, as his Dom and lover brushed a finger along his crease and pushed through the slick, inside.
Lubed as he had been told to be, Michael cried out as Brian pushed still further in until he pressed and played over Michael’s prostate. “So hot for me, for this.” His words thick with praise, Brian pulled his finger free and pushed his hand into the tight waistband of his suede pants. Finding the toy he’d brought – now warmed by his body, he brought it out as he leaned closer over Michael’s back.
“Five, ahh.” Ash’s voice, hoarse but happy, counting off again as Declan stroked him through his shorts with one hand while slicing ribbons down his other arm. Michael’s eyes flashing open as he heard, as he saw Ashton reaching “Six,” then “Seven.” Missing “Eight,” he shivered and shut his eyes as Brian began working, “ahhh,” something inside of him.
“Shhh, take it. Feel ’em going into you.” The beads were black, connected by a string; there were six in total going from smallest at an inch around to three at the last. Brian held Michael open, pressing them one at a time slowly into his body – smiling a wicked smile as Michael began to enjoy the fullness of them moving as he moved. When at last they were all in, Brian gave the black ring a little tug in warning. “Hold them in until I say.” He rubbed his thumb over the entrance of Michael’s body, hearing the hiccup in the other man’s voice as his breathing grew harder – a sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin.
Michael held with the moment, managing not to protest when Brian drew his hand away. Waiting, suspecting – until he felt Brian’s hand slap naked against his ass, the hits coming in an even pace – left, right, left, right – popping against his cheeks until the sting became an aching burn; the beads inside him heightening the sensation, moving as he rocked under Brian’s hand. So full, so hard – so desperately out of his head, and on the edge of coming as he fought to wait. Fought to hold on as the warmth began to flow up his spine, and through his limbs as he cried out and moaned Brian’s name.
At the sound, Brian stopped – his hand burning as he spread it over Michael’s heated flesh. He could feel the shaking of Michael’s body, and came to realize he felt himself shaking as well. They held warbling on the edge, sensitized to the point of starkness. Pressing his hand to the pinked curve of Michael’s ass, Brian said, “Hold tight, I’ve got you.” And in that second, with only a long demanding stroke to the hardened length that rose between Michael’s thighs, Brian pulled the beads free – Michael crying out, flailing as his fingers slipped and he came hard. Hard and fast as Brian caught him up in his arms.
It was Brian’s voice that called him back from pleasure’s haze, hardly more than a beat later. His name, said soft but firm. Blinking, he opened his eyes to find that he was being held seated, straddling Brian’s thighs. And just then, the feeling hit – the ache of his bottom, and the wicked friction of suede against his hot skin causing him to catch his breath sharply. The trunks were rucked down at the top of his thighs, and as he leaned back – he could feel Brian against him, his Dom’s pants undone and cock pushing hard at the base of Michael’s spine. Feel the slick length encased as it was, so ready to be let in.
“Please.” The word came out of him – no thought needed, no decision to make. He didn’t care about his sore body; he didn’t care where they were. All Michael knew was that he needed more, to have more – to have Brian be a part of him as soon as he could.
“Look at them, Michael. Look at them while I do…this,” Brian groaned, his words barely over as he lifted Michael by the hips and pulled him back, pushing through the tight ring and into his heated home. Both men jerking a little as Michael came to rest on Brian’s lap, thighs spread wide over Brian’s legs.
Sweat stinging his eyes, Michael rolled his head – blinking to see through the all-encompassing feel of Brian moving inside him. When he was able to focus, he shivered and gripped the arms of the dining room chair – locked between the pleasure he’d found and the view before him.
Ash’s ribbons were all cut, satin hanging from his arms and pooled on the floor; he was held naked, caught up by his wrists and standing with the sliced wreck of his shorts thrown at his feet. Declan, fierce and dark, was moving against him – within him, fucking him as both men fought to give and take more. Leather pushed down his legs, Declan thrust and rutted – growling as he held Ash, wild with the feel of it. The power taking them both as Ash cried and moaned, struggling to push back even as he arched forward into his Master’s demanding hand. The two of them savage, beautiful and more than lost, each in the other.
Cursing, clutching Michael’s body, Brian thrust and fucked. His body was blissed to the point of near pain as he fought to find his end, to fling himself ever higher until Michael was all he knew. And then with a yell, he lost and won both in the same breath – brought through the fire with lungs burning and ears screaming as Michael echoed him, spasming against him, around him until Brian shivered and fell against Michael’s back – the two of them holding on, and moaning in commiseration as their hosts came to their end but a moment after, the room echoing with sound.
- - -
“Hmm, this feels *so* fucking good.” Michael sighed, his pleasure evident as he sank further down until he was submerged to his neck. He was drifting in warmth, wet and wonderful, seated – albeit on a folded towel considering his red bottom – in the hot water of the Jacuzzi located in Dec and Ash’s first floor, en suite guest bedroom bath. The tub was small compared to the one the two Brits had upstairs, but Michael could stretch out, leaving more than enough room for Brian. Who was presently grinning down at his dark love, enjoying the show of Michael reveling in being submerged in hot water up to his neck.
“You are such a tub bunny.” Brian chuckled, walking into the room after stowing Michael’s clothes and their leather in the bedroom. The both of them bare because that was the thing about leather, however functional, stylish and made-to-last their cuffs and Michael’s collar were – water was definitely on the no-no list.
Rolling his head back, Michael closed his eyes – enjoying the melted feeling of his muscles loosening in the heat. He murmured, “Says the king of glass shower stalls,” smiling a little when Brian gave his longer hair a tug. Looking up at him, Michael watched as Brian threw his shirt into the other room and then pushed the suede down his legs. “That’s one of my favorite things,” he said – adding more when Brian gave him the ‘and?’ look. “Watching you peel your pants off; it’s the second best way you get naked.”
Standing up, bare and bold, Brian gave the suede a toss into the bedroom, then asked, “So what’s the first?”
Michael laughed, his skin pink from the warmth and from his coming bravado. “When I get to be the peeler.”
Shaking his head, Brian stepped into the tub. “Naughty naughty, Novotny.” Hissing a little as he settled into the hot water, he stole a hand up Michael’s thigh – teasing when Michael jumped at the sudden sensation of Brian’s fingers on his balls, “You’re so cute.”
Michael shifted as Brian touched him, a soft sound escaping him as he tried to keep his legs open while not putting all his weight on his behind. “Asshole,” he grouched when Brian snickered. The curse was affectionate, but still pointed. No matter how submissive Michael was in scene – he was still one of the few people in Brian’s life who called him on his shit, especially when he was being one.
Brian pulled Michael through the water, settling him so that he was kneeling over his lap, facing him – close like he wanted Michel to be, but also in consideration of … other causes. “How’s your rump?”
Michael met his eyes, and though he knew Brian’s question was a serious one, he was feeling too happy high not to say, “Ample as always.” He couldn’t help but laugh as Brian groaned, “Hey, we can’t all have – what was it Ash called yours?”
Glaring at the memory, Brian answered, “Statue ass.” Leave it to their endearing Englishman to play off the term ‘statuesque’ – and still be able to make the point that Brian’s posterior resembled not a few Greek and Roman marble men found in art history.
Michael actually giggled, the sound bursting out of him. It was one of his favorite of Ash’s witticisms – one, because it was true, and two, because it was one of the few things he could, in Declan’s words, ‘take the mick’ about – at Brian’s expense and know he wouldn’t be playfully punished for later. Brian appreciated the humor too much to really get annoyed. Plus, it was his ass they were talking about, so the points where in his favor from the start.
The feel of Michael laughing against the skin of his neck had Brian pulling him closer, gently soothing his palms over Michael’s behind. “Sensitive?”
Nodding, the warmth and strength of Brian’s body mixed in with the soothing water and his tired mind had Michael closing his eyes. He murmured, “Feels good, kinda achy on the inside and out.” He folded his arms around Brian’s shoulders and slid to lie on his side, sleep starting to color his voice. “Gonna feel you all day tomorrow.”
The decision to stay the night having already been made, Brian ran his fingers through Michael’s hair. “Did my job right, then.” Giving Michael a squeeze, he leaned back and relaxed. “Rest, Mikey. I’ll get you to bed before we drown.”
Silence, then softly Michael said, “Brian.”
“Yeah?”
The sound almost lost as Michael fell into sleep, he whispered, “Thank you.”
With those two words, Brian opened his eyes and turned to rest his head on Michael’s. The trust, for the moment, something he found he could not question, and did not doubt, even in himself.
- - -
“What are you wearing around your leg?” The words were easy, laid back but curious. Nothing startling, ordinarily.
But given they were spoken at 3:00 AM and came unexpectedly from the darken doorway to the third floor studio – they caused Ashton to jump half out of his skin. “Fuck!” Turning to see Brian walked across the large open room, Ash shook his head. “Scared to buggary, that’s me. What are you doing prowling about? It’s late.”
Brian rubbed his hands over his face, looking around the half-lit section of the room – Ash’s art studio taking up part of the floor and Declan’s photography setup, the other. “Couldn’t sleep; go to bed too early and I always end up awake too soon.” He’d woken a while ago, slipping out of bed so not to wake Michael. Going in search of something to drink – juice, or bottled water, he’d pulled on a pair of sweats from the gym bag he’d dropped off when he’d changed earlier. Only to realize that the only real kitchen was on the second floor, in Dec and Ash’s loft. So he’d wandered about until he’d noticed noises coming from behind the studio door.
His mouth feeling dry, Brian asked, “Got anything to drink in here?”
Ash nodded to Declan’s work counter, “There’s a mini-fridge under there; help yourself. Should be stocked.” Looking down at his hands, both of which were covered in remnants of marble dust – not to mentioned most of the rest of his body too, he said, “Sorry I can’t get it for you.”
Brian squatted down, and smiled when he saw the individual bottles of apple juice. Apple was a favorite. Standing, he watched Ash putting up some of his chisels and files. The Englishman was sitting straddle on his workbench, pulled up to a block of white marble sitting on a sturdy table. He’d only just begun working with it, it seemed – bits of marble chipped away from various corners, strewn on the floor that was covered with a well-used tarp.
Taking a swallow of juice, Brian pointed to Ash’s leg – or rather to his shin and foot, the only things visible beneath his cutoff work pants. “What’s that?”
Ash whipped his hands on his ratty long-sleeved tee, one that had seen many a year of use and probably a thousand wash cycles besides, as evidenced by the frayed stitches that barely held one of the sleeves attached at his shoulder. Not to mention the threadbare almost holes at each elbow. He smiled, the turn of his mouth both wicked and like a twist of intimate reflection. Pulling up his pant leg, Ash answered, “It’s my slave sleep chain.”
Almost choking on the last swallow of juice, Brian wheezed out a laugh. “Your what?”
“Come here and I’ll show you.” Ash grabbed a damp cloth he’d set to one side. Washing his hands as well as he could, he rolled up the loose fabric until his leg showed from mid-thigh down. There was a black cord tied at his ankle, and then wrapped several times around his leg until it disappeared up under his pants. Standing, he pushed the waistband down so that Brian could see the cord was also tied around his waist. When Brian raised his eyebrow, Ash winked. “I tease Dec, calling it a chain because ‘cord’ doesn’t sound as antiquated or classic as the ritual it represents.” He sat back down, saying, “You know the image most folks have of a sex slave, chained to his or her Master’s bed.”
Brian nodded, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Dec's fond of traditions,” he laughed, before adding, “But in my case, he decided it could have a practical application as well.” Raising his leg, Ash stroked his fingers over the cord at his ankle. “I sleepwalk, have since I was a child. Most times, I’m fine – but when it does happen, there’s no pattern. And usually, I’m in very deep.” He looked up at Brian, “Like waking-up-in-the-car-with-keys-in-the-ignition deep.” Giving the cord a tug, he said, “This is Declan’s way of physically imposing his will over me as his slave, but it’s also his way of protecting me from myself.”
Brian grinned; he’d never known a person who could take something others would find completely outrageous and oppressive, and make it sound like the most beautiful gift just by the tone of his voice and the look on his face. Of course, Brian was privy to bits of the back-story that was Declan and his Ash, so that helped to explain things most would miss. “Every night?” When Ashton comically arched his eyebrows ala Groucho Marx, Brian asked, “Okay, brat. Two questions. Why’s it tied around your waist and your ankle? And doesn’t it chafe?”
“When I’m up late, working – I usually just wrap it around and tie it off to keep it from tripping me up.” He reached back and raised his shirt, turning so that Brian could see the steel fastening at the end. “Hooks to a ring imbedded at the end of our bed.” He un-looped it, and held it out to Brian. “Give it a feel.”
Brian took it, running his hands over the material in surprise. “It’s soft, smooth.”
“It’s silk rope; folks use it in Japanese-style bondage. Feels divine, and stronger than you can imagine.”
Twirling the cord around his finger, Brian’s eyes took on a mischievous light. “Kinky.”
Ash quirked his head, “With a smile like that, you’re thinking wicked thoughts, Brian Kinney.”
Not saying a word, Brian let Ash’s ‘slave sleep chain’ go and turned to leave – laughing out loud as Ash called after him.
“You’re up to something, you are!”
His silence said it all.
- - -
“Has it been a problem?”
Brian threw Declan a glare, before looking off across the restaurant as if the question didn’t hold the importance it did. Eyes following the to and fro of the wait staff as they handled the lunch traffic all around, he answered, “Meaning have I fucked up and fucked around?” When Declan didn’t reply, Brian blew out a long sigh and turned back to his new albeit annoyingly inquisitive friend. “No, I haven’t.”
Declan grinned, “Tempted?”
“Absolutely.” It was meant as a flip answer, one that was shown true nonetheless as his eyes followed one exceedingly attractive waiter who barely missed being hit by the swinging kitchen door when he looked back at Brian. Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Brian shook his head – looking down at his folded hands, and the hint of black leather that was showing under the right sleeve of his suit jacket. Eyes holding, his fingers passing over his wrist to touch the bracelet he knew to be there, he said, “But not enough.”
“That’s one of the benefits, finding the value of self control.” Declan leaned back in his chair, relaxed but still ever watchful. He was a man at ease in almost any situation, radiating a confidence most only aspired to or pretended to have. How he managed to carry it off with a decided lack of pretension or arrogance – well, it was one of his talents. Declan laughed at Brian’s incredulous face. “You don’t stop being you, just because you love and commit to Michael. But that drive, the urge you feel to have and conquer becomes more focused in his direction. Sexual impulse is satisfied by the creativity and power you put into and find as you play.” He pushed up his shirtsleeve, his tattoo – the black letters spelling N-U-I-N – bared. “It doesn’t make you less to love him; it makes you whole.”
Brian didn’t say anything, for a long while. He’d been surprised at how much of a struggle it hadn’t become, the threat of his crossing the line. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same desire; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to act on the pull he felt when he knew another man wanted him. It was that he knew what he wanted more, needed most. And that was Michael.
He’d crossed the line when he’d claimed Michael, and found himself made more for taking them both into this new reality. For a man who lacked faith in much, Brian now believed in *them* – and that was enough. “You’re saying I don’t need the hunt, because of Michael’s gift.”
“His submission, the trust and love it represents, yes.” Declan ran his hand over his beard, adding, “Put it another way. What is the hunt if not the search for power mixed with pleasure? Being king of your world is the act of a dominant personality. Being given dominance over the man you’ve known, loved and needed for half a lifetime – and seeing the strength it brings to you both, the pleasure too…. There’s not much to question when the experience says it all.”
Brian nodded, smiling a private smile. If ever there had been a better opening…. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Declan’s pixie-sage smile shining, he said, “And here I thought you asked me to lunch for the pleasure of my company.” He was teasing, since they knew their “lunches” usually ended up being both fond times between new friends and Q & A’s – one man of scene experience to another. Taking a sip of his red wine, Declan waved, “Ask away.”
Not saying a word, Brian glanced around as he pulled out his wallet. With a straight face, he tossed/dropped a packaged square onto the table and sat back, waiting for Declan’s response.
A response that was delayed by the sudden arrival, and loud gasp, of their waitress as she stepped up to witness the condom as it landed on the table between them. Though to her credit, she was quick on the uptake, clearing her throat and asking, "Uhm, would either of you like dessert?"
Declan lost it first, a laugh bursting out as he shook his head. "I'm good." After Brian answered in kind and the waitress left, he picked up the packet and flicked it back at Brian. "Only you, Brian Kinney, would play show and tell with a prophylactic on white linen in a four star restaurant during the lunch hour rush."
Giving a mock half-bow from his seat, Brian answered. "Thank you."
"And the point?"
Brian's expression changed, growing more serious as he thought how to phrase his words. "How did you know ... Make the choice to go without?"
Declan leaned forward, arms folded on the table as he considered the question. "You mean chucking the rubbers and going bare?'
"You told me you were rather prolific before Ash, and it's not a shock that he was decidedly less than a saint before you hooked up."
"So when did we decide to stop playing safe and leave practicality at the door?" Declan looked down at his arm, his eyes holding on the dark lines of his tattoo as he said, "From the word go, actually. We never used them." He glanced at Brian's surprised face, "I've managed to shock you; I think that's a first." When Brian didn't answer, looking a bit speechless, – Declan said, "One look, and I wanted him. It was like a shot to the gut. He was there, offering me everything from the start. And it wasn't just a night; it wasn't just a scene. He gave himself wholly, with a trust that scared me to death." He paused a moment, drinking his wine as his face took on a faraway look. "I'd been involved in scene play for a good while by that time; he started young with too much to take in, moving too fast through too many. And I was tired, going through the motions, but too jaded to admit to myself that I was lacking anything, or anyone in my life." He shot Brian a grin, "Sounding at all familiar?"
Brian didn't respond to the prod; he was more interested in hearing what else Declan had to tell. "And you were saying... "
"Ash was a benevolent surprise; the trust he had in me instantly was... It was innocence, hopefulness and desire, all rolled into one. He wanted me, wanted to be what I needed. And I did find myself needing him, wanting to deserve his faith in me. But in the rush, came the worry. Could I do it, would he stay interested?" Declan shook his head. "So I told him. I told him that *if* I chose him, I would have all of him. No holds barred, nothing hidden. No barriers, of any kind." He picked up the wrapped condom, dropping it pointedly into the glass of water and gave it a twirl. "If anything, that made Ash even more determined." Smiling, Declan flicked his fingers and laughed as Brian wiped the drops from his face. "For months, he was a driven man."
Flinging his napkin at Declan as the man tried to bite back a giggle, Brian smirked. "Ashton told Michael he had to court you. That makes you either a bastard, or a wise man."
"Why not both? I had the time of my life, but then so did he. Ash is in his element when he's after something he wants; set the man a goal, and his dedication and focus are practically art forms." Declan settled back in his chair, adding, "It was an interesting learning curve, to say the least."
"Had you barebacked before that?"
Declan gave him a long look, "No, neither had he." He watched Brian as he signaled for another drink, his third since they'd sat down. "Brian, what are you thinking?"
Shifting in his chair, Brian admitted, "New thoughts."
"How seriously?"
Brian met Declan's gaze, "Enough." He stopped as the waitress handed him his drink, taking a swallow before saying, "Michael and I had physicals a couple weeks ago, sometime after our last scene with you and Ash." He'd had Michael added to his insurance shortly after they'd started living together. "The blood tests came back negative for both." Which considering the volume of Brian's past partners, and Michael's previous relationship, – was a thankful relief.
"You've never... ” Declan left it off as Brian shook his head. "Is this to be another 'book and verse of Brian Kinney' rule that Michael becomes the exception to?"
"It's something I'd written off as never happening. The curse of the modern gay man to live free but restricted on pain of possible death."
"A bitter truth, so what has changed?"
Brian took another swallow, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. "Certainly not the world."
Declan hummed in agreement, then asked, "I'm taking it that this isn't just an itch that needs scratching; you're putting thought into it. Have you talked to Michael?"
"I'm not putting it out there until, unless....” He sighed. "Early stages, you know?"
"I know you just said 'until' – maybe your subconscious is further down that road than you knew."
Brian frowned even as Declan smiled. "Shit." He downed the rest of his drink, and then set the glass on the table before he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "Maybe." His eyes going back to the cuff showing at his wrist, he murmured again. "Maybe."
- - - - - - -
Part 3
- - - - - - -
The idea hadn’t been one based on impulse. No, it had begun years before as an idle wondering that would flirt with Brian’s libido from time to time. Nothing he would have acted on, just a thought of how would it feel, how much more intense would it make everything. A notion that would come and go, be forgotten, then return, never finding true purchase in his day to day.
As to why it had held no importance, or any weight until recently, – it wasn’t hard to explain. Brian Kinney did not do relationships; he didn’t do love. And without both, there was never going to be enough trust between him and his latest in a long line, to make it even remotely feasible.
Like so many gay men, he could privately wonder. He could imagine; he could watch. There were enough videos and fools around to meet any impulse he may have had to play witness. As for being a participant, the cost was too high to take the risk.
Still it was a curiosity, as often the forbidden in life proved to be. One that had shown its face a time or two in the ever-evolving story that was Brian and Michael.
Like the first time they'd watched porn together on a drunken night at Michael's house when they were in their early teens. Debbie had been working a double shift and Vic, who was visiting for a few weeks from New York, had decided he wasn't quite old enough yet to pass up a night on the town – thereby leaving them alone on a Friday night. It was one of the increasingly sporadic evenings they would find in the coming years when school was not beckoning come dawn, and yet there was no rush to sneak out for company other than their own.
A few slugs from a stolen bottle of whiskey, taken from Jack Kinney's don't-tell-the-wife stash, and they'd found themselves spying through Vic's room – the result of a dare that Michael had lost, much to Brian's satisfaction. He'd always loved giving Michael the extra nudge he needed to be daring, to do what he normally wouldn't have tried. It was one of Brian's favorite Mikey moments, seeing him both nervous and excited at having done something even a smidge wicked.
Seeing the thrill and the fear, Brian had watched both emotions flow across his friend's face as they'd found the tape – black, unmarked, a mystery. He'd been witness to every change of expression, and of breath that had played through Michael once they'd gone downstairs and started the VCR, the TV shining bright in the dark living room with the volume turned down just enough not to be heard from outside. Across the screen – vintage porn from the days when fucking was fast, furious, raw and bare. Men with hairy chests, and beards. Younger guys with longer hair, and pale skin. Taken, took. The scenes playing out in stark vividness, as Michael stared and Brian watched. Watched and learned the look of hunger as it clouded Michael's eyes, and pinked his skin. Watched and heard the gasp as Michael had noticed for the first time that it was skin on skin, his quick shocked glance at Brian and then fast turn back to the screen having been enough for Brian to know its impact. He'd seen the fascination on Michael's face, even as he felt it himself – the two of them watching until the tape stopped and Michael had all but raced upstairs, a muttered excuse about needing to pee, his temporary ruse for escape from Brian's eyes.
That being the first, and the memory of the weekend just past being the last and clearest in Brian's mind. The day and night that had led 'never' into a possibly of more than maybe.
They'd been running wild on Liberty Avenue, a Saturday night starting with beer and pool at Woody's, and ending with dancing like mad at Babylon. Emmett and Ted in tow, joking and jibbing when Michael had managed to talk Brian into leaving early. A chorus of fond laughter at their backs when Brian had dropped any protest with one whisper by Michael in his ear, the result of which was Brian grabbing Michael's hand and pulling him in a rush through the crowd and out the door. Just a few well-chosen words, an invite for his Dom to help him get squeaky clean before dawn, and a reminder that Sunday was....
"Paint day." Even saying the words had Brian grinning, his body warming as he shifted in the backseat of the cab he'd called following lunch. Michael's words, his nickname for their Sunday scene. Sundays being sacrosanct for them since they'd come back from Declan's second home, Havenshire. The one day of the week when they typically didn't go out, didn't take calls and spent playing. What Ashton had described as "Dommie-Day" – a time meant to be free reign for the submissive's imagination to take hold, to his Dominant's benefit and both their pleasures. A sub's day to devise; it was the one day each week that had Michael the most excited, because no matter what others thought about being a submissive – letting his imagination reign, and fantasies live empowered Michael beautifully. And they had proven to be a window for Brian into a side of Michael he'd never truly known.
The lasciviousness of his lover's mind was intoxicating to Brian, because for a man who knew himself incredibly well – he found himself feeling new each time he looked at Michael and saw that naughty smile. The one that meant their Sunday was in the bag.
Hence, – "Paint Day." A reference that Michael had been teasing Brian with for days beforehand, but in retrospect, he now knew referred to something Michael had said the first time he'd touched Brian under Declan's roof, or rather, in the man's studio. A quick, hot hand-job to take off Brian's edge before they could leave for the loft; Michael's eyes hungry and his hands a dream, but it was his words that had slammed Brian into climax. Michael's voice demanding, greedy – telling Brian to "paint" him with his cum.
The moment had been incendiary. A full day and night of it – the goal to make Brian come as much and as many times as he could manage between them, had been . . . revelatory. And in a way that Brian was sure Michael had not expected, and was not yet aware.
Hours gone, both men almost on the verge of collapsing across the bed in exhaustion, but for their needing, striving, working for one . . . last . . . go. Michael on his stomach, moaning and clutching at the wrecked bedding underneath – his body slick with sweat, and other things. Marked and coated by dirty, wet evidence of time well spent, Brian rubbed across and into his skin. The need almost primal. Brian above, on top – pressed chest to back over Michael with hips moving, thrusting between his lover's thighs. Michael circling down, then back, over and over – almost, almost, almost there himself after having gone too long without. Permission granted by his Dom for him to lose it, and Brian grunting as he fought his aching body and sensitized cock to his last end.
So near, so close. And then Brian pushed up, his arms barely able to hold him as he pressed and thrust – his angling going wild and then... Then his hips slid up, his cock riding over the curve of Michael's ass and then down between as he moved mindlessly along, and then through....
"Oh god. Ahh, Bri...fuck." Michael frozen, seized in the moment as both men realized. One more push forward, one more arch back and they'd be joined. Bare.
Both men panting with Brian's cock literally nudging at heaven's door, pressing tight against the lube slicked entrance of Michael's well-used bottom. The pressure holding as they held, locked together in the illicitness of but a second – temptation burning through their brains as Michael whispered Brian's name, and then with a curse, came spurting across the sheets beneath. And Brian followed, with a thrust back down between his thighs. The two of them floating, fighting to breathe as the impact of what had almost, could have but hadn't happened caressed the moment and their minds as sleep gained ground over them both.
"Fuck." Brian murmured, as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Even the memory of it had him hard as a rock; his mind going overtime to play out visions in his head of what it might have felt like if he'd gone further, pushed inside. Shaking his head, Brian took a deep breath and looked out the window. Almost there, just a block or two away. Clearing his throat, he asked the cabbie if he could step on it.
Funny how not far could become too far, fast.
- - -
"It's just intense, I guess. Like the end of an age." Michael's voice was soft, sounding out in a tone that spoke to his mixed emotions. He was looking down at the manila envelope that had just been delivered to him by a courier from Melanie's law office. Brushing his fingers over the metallic clasp, he said, "I mean, I'm glad that it's been settled; but it's also...” Michael stopped, smiling a bit when Emmett reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze.
"Sad, right? That makes sense, sweetie." Em looked over at Ted, sitting at his side – expectant that his lover should add some support on this closing of a big chapter in Michael's life.
Ted nodded. "Think of it as a new beginning. You've both made your peace, and now you've gained your autonomy. Thanks to Mel, and I can't believe I'm saying it – thanks to Brian."
Michael laughed at the incredulous expression on Ted's face. "Well, it was his idea. He's the reason Melanie got involved with organizing this." He stroked his hand over the envelope; one that contained the contract that detailed the agreement he and Justin had reached on the continued publication of "Rage" the comic book. Michael hadn't dared to broach the subject for the first couple months of his new relationship with Brian, but finally he'd made the call that had started Justin and him on the road to reconciling their tentative friendship.
It had probably helped them both that Justin had decided to follow his fiddler boyfriend to New York City; the separation allowed them the distance needed for tempers to cool, as did Justin's increasingly busy schedule of art school and his internship at a local gallery, working as an assistant in their youth workshops. All of which meant he had little time to continue drawing for further issues of "Rage" – not to mention it would have proven decidedly awkward to keep working with the image of his former lover, especially now that Justin was with Ethan and Michael was with Brian. He needed to move on artistically, and Michael needed to continue realizing his dream of seeing "Rage" live on.
While Justin had been more than willing to let Michael continue doing the comic with another artist, saying just take his name off – his youthful naiveté had made Michael hesitant to agree so quickly. Primarily because it was *their* co-creation; the words were Michael's but the look was Justin's design. He'd managed to bring Michael's vision to life, and it was something for which Michael would be forever thankful. So in the end, it was Brian who made the suggestion that now stood inked in black with both their signatures. Rage's future assured.
As agreed, Justin would retain his co-creator acknowledgement, thereafter. And should "Rage" continue to be published using another artist – one in fact who had been recommended by Ashton – then Justin would receive a small percentage of future profits in exchange for the on-going use of his initial design concepts for the characters. Meaning the characters' looks and the overall style would stay true to the first issue. Beyond that, Michael would have complete ownership of the "Rage" name, storyline and the freedom to distribute as he chose.
"Speak of the devil, and 'lo he appears." Ted snorted, seeing Brian coming through the door of Liberty Diner.
Coming in with such an intent internal focus, that he practically barreled over a couple as they tried to make their way outside. Echoes of curses following in his wake, Brian crossed the room with a determined stride. He stopped beside the booth, looking at Michael and asking without even a hello, "Where's Deb?"
Michael turned to him, smiling his welcome before he noticed Brian's tense face. Worried, he answered, "She has the night shift. What's up?"
Lips curving in a wicked grin, Brian glanced around. It was late afternoon, the lunch crowd having already come and mostly gone. By the looks of things, Michael had almost finished his lunch while the Temmetts still looked to be at the start of their own. Perfect... "Oh, nothing."
Michael knew that tone; it was Brian's I-have-a-plan-so-prepare-yourself-for-the-ride voice. "Bri?" He was about to start grilling for details, but his questions were decidedly forestalled when Brian took his hand and with an overly bright, "If you ladies will excuse us," to Emmett and Ted, – pulled Michael to his feet. Without knowing why, Michael quickly found himself being hurried into the bathroom where Brian proceeded to shut the door, turn the lock and flip the occupied latch built into the handle.
Michael's adamant whispered hiss of, "We are *not* going to... uhmnn," was cut off by the swift grab, swing and press of Brian flattening him against the door and taking his mouth with a kiss. One meant to mesmerize, entice and lure, which worked of course – considering he was being devoured by a master of the game.
Brian groaned appreciatively as Michael started taking back as good as he gave, the kiss turned on its ear as Brian welcomed the hunger evidenced in Michael's aggression. It was a response that hit Brian right below the belt, knowing that Michael wanted him enough to flip the coin of his submissive nature so that both of them were left panting as they reluctantly parted for air. Parted to find Michael's hands buried in Brian's hair and Brian's hands on Michael's denim-clad ass, the two of them close enough to make the effects on both of them very obvious.
Pushing his leg between Michael's thighs, Brian pressed up against him – eyes shining wickedly as he licked softly over Michael's lips. "Hmm, chicken salad." A grin, a flash of teeth as Michael laughed, – the sound breaking off with a groan as Brian nipped gently his bottom lip. "Mikey. Michael. Mine." The words touched every aspect of Michael's place in his world; and he knew the effect they would have. Could see the way Michael's eyes melted and caught fire both at the same time.
"The door had better be locked." Michael's voice was almost a whisper, husky and low.
Brian nodded, his face touched with a look and a smile that was suffused with confident sexuality and fond satisfaction. Of course that didn't stop his teasing verbal nudge, "It had better be locked, what?"
A huff of a laugh, but with his eyes locked on Brian's mouth, – the heat of the moment still raw and racing wild in his blood, Michael murmured, "Brian."
"Yes?"
Leaning in, Michael brushed his lips up the line of Brian's throat, "Shut up, and....” His remaining words a whisper in Brian's ear.
Cock twitching, full speed ahead, – Brian groaned as a playful, "Yes, sir. Mr. Novotny, sir," passed between them before he set about doing exactly what he'd been told.
- - -
The door closed with a rapid jingle clash of bell hitting wood that signaled Michael's rush as he fought to keep his cell held between ear and shoulder. He managed to get the store door locked, while laughing at the speaker's last remark. "I am hurrying, smartass. It's not my fault the shipment came in three days early." A grin graced his face as he listened to the other's response to his name-calling. "Oh, I'm well aware of your plans for my ass. But considering it's *your* ass that's on tonight's agenda... ” Michael burst out laughing when he was cut off before he could finish his sentence. He walked down the street, his stride fast with only half a block to go before he met up with his caller – Brian's black Jeep idling under a street lamp not far from Red Cape Comics.
Clapping his phone off, Michael opened the door and got into the Jeep. He leaned over to meet Brian's kiss hello before settling back in his seat as they pulled away from the curb. Eyeing the loose pajama style draw string pants and over sized t-shirt Brian was wearing, another grin came. "I cannot believe you got talked into this."
Brian shook his head fondly. He was relaxed and enjoying the freedom of the weekend to come, along with the fun they were about to walk into after a long hard week. Two weeks. Hell, make it a month. He'd been working himself like mad, long hours both at the office and home trying to pull in a new client that many had thought unattainable. It was with a sense of great satisfaction that he'd laid the contracts to bed the day before – the Kinney touch having proved once again to be worth the accolades he had been afforded as partner in the firm.
But the time involved had meant that while he and Michael could spend what free time he'd had together, it had left little to no time for them to journey out with their friends – both old and new. The Liberty crew had welcomed their return to the Avenue fold on Thursday night with drinks at Woody's, though Brian and Michael had bowed out for Friday's fare. Other plans were on tap.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Brian teased. He knew ever since he'd agreed to this little appointment, Michael had been easily baited with the hints he'd been dropping as to his familiarity with tonight's agenda.
Michael had been bursting to know Brian's little secret, the thing in his past that gave Brian grounds to rib him. Undiscovered territory was rare in the story that was their past, so when it became glaringly obvious that Brian was holding back on the details – Michael was ill set to be a good boy and not demand the truth of it. Of course, he wasn't opposed to a little nudging himself. "Please, pretty please. Tell me?"
Glancing at Michael, Brian laughed at the puppy dog eyes – enjoying the way they flashed in the streetlamps as they drove down the dark road. He make a show of acting like he was thinking it through, but then he gave in as he spotted an advantageous parking space not far from their destination. Turning in and shutting off the Jeep, Brian said, "Ask me why I'm wearing loose, bordering on baggie clothes."
"Okay. What's with the clothes?" Michael knew it wasn't like Brian would be wearing them long, all things considered. But for Brian, this was about as dressed down as the man got.
Leaning over, Brian deliberately pressed against Michael, pinning him to his seat. Lips passing over Michael's jaw, Brian answered. "No lines, no pressure marks." Hot breath tickling Michael's ear, "Just a quick push, pull and it's all me."
Eyes closing, Michael shivered at the feel of Brian close and teasing, at the image of it playing out in his mind. It was a gorgeous view, of which he was intimately aware. Add in the elements of someone or ones taking a gander in this new and different context, and the thought came, "When did you...?” But he stopped, unsure if he actually wanted to know considering the likelihood that a name beginning with "J" might be a part of the answer.
A hum of a laugh, and Brian kissed him as he opened his eyes. "College. Got asked to substitute for a guy, needed the money and said what the hell." He had that naughty boy who'd been caught but was unrepentant look on his face.
"And....” Michael was sure there was something else.
With a snort, Brian turned and opened his door. He looked back, saying, "And Lindz practically choked on her charcoal the minute she looked up and saw me standing there, sans all."
Michael grinned, "And of course you hadn't told her you were gonna be there." He chuckled, "Evil."
"Just doing my part for higher education, Mikey."
Laughter echoed through the darkness as they exited the Jeep and made their way inside.
- - -
Brian had known he'd say yes, almost immediately after being asked to pose. Not that he'd actually agreed for a good few days afterwards, letting Ashton stew playfully with a few jibes here and there about the man needing to find outside sources for his muse. "Declan not the inspiration he once was?"
A good kick to Brian's shin under the table had all of them laughing as they sat around enjoying a drink after cleaning up the remains of dinner. Ashton's aim, as ever, bang on. "He's in-exhaustively inspirational, you prat."
Brian winked at Dec, the two sharing a smile before Brian nudged some more. "So what's with the need of a change in fare?"
Declan answered before Ash did. "The client is an old friend, to us both. And while he admires Ash's dedication to me in life and art, I'm not physically his type." He gave Brian a grin, "You, however, are."
Ash snickered, "At least from the neck down." The work, they all knew, would be a figure study – headless, torso to thighs. And while he had the basic design settled, Ashton had asked Brian to stand in for the sake of reference. A few shots by Declan would serve in place of a long sitting; and he'd be well on his way to beginning the base clay model for the larger commissioned piece. One based on the "classical male form" – a phrase they'd all found amusing, considering Ashton's on-going tease about Brian's ass being worthy for marble immortalization.
Not that he hadn't also said the same about Michael's tush a time or two – often just to see the flush that showed on Michael's face at the memory of his own little time as artist’s model under Declan's lens. Evidence of which had indeed made itself onto the loft wall, there to this day.
Michael looked around, "I've never seen any of the pieces you've done of Declan. Are there any here? I'd love to see them."
Ash glanced at Declan, a private smile passing between them before he answered. "London. They're at our place in London."
"Oh, well. Maybe you could send pictures, next time you go back." Michael was disappointed; he'd become a fan of Ash's talent from the first day they'd met and he'd wandered around the third floor studio. But email would stand in well to satisfy curiosity.
Ash winked at Declan, the two sharing a laugh before they stood to gather up the glasses, taking them to the kitchen. Turning to Michael, Ashton took his hand and pulled him up. "Misha, I look forward to showing them to you. One day." Nodding his head towards Brian, he said, "Time to get this one upstairs, and starkers. Chop, chop." And with that, he was out the door and already heading up the stairs.
Brian stood, putting his arm around Michael's shoulders as they watched Ash's retreating backside. "Pushy, much?"
Declan nodded, "It's one of his more endearing qualities." Waving towards the open door, "Shall we?"
- - -
The mood was easy, relaxed with smooth music playing from the speakers spread throughout the room. The choice a fun bit of sparring between Brian and Dec – Lady Day or the Monk, heads or tails. The Lady won the day, much to Declan's amusement – the man still shaking his head as Ash proceeded to say, "Head or Tails, it's like a gay man's game of flip for position, of course then there'd never be a loser."
Brian hugged Michael, who was standing in front, leaning back against his chest. "Gotta love a man with a smart mouth." He murmured quietly in Michael's ear, "Especially one who knows how to use it." He smiled as Michael shifted, hands coming up to clasp Brian's as he turned his head towards the taller man's nuzzling lips. The pair sharing a kiss, soft with the promise of more, when they were surprised out of it by the flash of Declan's camera.
"Cheat."
Declan smirked at Brian, "Not my fault, when the two of you like that are a pretty picture waiting to happen." He gave a glance at the lights he'd had Ashton adjust, and then he nodded towards the dark backdrop. "You're up."
Giving a tug at Michael's hips, Brian moved against him. "Not yet, but it's very imminent."
Michael turned and gave him a push back, laughing. "I don't think that's the kind of statue Ash had in mind."
Ash agreed, in his own way. "Yeah, we're talking marble not wood."
Brian grinned, "Okay, I'll hold the thought." He kicked off his shoes, placing them on the same table that held his previously discarded shirt, the one he'd lost when Declan had him standing in for the lighting setup. Because even though it was a sideline "hobby," – the man was way beyond Polaroid stage. Hell, to Brian's mind he could have turned professional any day.
Holding up his hand, Brian quirked his finger at Michael. "One last thing." He pulled Michael close, "Dip your fingers in at my waist and give 'em a push."
Michael's eyes widened, "What's this?" His hands had stopped, half dug in at Brian's hips – the sensation of something soft and ... "Silky." He gave Brian's pants a shove; the fabric pooled on the floor, and found that there was a long strip of black tied low around his waist. "What are you...?”
"Shhh," Brian pressed a finger to Michael's mouth. "No more talking." He untied the silk and held it to Michael's nose, grinning when Michael moaned softly as realization and memory struck. They were playing, a game familiar to them both. One that reflected back to the first time they'd played out a scene under Declan's supervision. The length of fabric warm and smelling of Brian's skin, a tactile reminder of who Michael belonged to and the power he'd given him as Brian covered Michael's eyes and tied the blindfold in place. "I want you to listen, and picture me naked under hot lights."
Michael bit back a sound, his breath heavy and his world blind of all, except the sound of Brian's words and the feel of him under his hands. Hands that Michael mapped over the smooth warmth of Brian's chest on his way to pulling him down to satisfy his need for taste. The kiss, delicious. Deep. And all too short, as Michael felt Brian's satisfied laugh against his lips before he pulled back and guided Michael down to kneel on the pillows close by. One last lick, hot and maddening across his mouth as Brian left him to imagine while the room filled with flashes, Declan's instructions, Ash's barbs and the sound of male laughter.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he sensed someone standing close, felt fingers running through his hair. Michael turned his face and met the next touch with a kiss to the other's palm, hearing Brian's voice from above murmuring his name. Leaning in, Michael intentionally brushed his mouth over his lover's thigh – following up the line of it until he felt the heat of Brian's sex and the soft rasp of curling hair against his lips. A deep breath, Brian's scent a part of him – Michael shifted, unsteadily still on his knees. The hard line of his dick trapped in his jeans causing him to fight from touching himself, when he knew he wasn't allowed. Permission needed, but not yet given.
"Come up here." Brian's hands guiding, helping Michael to stand as the blindfold remained. Leading him, the direction unknown, until it became clearer with the sensation of heat against his skin. The feel of the lights touching him, and Michael knew were they stood.
And what it could mean.
Reaching out, Michael clutched Brian's arm – squeezing it as his lips parted to question, though no sound came.
"Easy, Mikey. No worries." Brian leaned in, pressing his forehead against Michael's. Speaking low, he eased his hands down Michael's t-shirt – touching him as his heart beat faster. "This was the trade-off. Photos for Ash, photos for us." He pushed the soft wash-worn cotton up over Michael's stomach, fingers teasing at his nipples until he gasped. "Don't think, just feel. My hands, my body. In this moment, I'm all you need to know."
Voice dropped low, intimate and only for him – Brian at his best. The seducer sure of the seduced.
Michael pressed closer, his smile hidden under Brian's chin. His body reacted instantly, as it always did to his lover's pull and his Dom's certainty. But it was both those things together that had him smiling, fond as he was of the man who held him – knowing him the way he did. To be the focus of both Brian's love and passion – it was the cause of his greatest happiness. Lending him a sense of courage and daring he'd lately embraced.
"Hmm, tickles." Brian murmured, his fingers busy undoing the clasp of Michael's jeans as his lover's mouth traced a path from one side of his collarbone to the other. The soft rasp of hair as Michael rubbed his cheek over Brian's nipple sent a rush of heat up the taller man's spine, his hands working faster until they'd succeeded in pushing the denim over Michael's hips. "Keep still, I won't let you fall." The words said with the intent to comfort, belied his haste as Brian slid down Michael's body and held him close as he worked off the shoes, socks and jeans. Rising up, he pressed against him and all but swallowed Michael's soft groan, the heat of their skin made keener as the lights rained down and caressed them both in a warm glow.
Red cotton, rucked up under his arms with nipples still exposed and the line of his back showing – the t-shirt was the only thing besides the blindfold that Michael still wore. Except for that which would not be removed, black and platinum at his throat, and the leather around their wrists – both of his, and Brian's right. The picture of them made more illicit for the remaining touch of the china red, a telltale sign of two men so into the moment and each other than the details were forgotten. Lost in the kiss they shared, and the fire that continued to rise from within.
Hands drawn over skin, hungry and harsh in their hurry to feel more and be closer than close. Michael's sliding, clutching at Brian's slick body. Brian's consuming with every inch of Michael he could claimed. Until they parted, pulling back for breath.
Brian pushed his fingers through Michael's hair, framing his face as he looked at him. "You look so *fucking* hot like this – hard, hot," each word emphasized by the draw of his hand down the side of Michael's body, hip, thigh, "mine."
*flash*
A glance to the side, Declan with camera raised and ready – picking out only the choice few moments it seemed rather than the random flash, and Brian turned back to Michael. Turned and grinned, noticing the shirt. He tugged at it, teasing, "Toss or tear?"
Voice a little uneven, Michael answered barely above a whisper. "As you like." He gasped as Brian fluttered his fingers dangerously down his side. "Sir, aww, sorry. As you like, sir."
Giving Michael a reprieve from tickle-torture, Brian hummed, "Choices, choices." He waited a tick, then said, "Fuck it," and grabbed the shirt. The rip/tug sounded loudly, chorused sweetly by Michael's moan as he grabbed Brian, arms coming up around his shoulders as he tried not to stumble blind. A couple more tears and the cotton flew, Brian tossing the remains out of it their way as he locked Michael in his arms and took another kiss. Then another until Michael was dizzy with need and disoriented without the centering of sight.
Breaking away, Brian pulled Michael down with him. Pulled, then pressed him to the floor – the two of them framed in black, their only consideration against the bare wood of the floor being the large crush velvet throw that Declan had used in Brian's photos. Blanketed, held, caged under Brian's body – Michael arched up into it, into him as he wrapped his arms around Brian, then legs too. The need in him writ clear across his skin, in the strength of his claim and the clutch of his hands.
Brian's voice, rasping and rough in his ear. "Tell me, Michael. Tell me what this does to you."
Hands, large and warm traveling over him – touching him as the words, the demand rained down. Michael managed to answer, "I, I can't... can't think, just feel." He stopped, a sound leaving him, soft, surprised, as Brian took him in hand, hard-on already wet at the tip, and stroked. He moaned, "Want. You. All of you."
*flash*
Too focused on Michael, Brian missed Declan's camera capturing the moment – the picture of them entwined in passion, in each other – wrapped together, in their own world.
All of you, all of you – the words, Michael's voice, the feel of him – all of it was sounding through his cock, his blood, his brain; all of it calling to that need in him, the impulse he'd been sheltering close, considering hard. "In every way." A murmur, a groan, a prelude upon the surge as hunger stopped the game and he was there with Michael, the two of them straining, thrusting down, up, against each other. Bodies sliding, friction burned; and they were gone to the room, to their friends, to anything but the rush and roar of now, please, more and all. Mouths crushed, wet and red, neither man wanting to part as it built, the end, the joy.
Until with a jerk, Brian tore Michael's blindfold away and then all was light, Michael's eyes and the freedom Brian allowed himself as he gave into the truth of what it was he wanted. Lips pressed to Michael's ear as they surged ever closer, almost there and then with a grunt, a groan, it was Brian's words that brought them home. "Bare, Mikey. Aww, fuck, ahh. I want you bare. All of me, coming wet.... Inside you." The last a growl as Brian's body seized and Michael's nails dug into his back. His lover gasping, shaking as his eyes snapped open and locked with Brian's own. Then the shock, a flash and then Michael threw his head back and came. The two of them, only a hiccup in time apart, riding the rush together.
*flash*
- - -
"Ohhh, yes! Fuck." A laugh, a deep sigh and a smile that lit up Irish eyes as Declan rolled his head back as Ash rose from his lap. A muttered, "Master," and Declan rose up to look at Ash, scrubbing his hand through the Englishman's hair as he nuzzled his face against Declan's chest. A thumb, brushed over the kneeling man's lips and Declan grinned, "Darkling, mine."
A kiss placed in the palm of Declan's hand, and Ashton answered, "Master man," with a laugh as Declan made to cover his mouth with a groan.
Brian laughed, coming back from the kitchen area of the loft. Handing Michael a drink, he sat down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs and pulled Michael down to sit with him in a tangle of limbs. "Completely incorrigible." He just waggled his eyebrows at Michael's whispered, "Pot-kettle-black."
Snorting at Brian's comment, Declan gave Ash a playful shove back to his seated position on the pillow beside Dec's chair. "Makes life that much more interesting." He adjusted his clothes a bit before leaning back relaxed, sated – a man at ease in his own world.
The four of them had settled together following events upstairs, Michael and Brian with a quick segue to the guest shower before redressing – Michael in a borrowed tee, and coming up to find Declan and Ash fooling around in the living room. Fooling around, well that led to more than fooling around, – which proved a fun show, and ironically a bit of tables turned following what they'd been doing only a short time before...
Brian was happily watching the interplay of their friends as the conversation turned to an old argument of when would Declan be entering into the new age by going digital with his equipment and cameras, rather than staying true to film. Ash's comment on the woes of serving Darkroom vs. Digital Declan had his Master pulling him over his knee to give him a good swat to the ass; much to the amusement of all when he just wiggled for more and got relegated to kneeling on the floor again.
Michael smiled, his head resting against Brian's shoulder, as he stayed quiet. Thoughtful. He'd been that way since they'd come down from the high of earlier events. So much so fast, it had him feeling winded. The night, the way it had turned out. First the pictures – that had been a surprise, true. But the months that had passed and the level of trust they'd come to find in both Dec and Ash were enough to have Michael little worried that anything bad would come as a result.
After all, it had been his idea that first time to be photographed by Declan as a gift for Brian. True enough that it had been done in a fairly anonymous fashion with his back to the camera for the end portrait. But there had been a random few with his face showing, a couple position and lighting changes where it was more than obvious that Michael was the subject. In the end though, Declan had taken the initiative in giving the negatives to Brian before they'd left his country home, Havenshire, so many months back.
Michael knew; it was imperative to Declan that he be trustworthy – both as a requirement of his profession as a therapist, and personally as a man who held so many roles. Master, lover, friend and guide. He'd proven that in both words and actions, time and again. So aside from the initial embarrassment of knowing he was being photographed in that moment, like that, Michael was quick in retrospect not to doubt the man or his motives.
No, that wasn't what had him so quiet. It was the other, Brian's words echoing through his head. The vehemence of them resounding as clear as when they'd first been said. Which had him asking, had Brian meant it? Or was it just said in the moment – all heat and no sense?
In the rush, Michael's reaction hadn't been one of conscious thought either. He'd just *felt* the words, their impact ricocheting through him in a wave of shock and joy. And now, in the hereafter of that – he was left with a head full of questions, which may or may not be irrelevant when he knew, as he'd known in the moment, that if Brian were to ask him – head clear and eyes wide open, again... Ultimately he already knew his answer.
"Mikeyyyy." Brian's voice calling him back from his thoughts, Michael looked up and then over at Dec and Ash.
"Sorry. Yes?"
Declan said, "Brian was telling us that you have plans for tomorrow."
Michael hugged his lover's arm as it tightened around his waist, "Yeah, we're watching Gus for Mel and Lindz." It was evident in his voice that he was looking forward to it, the child in Michael having found a partner in comic crime even at so young an age. Saturday was already looking to be filled with sandbox castles and cartoon marathons, with Brian being dragged along – begrudgingly loving it – the whole way.
Declan gave Ash's hair a playful tug, "Which means you'll be safe from this one's attempt at curry for lunch, then."
At Ashton's answering but sneaky glare, Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Michael looked up at him and shook his head. "Don't even try it. We promised the girls, and Gus."
Loving the fierce, albeit amused, determination on Michael's face, Brian pressed a kiss to his brow before rolling his eyes at their hosts. "They're ganging up on me, the pair of them. My two boys."
The affection in Brian's voice not lost to the room, Michael's smile grew as he glanced at Ash. The Englishman had a pleased look on his face, the two of them sharing a silent moment that ended with him giving Michael a wink. After all, there was value in what was heard, as well as what was said.
Ash turned to look up at Declan, giving his trousers a pull. He didn't say anything; just waited it seemed for Dec to answer back with a nod – the question having not been voiced, but asked all the same. Ashton bowed his head, the gesture one of thanks – and then shifted to lay it in Declan's lap. Resting there as his Master played with his hair.
Dec ran his fingers through the brown tresses, and over the length of his slave's neck. "Since we won't have the pleasure of your company tomorrow, tonight seems a good time to pose a question." He asked Brian, "How's your schedule looking over the second half of October?"
"Before or after I take my red cape and blue tights out of storage for the 31st?" Brian laughed as Michael gave him a rude nudge in the ribs, "Watch it Lois."
At Ash's murmured, "More like Peter and Wendy," Michael shook his head, grinning. "You're supposed to be on my side."
Declan tapped Ash on the forehead, saying, "We all are, Michael." Giving Brian a 'well' look, he asked, "Your schedule?"
Curious, Brian said, "Manageable, it's November into December that's an ad crunch." Timing campaigns to holidays usually meant the end of the year was an endless race set against an ever-faster ticking clock.
"One or two weeks, manageable?"
Thinking, details in mind, Brian nodded. "Possibly, yeah. I'm owed the time; I just came off a major play, so if I'm vying for time now rather than later at Thanksgiving or Christmas – it's more likely a go."
"Michael, how about you? Could you make arrangements for the store?"
"Uhm, well, I'd have to talk to Vic. He might be able to open, take the mornings. And Renny, she could come in after class to close." He turned looked at Brian, "She's been asking if she could put a hand in, since our Rage meetings usually end up getting interrupted by customers coming in and out."
Brian nodded, "Hire her on part-time, until she heads home for winter break." He knew it would help free up some more of Michael's time, a score for them both. And the time Michael and Renny did spend together could be more focused in on them finishing the next issue of Rage. The comic's first run featuring the new talents of Renny Magill, art student and comic book geek on a par to rival Michael on his best day thanks to her three older brothers and winner of the coveted Ashton Forster gold-star recommendation for graphic artist on the cusp of discovery.
Graphic being the operative word, considering they'd learned quickly enough that she was decidedly lacking in inhibition when it came to potential explicit storylines and gay sexuality. In her words, both topics were something of which she considered herself "a big fan."
Michael turned to Dec and Ash. "What are you planning?"
Declan laughed at Michael's cautious tone. "Nothing out-rightly nefarious; rather *we* – Ash and I – are going to be taking a small trip home. We're flying out at the end of the week, and thought it might be fun to invite you to come with."
Scrambling up with Brian groaning at misplaced elbows and knees, Michael asked excitedly, "London?" He climbed to sit astride Brian's lap, asking him, "We're going to London?"
Brian pulled at Michael's hips, grinning as he hugged his arms around Brian's neck. Eyes wide and bright, it was one of Michael's most endearing expressions. One almost guaranteed not to be denied. "Like I'd say no to that face," he groused fondly.
Ash's voice came, "Like you'd want to when we all know giving in is part of the fun."
Giving Ash's nearest nipple ring a tweak, Declan admonished, "You, hush." To Brian and Michael, "Scheduling, passports?"
Brian nodded, "We've got it; it's in the details." He felt Michael go still. Seeing him frown, Brian asked, "Mikey?"
Michael leaned in, speaking softly into Brian's ear. "Bri, I'm not sure, I mean with the store mortgage. Money..."
"Isn't an issue." Brian kissed Michael, effectively ending the futile protest. He ran his fingers over the line of Michael's jaw, enjoying the soft scratch of hair against his skin. He pulled back, face serious and voice firm. "Michael, it's a yes." His gaze shifted over Michael's shoulder to Declan, seeing the Irishman's warm smile. "Looks like we're crossing the pond."
- - - - - - -
Part 4
- - - - - - -
“Mom, mom – Ma! Will you let me get a word in?” His exasperation ringing clear, Michael gave Brian a pop on the leg as he began snickering in the background while trying to wrestle Michael into a tangle of arms and legs; no matter that he was on the phone with his mother. Frustrated by his mother’s endless barrage, which had been going almost non-stop for half an hour since Michael had told her about their trip, and caught up in trying to squirm away from Brian’s reaching hands that wandered ever closer to places a man didn’t want to be touched while speaking to said mother, Michael held the phone out and glared at Brian as he mouthed, ‘You’re supposed to be helping, asshole.’
Having been in a good – make that flat out great – mood all morning despite the early hour of their wakeup call for Gus’ visit, Brian had been relishing his bad boy naughty mode and acting out at every opportunity. Teasing Michael, conspiring with Gus, the man had enjoyed his day, his lover and his child. Lost boys, all.
They’d barely said goodbye to Gus, Lindz and Melanie as their day turned into night, when the phone had rung and Michael had been trapped into a conversation that seemed as never-ending as Brian’s sexual stamina, one being much more beneficial to Michael's state of mind than the other.
Making a grab for the phone, Brian covered the mouthpiece as Michael asked what he was doing. “Helping.” He held the phone a few inches from his ear, listening to a stream of Novotny nattering before he interrupted Debbie. “Yes, Mother. No, Mother. Why don't you make a list, Mother?" His face scrunching up in laughter at Deb's reaction to the sudden change in speaker, and his ever more present use of mother as both endearment and teasing barb. His amusement grew as he was treated to what must have been a repeat of Debbie's wisdom for the wayward traveler. "Deb, as engaging as I'm sure this conversation would prove to be, I have other plans for Michael's time. And mine. Tah." Click.
Seeing Michael's rueful look – because it wasn't most men who had the balls to hang-up on Debbie Novotny – Brian asked, "What?" His faux innocent expression quickly slipped into a grin. "I'll make good on our trip. One stop at Harrods and Deb'll have to let me back in the family at least until Christmas. You'll see." Privately, he was looking forward to “doling out the dosh,” as Ash would say. When it came to money and the Novotny's, gifts were met with a minimum of resistance mixed with un-jaded enjoyment. It was only when gifts crossed the line into 'help' or perceived 'charity' that the line was drawn, stubbornly and with obstinacy. “What do you think Deb would like? I’m thinking a wool sweater, fire engine red.”
Michael shook his head, “Wool, huh? That'd be appropriate, Mr. Black Sheep.”
Giving Michael a heave, Brian rolled him until he had him pressed to the plush white shag rug – the phone a memory, lost under the sofa. "I seem to remember that someone once called me his very own big bad wolf, or have you changed your mind?"
Arching up, shifting under Brian's weight – Michael breathed out, "Not a chance." He rose, catching Brian's mouth in a kiss and pressing his tongue inside to lick across Brian's teeth. Murmuring as the kiss ended, Michael said, "Such big teeth you have." At Brian's snort, he leaned his head back, baring his throat so pale against the black leather of his collar. A whisper, "Bite me." A beat, "Please."
Taking in the picture of Michael as he was, eager, asking – Brian inhaled slowly and then lowered his mouth to rest against Michael skin. He traced his lips from just below Michael's ear, then down to the bend of shoulder and neck. A lick to mark his way, and then he pressed down, teeth sliding, pulling, drawing against flesh. And he held firm, stopping as Michael bucked and moaned – but didn't let go. Held and sucked, feeling skin against his tongue as he strove to leave his mark. Bright, dark, temporary – but his. Him, writ on Michael's skin.
They'd only played at this, in this way – rarely – when the mood, or moment struck. When Michael wanted to have it, all of it – the slight claiming pain, the pleasure, being helpless, held – set and pressed on him. Knowing he'd see and feel the effects for days afterwards.
It wasn't just a hickey; it was much more than just a bruise. It was Brian; present, there, a part of him until the next time. Like now.
Brian held Michael down as he jerked, as he tried to move into Brian's bite. He was the control in this; he had to be because he knew from other times that Michael was lost in it. The act itself, the experience – it clouded his mind, yet cleared his senses until all Michael knew was the feel, and the feeling. It was up to Brian to know when was when, to find the control to stop before he broke the skin, or took him beyond the stopping point where there was no pleasure left.
Pulling back, Brian held his hand over the mark – rubbing his palm over the slick and absorbing the heat. "You'll be wearing a bit if this on the plane."
Michael blinked, his rapid breath calming as he lay wrapped in the warmth of Brian's arms – the words registering as he absorbed Brian's touch. "Definitely a wolf."
Chuckling, Brian rolled them about until he was sprawled over the rug with Michael resting against him. A satisfied sound came from him as he felt Michael moving against his thigh. "Hmm, you're hard."
"Yes." It was agreement, though plaintively given.
"It's not time yet."
"When?"
Stretching out, mouth curved in a grin, Brian answered, "When I say."
Michael groaned. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Oh, yeah." He slid his hand down Michael's back, pushing it under the sweats to smooth his palm over the curve of Michael's behind. The touch had Michael shifting again, trying to bite back a sound as Brian's fingers came to rest over the base of the small plug he'd had inside since lunch. "I've had a ball, thinking of you with this up your ass." He'd been watching Michael's face and his body react to its presence from the time he'd crowded Michael into the bathroom and slipped it into him – loving how Michael's eyes had widened when he'd been ordered not to take it out, or get off on it until Brian gave him permission. Through an afternoon of play, through the goodbyes with the girls and the phone call thereafter from Deb, Michael had been under Brian's watchful eyes, and his wandering hands – flustered and aroused.
But not allowed to do anything about it.
Rocking his fingers against it, Brian listened to Michael's curse and felt him shiver as the plug pressed just where it needed to have Michael pushing back onto it. "Brian, I... Shit, that feels good."
Taking Michael's hand, Brian pulled it between his legs so that his lover could feel how he was reacting to it as well. “Definitely.”
Michael rubbed his face against Brian's chest, smiling even as he moaned at the feel of Brian, hot and hard in his jeans. Unable to resist, he murmured, "Talk about something big and bad." His grin grew as Brian laughed. He looked up, seeing the mischievous expression in Brian's eyes. "One 'the better to pork you with' comment, and you, Mister Sir, will have hit a new all time pun low."
"Oh, I can do low." Brian pushed the plug in, just right and pressed down on it with the flat of his palm causing it to move against Michael's prostate as he grabbed onto Brian's shoulders and gasped.
"Fuck, that's...” He was going to lose it soon, without permission, if he didn't find a way to distract his tormentor. There was no get-out-of-jail-free card, even if Brian was the one to make him cross orders he'd given himself. Score one for Brian being a bastard, Michael's very own.
Stroking, rubbing at Brian's length until he could hear the hunger of Brian's next loud breath, Michael managed to pull the denim until it worked free – buttonholes loosened with age, giving as he pushed his hand in to claim the prize inside. "If I'm not allowed, what about you? I want to watch you."
A pause, Brian warring in his head as to whether he wanted to continue playing the strings of Michael's libido, or to leave off so his lover could strum him instead. A talented turn and twist from the hand holding him, working him and Brian's head rolled back. His voice thick, "Magic hands, Mikey." Another stroke, another and again until Brian's hands fell away from Michael's body as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the sensations that were racking his own.
Taking it all in, the way Brian's hips moved to the rhythm set by his hand and Brian's face – relaxed and tense all in turns as the pleasure moved through him, and Michael smiled. Happy, pleased and pleasured. It was one of his favorite times, to be able to give and have Brian's pleasure literally in his hands. There was a satisfaction here that he hadn't the words to voice, but knew and felt as an almost tangible thing.
For Brian, it was a moment made. Flesh, it was true, whole and shattered as his body burned and shot. The spill of him over Michael's hand coming in a rush that robbed his breath and left him malleable, melted and decidedly, in that moment and more and more each time, Michael's.
A half laugh, "I think my spine just spilled out of my dick." And Brian was playing pillow to a giggling sub, the two of them wrestling about until they were a tumbled, tangled pair. Giving Michael's sweats a push down to his thighs, Brian kissed him as he eased the plug free – tasting the moan as it came in answer to the feel of the toy leaving Michael's body. He rubbed his hand over the curves of Michael's ass, giving him a playful swat before pulling the sweats back in place. "Still not yet."
With a groan, Michael rolled to lie on his back besides Brian on the rug. "I could just do it myself, you know."
Brian leaned up, resting his head in his hand. "But you won't."
Michael closed his eyes, trying to relax enough to answer. "I know." He was in sub headspace, as it was called. He'd been given an ordered by his Dom, and he needed and would do his best to comply. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." But the tone didn't match the words, because he was trying not to smile and failing as Brian crawled over him and stared him in the eye. He lost all ability to maintain his pout when Brian leaned in and licked first his mouth and then the mark he'd left on Michael's skin, snorting out a low huff as Brian abruptly blew a loud raspberry just under his ear.
Jerking away from Brian’s hands, Michael sat up and leaned back against the sofa. Shaking his head, eyes wet from trying to suppress his amusement, Michael said, “That’s it; you’re nuts.” He watched as Brian knelt up to refasten his jeans, daring a fond bit of teasing. “I think King Kinney just lost the last of his street cred.”
Brian prowled in, hovering close on hands and knees as he shook his head. “I’m not on the street, Mikey. Just home, with you – not an ounce of cred needed.” A kiss to the spot he’s buzzed, and then playful words – no less true, but for his mirth – said in Michael’s ear. “Besides, I’ll always be King Kinney to you.” Pause…and then one more word, beginning with B.
Closing his eyes, Michael cupped Brian’s face – enjoying the bristle of stubble against his hands. He sighed, saying softly, “You call me baby, and I’m gone. Every time.”
“Why else do you think I say it?” When Michael opened his eyes with a glare, Brian stopped his mouth with a kiss – putting just enough into it to distract, but not taking things far enough to start all over again. Other plans, first. “Come on.” He stood and gave a hand up to Michael. Nodding towards the computer desk, Brian asked, “How far did you get last night?”
Michael gave him an incredulous look. “You mean *after* you got off the phone with Declan making plans for our flight, but *before* you started pulling my clothes off on the way to bed? Not much.” Not much being all of less than half an hour, thanks to Brian’s wandering hands and heated words.
Brian grinned. “Well, with the tickets settled and us staying at their place – all that’s left is to figure out what we want to see and do.” He pulled Michael up into the bedroom, giving him a slow push onto the bed as he lay down with him. “We could just wing it, since we’ll have Ash playing tour guide.”
Ashton, they’d found, would be the one who would have more time on his hands, as it seemed that Declan was returning home for more than just a visit. He was having a one-man private exhibition of his photography project at a friend’s art gallery. It had been planned to coincide with his and Ash’s anniversary trip back to England, the place they always returned to at the same time each year. But other than the particulars, Dec was being mum on the show itself.
Even Ash was in the dark on most of the details, not that he hadn’t been rather vocal in protesting the fact, until Declan had pulled another of his Master tricks to shush him. One flick of his wrist, a deft pull on something in his pocket and he’d extracted a long, thin strip of silk – no more than two-feet long and one-inch wide. Just the sight of it had Ash falling silent, with an ‘oh shit’ look on his face. A word from Declan, “Wrists,” and the man was on his knees bowing his head and extending his arms. And silent he’d remained as Dec wrapped the silk around his wrists twice, letting the ends hang loose without a knot to hold it together. Because it was the presence of the tie that was the only lock required, Declan’s will imposed with a softness that held Ash as firmly as cuffs could ever do.
To Brian and Michael, the Irishman had simply said with a wink, “Call it a creative form of time out.” Fondly threading his fingers through Ash's hair, he added, "He'll be silent for as long as is required, and then be rewarded. Or he'll break the rule, and he'll be held to task."
Over half an hour in, and still he'd remained silent. Focused. Michael had seen that expression on Ash's face before, the quiet intent absorption the man found in obeying. Like Declan had told Michael months before, Ashton found the ritual as rewarding as others found the end goal. Even in times when it proved inconvenient to his wheedling out the secrets of Declan's plans.
An hour gone, and Declan had pressed a kiss to his slave's forehead and rose to see Michael and Brian to the door. He'd laughed at Brian's question. "Is he going for a record?"
"Hardly. He's two hours shy." Giving Michael’s disbelieving face a pat, Declan had added, "He'll be on an accomplishment high for all of a few minutes when he's let free, then he'll be nagging for details like it never happened."
Brian’s snorted, “Perfect,” had seen them on their way.
So between then and now, not much in the way of planning had been done in regards to activities and sights to see. Not that it looked like that was going to change in the next few minutes, either.
"Bri?" Michael questioned as the other man pressed Michael's right hand flat to the mattress, over his head. He was already half pinned by Brian's body. "Wha –?"
"Shh. No questions, Michael."
The voice. Shit, no fair. A sharp breath from Michael as he watched Brian reach under the nearest pillow, and then there was a long streak of black seen out the corner of his eye, and the sensation of nylon – one end secured to an o-ring embedded in the wall behind the bed – being wrapped around his wrist. It was the same material used for women's hose, but intended for a much more overt restraining purpose.
When Brian didn't go for his other wrist – choosing instead to push Michael's t-shirt up only as far as it took to uncover his nipples – Michael touched his face. “You forgot this hand.”
Brian shook his head, "Nope, you're gonna need that one." A devilish light in his eyes, he added, "After all, you can just do it yourself, right?" He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he gave Michael's sweats a good yank over his hips until he was exposed from chest to thighs. Sweeping his tongue over Michael's nipple, Brian nipped at it until he jerked and tried to hold Brian's head closer.
When Brian drew Michael's free hand down to close around the length of his own sex, Michael bit his lip – moving into the sensation, even as he groaned in frustration. "I'm right handed." It didn't stop him unconsciously wrapping his fingers round and arching up a little, his movements intentionally limited by Brian's body.
"Call it a new perspective on things." He nipped at the taut nipple nearest him, enjoying the change in Michael's breathing as he kept trying to move more than he was being allowed. Enjoying the picture of Michael lewdly displayed, uncovered yet not altogether bare, partially bound and held down with skin flushed and eyes dark with need.
Brian played on the awkwardness of Michael's left-handed allowance as he said, "Still, be still. Just hold it; feel yourself hard and slick. Feel it, and watch me."
Smooth, warm, soft yet hard – pulsing in his hand, Michael fought to keep his eyes open, to see past the pleasure as Brian moved down his body. But then it became something he couldn't look away from as he stared and shook, Brian's tongue lapping at the head of his dick. Licking, tasting – a kiss here, suction there; and then the words – a whisper against his skin, "Milk it ’til you come."
Michael jerked again, moaning as he squeezed and let up, squeezed and let up – his right hand fighting against the nylon as he moved innately to bring it down so he could touch himself. The tension building as he was prevented from using it. Building still more as he watched Brian's warm lips grow wet and red as Michael worked himself over them, through and against the sly tongue inside.
Tight, hard, desperate and oh so needful – he was a wreck of want. A man tiptoed on the edge of over, and then with another squeeze and lick, the both together, he was gone.
Coming, and then coming to with his ears ringing from his own shout and the sound of laughter as Brian moved up to wipe his face off on Michael's rucked up tee. Michael's own rolling-laugh joining part with a mix of a groan as Brian declared it one of the best facials he'd ever had.
Fearing a new onslaught visit to pun-ville, with anti-aging and fountain of youth jokes on tap, Michael pulled Brian's head close once he'd been freed and stopped his Dom's mouth with a kiss. The taste lingering, and shared between.
- - -
The flick of numbers shining in the dark as they lay together, time passing in relative silence as Michael turned into the heat of Brian's body. He'd awaken from a dream, one not remembered but felt in his bones – the lingering ease, a comfort that told of pleasant thoughts, the kind that called for him to return to Morpheus' arms for more of the same.
"Someone's awake."
A smile against Brian's skin, and Michael nodded. "Uhmm, hmm."
Turning, Brian pulled Michael closer – his face brushing through the soft tangle of black hair as they snuggled down. Minutes passing, the pair of them almost back under – and then Michael's voice came. A murmur, really. The man only half awake, but guided still by a passing conviction that now was the moment to ask something he’d been too distracted to bring up before now. Sometimes it was easier to speak in the dark about things that held the power to bring new light.
“Hmm, ’id you mean it?”
Brian waited drowsily for more, but was left wondering. “It?”
Michael nodded, his head tucked under Brian’s chin. He didn’t clarify, just slid a warm palm down Brian’s stomach until it came to rest curled over his soft sex and pubic curls. Then a word, not a question – just a mention, exhaled on a sigh. “Bare.”
A grin, eyes closing as Brian savored the gentle rasp of Michael’s hairy chin above and the familiar touch of his hand below. There wasn’t anything leading in it, Michael’s hand reaching to feel him in the middle of the night. It was just something he’d grown to do, the ease and freedom of touching Brian a joy – soft or hard.
Breathing out slowly, on the way to drifting off again, Brian murmured, “Skin to skin, yeah.”
The words reaching him, spreading a sense of happiness through him that increased his comfort – Michael’s lips parted. The next word formed in his mind, but passing into silence as it remained unsaid as unconsciousness won the race with reason. The ‘when’ remained a thought for another day as the pair of them slept once more.
- - -
“I know I'm going to forget something." Exasperation and worry evident in his voice, Michael surveyed all the things amassed on the bed – a frown clouding his face as he ticked things off a list that existed only in his head.
Ashton stepped up into the room and with one glance at the duvet covered with hardly an inch to spare in a variety of items that had yet to be put into the suitcases open on the floor, he groaned. "It's like you're packing for a year abroad. That or you've had visions of a deserted island in your future."
One playful nudge of reprimand from Michael, and the Englishman only got worse – laughing loudly. "Oh my god, you're Gilligan." He didn't stop snickering, even under threat of a pillow whacking. Hands up as Michael came closer with one, he managed to add to the fire, "Okay, okay. Mary Ann."
Michael couldn't keep a straight-face any longer, bursting out in begrudging laughter as he dropped the pillow and joined Ashton – the both of them sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. Coughing a little, Michael shook his head. "Whatever you say, Ginger."
It only served to have Ash tittering away again, until he was laid out on his back wiping tears from his eyes. "Now there's a dame with some kinda kink in her closet."
"How did *you* start watching 'Gilligan's Island'?"
"Late night cable reruns, but it wasn't my favorite."
Michael thought for a moment, then smiled. "Ruling out sci-fi - since that's obvious and we are so not going there right now? I bet I know." He turned to look at Ashton, "I'd say, 'I Dream of Jeanie'."
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Ash groaned. "Bollocks, what gave it away?"
Voice high, and adoring – Michael mimicked, "'Yes, Master. No, Master. Whatever you say, Master.'"
Sitting up, Ashton grinned. "And here I thought it was the outfit." Adding, "Don't knock it; a short vest and harem pants can make an evening."
Michael held up a hand, "I don't even want to know."
"Prat." Giving Michael's arm a tug, Ash helped him to stand as the two of them turned back to the cluttered chaos of Brian and Michael's bed.
"Look at this in a different way. Instead of a trip to a foreign country, and an unfamiliar hotel – this is a visit with friends. So a lot of the things you have here to supplement your stay will already be available at our place. Only take things you wouldn't be able to find readily at a store, like this." Ashton picked up the zip case that had Michael's inhaler in it. "You don't use this often, right?"
"No, not as much as when I was a kid. Brian just had me refill it as a backup – the prescription's in there too." He remembered all too well what it was like for his Uncle Vic's trip to Italy with his mom. Meds had to be catalogued and scripts accounted for before they'd been able to leave the airport. Michael didn’t know if it would even be an issue for him, but he wanted to be prepared just in case.
"So this definitely goes." Ash looked around, pulling out items from the pile – making a much smaller pile of his own. "Camera, batteries – only a few, you can get more there. Passports, tickets, emergency numbers, credit cards are carry-ons anyway. Maps I can give you. Same goes for tour books and such. So toiletries – keep on the low side, because really it's much more travel friendly to go light than it is to travel weighted down." Half murmuring as he worked, it was only a few minutes before Ashton straightened up and said, "Walla. Now you have more room in your larger suitcase for shopping and souvenirs."
Michael glanced at the bed, thinking back to another trip where everything had to be done a *certain* way and put in a *certain* order, during a period which Michael had felt very tentative in David's lifestyle, out of place even at the best of times.
Then to now, it was a new world really. One that was open, comforting as well as comfortable. An adventure for him and Brian to share – together rather than apart as so often in the past.
"Someone's smiling."
Ash's teasing only made Michael's grin grow. "Someone's going to London. Tomorrow." Shaking his head, he added, "It still doesn't seem real – with it all happening so quick. Even after almost a week. Kinda feels more like the sudden rush of a two day road trip, than a two week vacation."
"Gives you less time to go about worrying over the details."
Michael sat down on the bed and flopped back with a groan/half-laugh. "Shit, please tell me I'm not starting to sound like my mother."
Throwing one of the sweaters still littering the bed over Michael's face, Ash chuckled. "Hush with you now; that's not what I meant." He sat beside Michael, weeding through the clothes strewn over the duvet as he spoke – picking and choosing whatever he thought would match the UK weather, as Michael had asked him to earlier. "Half of these still have the price tags."
Michael had the grace to look chagrined. "It's one of Brian's favorite pastimes – shopping. But I'm a creature of habit, so I end up grabbing what I'm used to wearing." He picked up a soft dove gray sweater, running his hand over the sinfully sensual cashmere. "I'm working on not saying no when he shops for me, and he's working on buying only the must-have items he can't resist."
Ashton gave the sweater a feel, saying, "And you in this would be something he definitely couldn't resist."
"This is a result of him spending yesterday shopping instead of eating lunch. The man can do a showroom run-through, walk out with half a wardrobe and still manage to hold a meeting with his assistant on his cell phone simultaneously."
Ash had to laugh. "I'm no help to you there. Both of us are true clotheshorses. It's ironic considering how much time we spend out of them."
Worrying his lip, Michael sat up. His face was thoughtful, as if he was trying to figure out how to ask something he'd been wondering about, but thought it rude territory in which to venture. "Ash? How does it work? I mean, between you – being Master/slave. Money, possessions – how do you, uhm...”
As always, an open book – Ash said, "He holds a rather radical notion that while I am willingly his slave, which means he could quite easily have everything in his name and nothing in mine – we are equal partners in everything, legally. Co-owners, joint accounts – the works."
Laughing, he added. "The practical side of fantasy. It's kind of funny – people who don't look to the full impact of what being in the scene can hold.... They'll say, 'Take me, I'm yours' – but then the actuality of being without possessions because you are yourself a possession sets in, and they go running."
Michael nodded, "Sounds like 'I am what I own,' rather than 'I am what I give.'"
"Sounds like they are trying to play the wrong games. Because that's what it is to them, a game – rather than a life."
Michael glanced at the clock; it was late afternoon – going on six almost. Time to pack and be done with it. He smiled when Ash piled a half dozen of the new sweaters and shirts in his lap, his other older clothes taking a backseat to Ashton's sense of style. Oh well, it would make Brian happy – and Michael had to admit, the rich fabrics and colors would be an improvement over much-washed cotton and the remnants of his Big-Q dress shirts that littered part of their wardrobe.
Several minutes passed as the two of them folded and arranged, Michael laughing when Ash told him that he and Declan were only taking carry-ons because, "Our closets are as overstuffed there as they are here."
The packing done, they grabbed beers from the fridge and settled on the couch. Right in time to hear about the fifth message being left by Deb – a list of things she thought Michael needed to take, not forget or needed to look for while in London. The day had been chorused by her calls, so that even the sound of her voice had Ashton grinning as Michael groaned. "She means well, Misha." The affection in his voice was evidence enough of the amusement he got in watching the ongoing "Mommy Novotny Show."
Nodding, Michael took a long swallow from his beer. He knew she did, and while at times it aggravated him – he loved her enthusiastic mothering. Especially since he'd seen the cold havoc having a mother like Brian's could bring.
Michael asked Ash, thoughtfully, "Does your family know? About Declan, or any of it?" He couldn't imagine them not knowing about their relationship, since it was over a decade and running. But as for the truth of ... Well, it was something he couldn't see sharing if he were Ash.
After all – he hadn't. It was a part of him, of him and Brian, which Michael wanted to own unto himself.
Ashton looked away, his face – his mood shifting as he stayed silent. It was an awkward pause; one that felt heavy and strong. One that had Michael on the verge of an apology, when Ash turned back and said softly, sadly, "There's the family you have, and then there's the family you create. One, no. The other, yes."
He didn't elaborate. His open book, closed.
Michael nodded, looking down at his beer and picking at the label. The silence lasting, weighted. He smiled when Ash reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, the two of them sharing a look that eased the tension of the moment as Ashton asked where "Mister Sir" was hiding.
"He's pulling a late day at work, wrapping up loose ends with Cynthia before we leave." Draining the last of his beer, Michael went to throw out the bottle. "What's Declan doing?"
Ash stood up from the couch. "Still being mysterious."
"And you haven't given into snooping?"
A laugh, dry but wise. "Not hardly. That's something that's been drilled home for a few years now. I can tease, nag a little, seduce or beg for details. But going behind his back is a decided no." Ashton walked to the kitchen island, setting down his beer. "He'll only tell me what he wants to, anyway."
Michael sat on one of the island stools. "I guess you could consider it extended foreplay."
“Apt, yeah. I’ll give you that. And the man's very good at foreplay. But never underestimate the merits of a full wham-bam, now and again."
Ash was still grinning as Michael shook his head. "You are one of a kind." After all, there weren't many people who could equate detail gathering with a sexual quickie.
"Which is a relief to Declan; if I were one of twins, he'd already be old before his time. Shagged that much closer to an early grave."
That had Michael groaning, to which Ash responded with playful ruffling of his dark hair. When his hand got batted away, Ashton sat on the stool next to Michael – his expression turning serious. "I needed to talk with you about something."
“Yeah?”
"I think Declan told you a little about his reputation within the scene. He's earned a place of respect to many who are actively involved back home. It's a sub-culture, sure, but there are standards and rules that serious players adhere to in both their private and their public lives." He looked at Michael for a moment, then continued. "Our roles are more formalized in London than they have been here. Particularly at times when we are in contact with other scene players."
"Okay, so that means?"
"It means that I wanted you to understand what's happening if you see me fall into headspace while we're out and about, or have guests at home."
"How far into it? Something tells me you don't make it a practice of falling to your knees in Trafalgar Square."
Ash snorted. "That's another story for another time. No. In public, if we come across someone who knows us that way, then I'm more likely to stand back and to Declan's left with eyes down. Silent, but attentive and aware should Declan address me."
"Silent. Does that mean you can't talk to others?"
"In a proper scene event, no one would speak to me directly anyway. Or in public either, if Declan's with me. His voice, his word is all that would matter to many."
Michael nodded, worry writ clear in his eyes. "Does that bother you? It's almost like you're invisible."
Ash shook his head, "It's the opposite, Misha. I am my Master's greatest pride in those moments, I stand as a testament to his skill, and my devotion is his reward. Others look to me, at how I behave, as evidence of our strength together."
"Do you ever have someone trying to trip you up? Make you lose your temper?"
"There's the occasional pisher, yeah. Usually someone younger, or new to the scene that doesn't know the rules, or our history together." He grinned, a wicked light in his eyes. "Given how thoroughly I'm entrenched, it can be rather a laugh to watch them trying to have a go."
"Declan must eat them alive."
"A couple almost wet their pants," Ash laughed, the memory obviously one of which he was quite fond.
Michael had had his own run-in with Declan – a small 'oh-shit' moment involving a robe he wasn't supposed to be wearing one morning at Havenshire. While it hadn’t been malicious, there had been just the edge of ... something in the man's eyes that had straightened Michael's spine and had him fully conscious of who held the power in the room. To have those eyes turned on you with dark focus, even anger – yeah, Michael could well see what Ashton was saying.
Declan Rai was a man not to be crossed, protective and possessive both.
"It's happened a time or two with Brian, too." Michael added, "The scaring them out of their wits bit." Brian wasn't a man to suffer fools for long. Unless they were clients, and even then he had a tendency to speak ahead of propriety when his patience fell short in the face of small-mindedness.
Scratching a bit at his chin, unconsciously – Michael asked, "Am I supposed to do the same thing? Head down, mouth shut...."
"No, not in general. You're our guests, and this is a vacation. I wouldn't worry about it when we're about. If we end up in a scene environment, then Brian will decide how it plays out." As Michael's dominant, it was up to Brian to set the guidelines of any scene they entered – whether that scene was in private, or amongst a crowd of fellow players.
"I just don't want to embarrass you, or Brian."
Ash stood and pulled Michael close with an arm around his shoulders and a kiss to the top of his head. "No worries, Misha. None." He leaned back and smiled, "Just relax and enjoy the ride."
- - - - - - -
"I can't. One more time down the aisle and I'll lose it!" Michael's voice was a desperate, heated burst over Brian's ear.
Brian bit the inside of his lip, fighting a grin even though he knew it would be difficult to see in the dimmed light of first class. He rolled his head to see Michael's face, the flustered arousal always a good look for him. Voice a soft growl, Brian said, “No, you won’t lose it. And yes, you will go."
A grumble, “Folks are gonna start thinking I’ve got a bladder problem.”
Not laughing at Michael's words proved impossible as Brian reached over and scrubbed his fingers through the man's dark hair, his amusement growing as Michael slapped at his hand and glared. "No one's paying attention. They're all asleep, watching TV or have their heads in a book." He pointed to the seats in front of them, where Declan was relaxed back with his eyes closed and Ash was thumbing through the latest Laurell K. Hamilton vampire hunter book.
Brian added, "Besides which, you know you'll do it."
They both did, because it was what Brian wanted.
"Any chance you'll tell me what the prize is?"
Michael's question went unanswered as Brian looked at him, eyes half-shuddered and intent. "Three down. You've got two more trips to make, Michael. I'd get a move on it."
A deep breath, and Michael unhooked his seatbelt. Standing, he did as bid – walking down the aisle and disappearing into the bathroom where he was to pursue . . . other activities.
Brian stretched out, drawing the blanket that Michael had left over his lap. Eyes closing, he ran his hand up his thigh and settled his palm over the bulge under his button fly. He didn't do anything else; he just let the warmth and weight of his hand remain hidden from view as he pictured Michael in his mind.
Michael had always been a hyped-up traveler – excited, giddy and a little anxious. Not in a frantic way, mind. More enthusiasm and happiness mixed with not a little wonder that he was actually *going* somewhere outside of the Pitts. Brian had only to think back to the last couple of road trips with Michael – Havenshire and the one before to NYC, to remember Michael's high-energy rambles and bordering on bouncy spirits.
It was a side of Michael that Brian found endearing in general, and only slightly, albeit fondly, pathetic on the off day. He'd learned early on that it could be channeled in small ways. Give Michael some distraction, and time – in this case literally, flew.
Something it seemed that David had not bothered to find out on Michael's first trip over the ocean.
A fact that Brian had found out only in passing while they were planning for their flight when Michael had mentioned that he'd been asleep for most of the two transatlantic plane rides with David. When Brian said he couldn't imagine Michael sleeping through like that, Michael had just commented that it must have been the motion pills that David had given him.
Pills, it seemed, that Michael had only been given over an hour into their flight when he hadn't been showing any signs of being sick, and that had left him groggy and slightly lethargic once they'd landed in France.
It was then that it had hit Brian with a flash of cold fury, the realization that David had drugged Michael unconscious so he wouldn't have to be disturbed at close-quarters with the youthful exuberance that was a part of Michael's better nature. A nature that David had been actively trying to ‘cultivate’ – read, steam-roll over – so that Michael would be a better man.
Brian had kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to cloud their trip with his speculations about Michael's ex.
Instead, he'd pulled Michael aside and whispered hot words in his ear. Words that formed a command, Dom to sub, that would and had managed to be what Brian had intended – a distraction. Focused, and to the point. With a reward looming that would make it all worthwhile.
All Michael had to do was follow through. Every hour that had passed so far, he'd gone into the bathroom and closed his eyes. Blindly, by touch, he'd undo his jeans and slip his hand inside. Touching, squeezing, stroking himself hard. Working his shaft, and teasing the tip until he was just a touch wet. And then he’d had to open his eyes and see himself there, dick in hand and Brian on his mind. A count to ten, and then it had been over before it was *actually* over. Then he’d had to cover his hard-on, close up his jeans and pull down his red pullover to hide the evidence of his arousal as he’d washed his hands and returned to his seat.
Each time working him tighter and tighter as the tease took hold. The frustration, too. As he was made not to come, made to bring back the evidence as he sat again next to Brian – the blanket making its way across both their laps as his lover's hand traveled, claimed and molded itself between Michael's thighs.
Holding, held – the two of them sitting with the moment shared until Michael's flesh would begin to ease from lack of anything *more* and a new hour came. The journey repeated, again and again.
When at last they'd landed, Michael wasn't all that surprised to see Ash throwing him a wink – since he'd had a front row view of Michael's trips back and forth. "Air travel can be soooo stimulating, yes?"
Michael could feel his face heating up as Brian gave his butt a pat and said, "Must be the high altitude."
Declan snorted, "To say nothing of a certain Irish-American's wilds."
Brian put his arm around Michael's shoulders, replying, "Anything I could do to help it be an up-lifting experience."
Ash laughed, "Just don't molest him while going through customs, or he and his jumper will *both* be Elmo red."
Of course with observations like that, Michael was on the road to being there already.
- - - - - - -
Part 5
- - - - - - -
“Brian.”
Brian turned from looking out the window of the car to see Michael glued to the opposite side, eyes wide and lips parted on the awed whisper of his name. Sliding over, he hugged an arm around the smaller man’s waist and said, “Yeah?”
“London.” The word wondrous, like the expression on Michael’s face.
Mouth breaking into a grin that Michael could feel against the curve of his ear, Brian answered back with a laugh, “I know.” Giving him a squeeze, he added, “You look like you just discovered Neverland.”
For a moment, Michael closed his eyes, to the view, to the world – and absorbed Brian’s touch. His presence. His smell. “Too late. That was the day I first found you.”
And then it was Brian who closed his eyes as he turned his face into Michael’s hair, his only response, “Mikey,” said soft and low for only the two of them to hear.
The blare of horns and the swift swerve of the car drew them back quick enough, as it weaved at a dizzying speed through the crowded streets of London. Their driver was trying to keep up with the hired car carrying Declan and Ash; the speed, the narrow misses with other vehicles, the maze of turns, sudden stops and fast starts had the ‘Yanks’ feeling in equal parts exhilarated and apprehensive. It was proved well enough that their driver, though seemingly mad with dreams of race car finish lines running through his head, did possess the skills needed to get them to their destination in one piece, albeit with sea legs.
By the time they stepped out of the car and onto solid ground – or sidewalk, rather – Brian and Michael were feeling like they’d been on one hell of a roller coaster ride. The rush clear on their faces as they watched Dec and Ash coming their way.
“The drivers will carry in the bags,” Declan said as Michael hefted his carryon strap further over his shoulder. A sweep of the Irishman’s hand, “Shall we?” And they were left to follow as Dec climbed the few steps leading into what looked like the lobby of an office building.
In all the hustle to get things ready, and then the trip itself, Brian and Michael hadn't asked many questions about where it was that Declan and Ash lived, other than London and Ash's mention that their home was close to "everything." So it was a surprise to find themselves entering what appeared to be an investment firm, the name "Rai Enterprises" eloquently displayed over the entrance as they stepped inside.
“What the fuck is all this, Dec?” Brian was smiling, despite the bluntness of his words.
*This* being an old-world-meets-new-design lobby, complete with intricately carved wood paneling, frosted glass doors and metal flourishes. Art deco, masculine and yet lined with feminine grace – it gave the place a feel of walking back in time, but with all the necessary accoutrements of the modern world. It succeeded in being what it was meant to be, a statement of import, power and prestige.
“This,” Declan glanced at Ash, the two of them sharing a look that spoke to shared amusement. “This is, or rather was, my family’s chief concern for going on four generations.”
Ashton snorted, “Until *Dr.* Declan Dearest decided to break from the investment mold.”
Dec shook his head, “That was hardly the only factor.” He nodded to a woman who had just exited the far elevator and was walking their way. Speaking in a lowered voice, he added for their benefit. “My father’s desire to begin a second life without his first family was reason enough.” Turning to greet the mystery lady, Declan grinned. “Gertie, you’re looking fantastic.”
Gertie, short for Gertrude, was fifty-ish with a quiet beauty, upswept red hair and vibrant green eyes. “Welcome home, Dr. Rai. Mr. Forster,” she smiled hello with a formal affection that spoke to being more acquaintance than friend.
Declan made introductions, ascertaining that his instructions had been followed. There were keycards to the front entrance ready for both Brian and Michael, so they could come and go as they desired during their stay. Indicating the elevator that was on their left, he explained that they would both be given a duel set of codes that would allow them entrance to the upper level of the building.
Turning back to Gertie, Declan got lost in what seemed like an endless list of details that needed his attention.
Brian and Michael followed Ash’s lead, and stepped into the private elevator on their left. Their curiosity was evident so Ashton told them, “The family sold the investment business a few years back. The new owners kept the name because of the weight of its reputation.”
Brian asked, “And the building?”
“It still belongs to his family; the offices are leased out. Except for….” Ash winked.
Brian shook his head, “Let us guess.”
Ash confirmed with a small smile, “The top floor. It’s ours.”
Brian glanced at Michael, seeing his surprise. "Of course it is."
Ashton added, “Only for the past six years or so. Dec’s Da, he decided to uproot himself and his after the business sold. Moved to Japan, if you can believe.” Ash chuckled, “Not that he didn’t spend most of his time there anyway; the second Mrs. Rai is from Tokyo.” He paused. “A former geisha, actually. Beautiful, graceful and almost ethereally quiet unless spoken to. Meaning, about as far away from a fiery Irish woman as he could get.”
Remembering a conversation about Eastern cultures he’d had in what seemed almost another life with Ben, Michael asked, “Being a geisha, it’s a life of service, right?”
“In a way; they’re conversationalists, artisans. They are what they are most desired to be by their patrons.” The humor in Ash’s voice was more than evident, as was the wicked shine in his eye that said he knew where Michael was headed.
So Michael added, “Like father, like son?”
Brian drew Michael back against him, a grin spreading as he said playfully to Ash, “It’s all becoming very clear.”
“Ha ha. I wouldn’t let Declan hear you say that. He and his Da were decidedly on the outs when he left Dec’s mum to sew his Asian oats. There’s nothing a man wants to hear less than to be told he resembles someone he finds a disappointment.”
Brian nodded, silently understanding. After all, it was something to which he could relate. “So there’s still bad blood there?”
“More like agreement to disagree. They co-exist when in each other’s presence, but it’s an infrequent occurrence with them living so far apart.” He smiled, “Still, he’s a man who does fill a room, and Miho – the Mrs. – is striking. A woman with a good nature, but with enough will to hold a Russian heart.”
“Sounds like you like them.”
Ashton nodded. “I do. Much.” He looked at the floor, face a bit serious again as he said, “She’s been a good influence. Calmed his rage. He and Dec’s mum, they were bold, passionate and too much alike after all. Better apart.” He turned as Michael touched his arm, a look of memory held dear in Ash’s eyes. “She’s passed, Misha. Seven years gone.”
“What was her name?”
“Aisling Adair-Rai, mother, musician, muse. A wonderful spirit, still very missed.”
Brian asked, “And the dad? What’s his name?”
The elevator dinged softly, resonating their arrival as it came to a stop. Ash answered, while entering the code to open the doors. “Lyov. Lyov Petya Rai.” He shook his head. “It never fails to amuse, really. Lyov means ‘lion’ and since we’ve left much of the original décor the same as he left it, I can truly say….” Pushing one last button, Ashton stepped back as the doors opened. “Welcome to the lion’s den.”
- - -
“I’m taking it that Lyov’s interest in all things Asian *wasn’t* a passing fancy.”
Dry though Brian's comment was, one look at the living room into which they'd stepped confirmed it as fact.
"We all have to remove our shoes now. Does that give you a clue?" Ash said, bending down to unlace his and putting them on the metal gilded shoe rack placed to the side of the entranceway.
Michael toed off his shoes, his eyes traveling the room before them. "It's amazing."
And indeed, it was. A mix of contemporary and oriental opulence, the room was a showcase of at least one man's lifetime spent traveling far and away. Large leather furniture, black with an aged quality that was more design than use. A paper screen sliding wall that divided the living and dining rooms, and across the other walls was a dragon mural – fierce, but vibrant. The room dominated by the colors red, black, cream and gold.
Antiques throughout, ornate carvings and silk-screened wall art. And showcased in glass, each on opposite sides of the room, were a samurai warrior's uniform, complete with helmet and sword, and a geisha's intricately embroidered kimono, complete with wig and obi tied at the back. Both ensembles, vintage and perfectly preserved.
Brian let loose a soft whistle, fairly impressed despite himself. "Understated, demure..."
"Are both things this room will never be." Ash grinned, as he comfortably sprawled out on the sofa closest – as at home now as he seemed to be anywhere.
Michael's wanderings ended as he came to stand in front of a large wood sculpture. Circular, and three feet high – it was a two-dimensional bonsai tree carved in high relief. Each limb, each leaf conveyed with equal detail and loving attention. Varnished black and glazed to a high shine, it was....
"Beautiful." Michael reached out, stopping just before he could touch. Hesitant, until Ash told him it was all right.
"It's meant to be felt, as much as it is to be admired."
Michael traced the design with his fingers, enjoying the smooth with the rough. After a moment, he smiled softly. "It's yours, isn't it? You made this."
Reaching into his pocket, Ash nodded as he pulled out his mobile that was vibrating in his hand. He winked before answering, "I've always had this fondness for wood."
The two other men looked at each other, cracking up just a beat later. Michael almost missed Ashton's change in demeanor as he listened to whomever was on the line, though it wasn't a second later that his friend was sitting upright and then kneeling down with his head bowed and eyes closed, a "Yes, Master" on his lips as the call ended.
A soft snort, and he was on his feet again. "Dec says to stop my heel dragging and to show you your room. Seems he thinks that someone would like to finish a little something that was started while we were all riding the friendly skies."
Brian came up behind Michael and hugged him close, his eyes shining with humor and heat. “He’s a courteous man, that Declan Rai.”
Ash nodded, “Course if you were to ask him, he’d probably come up with some theory about the lessening affects of sexually induced adrenaline on jet lag.” He said it with a straight face, but the words themselves were laced with barely held amusement. Like he was referencing a conversation he’d actually had, perhaps more than once.
Brian gave Michael a squeeze, pressing his lips to the skin of his cheek as he murmured. “Let it never be said that I’m a man who won’t do his utmost to test such a theory.” He pressed his teeth, light but firmly, to the line of Michael’s jaw as his fingers pressed against the lingering mark that was fading slowly from his lover’s skin. “Up for a little experimenting, Mikey?”
Redundant, that. But so very true.
- - -
Burgundy silk and dark mahogany. The first impression cut short by the dizzying swing that was Brian pulling Michael round to press him against the guest bedroom door. Ashton's laughter growing faint from the other side as he walked away and left them to ... other matters.
Hands grabbing, pushing, fingers led by the demand of some other part of the body. Brian jerking Michael’s pullover off and onto the floor. Michael shoving Brian’s shirt off his shoulders, buttons undone and yet still attached only by luck alone. The both of them half-mad with needing skin to make contact with skin. Working in a rush until it was done and they were against each other, a groan and a curse passing as they kissed and pressed together.
“Bed?” It was Michael who managed to form the word, the question – though how he retained the coherency to phrase it was a mystery considering his higher brain function had been lost in the rush and rise of his sex and Brian’s knowing hands.
A sharp nod, “Now, Michael,” escaping with a growl and Brian stepped back to watch his progress to the bed.
No time to see their surroundings and no inclination to look when he could feel Brian’s eyes on him, Michael climbed on top and turned with his hand out to find that Brian was already there. Already there and taking Michael’s hand in his, palming a packaged square that told of just how he wanted to end their abstinence of more than a day.
Smiling with a look shared between them that said they both knew this manner of separation was almost done, Michael put the square in his mouth and scrambled to undo his jeans. He shoved them down and off as Brian did the same after tossing a lube pack from his pocket onto the bed, and then prowled up and then over him, pushing his way between Michael’s spread thighs.
Brian angled down, pushing against Michael as he watched him arching up to increase the friction. Covering him, body pinned so that the smaller man couldn’t move, Brian took the condom packet from Michael’s mouth with his teeth just to see Michael’s eyes grow near black in response. Square back in hand, Brian traced it over the line of Michael’s jaw. “You haven’t asked, not since the airport.” His voice lowering with each word, “Don’t you want to know what you get for being so very good, Mikey?”
Michael leaned his head up, eyes locked with Brian’s as he pressed his answer to Brian’s lips. “Yes, please.” The last word was drawn out as he moved to trace the round scratch of Brian’s chin with his tongue.
Brushing the wild tangle of Michael’s bangs back from his forehead, Brian pressed his own close – brow to brow. “You’ve surrendered your will to mine, given me the power of choice for us both.” He shifted against Michael, both men releasing sounds as their hard flesh moved each along the other. “Having that, feeling it, knowing you will do as I ask – it’s such a fucking rush.”
He kissed Michael, lips hungry and hot until he pulled back with both of them breathing hard. “I want to give you a taste,” hoarse words licked across moist lips, “of what it feels like to decide. The power of one choice that means more than the moment and will last past the fire.”
Michael wrapped legs around Brian’s thighs, his hands threaded through the brown hair at the back of his lover’s neck. “Tell me.”
“Listen first, then I will.” Brian smiled at the look on Michael’s face – eager and frustrated, aroused. “I want you to hold it close, think it through. Don’t rush just because you can.” He pulled Michael’s hand down, entwining their fingers – something held between, against their palms. “You’ll know when it’s time,” a squeeze and then he’d removed his hand leaving the square in Michael’s own. “You’ll decide this, for us both.”
Decide? When to stop with, when to start without….
Without anything in the way.
“Brian.” It was a rasp really, rather than full voiced. With clarity in his eyes and a hot shiver down his spine, Michael surged up and kissed him. Kissed him with a force that left no doubt to the impact of Brian’s gift, and how it affected Michael as he clung and arched. As he squeezed with his thighs and pushed with both hands until he had Brian rolled onto his back with Michael above. “Okay, okay. I’ll…. I’m…. Fuck, Brian. I need,” he was rambling – infused with a desire so strong it burned, “I want you.”
Brian lifted his hips, pulling Michael’s ass down against him. “You gonna ride me, Mikey?”
A breath, deep and grounding, then a look at what he held clutched in his palm as Brian’s hands started to travel and map their way over his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, Michael circled down against Brian’s cock – aching to feel it. To give in and go without. But then the thought came, no. Not tired after hours on a plane, not in a rush. Not when getting off and getting through the drive for more was clouding judgment.
Choice made, final decision delayed – Michael ripped open the square with his teeth and opened his eyes to watch as he worked the condom over Brian’s length. He rose up, Brian’s hands already reaching back – slicked from the lube packet now half crushed under them. Slick and in… “Uhmm, now. Please, now.”
Brian was no better, wanting it too much to be anything other than quick. His fingers left Michael’s body not long after they’d entered, opening him just enough to ease but not enough to escape Michael’s hiss at the sudden press and burn of Brian’s first thrust. The both of them working their way together, Michael fighting his way down and Brian pushing up past the clamp and clasp of hot flesh made home.
The pressure had Brian groaning as Michael moved, rounding his hips and ass over him, surrounding him. Michael’s face was a grimace as he gasped for breath with teeth clenched, as he was buffered again and again by the bliss-spark of Brian’s cock thrusting over and against that spot that left him shaking.
“Not… fuck, not gonna last.”
A choked laugh, Brian’s response to Michael’s fractured groan. A laugh that became a curse as Michael threw back his head, hands clasped tight behind him on Brian’s raised knees. The hold for leverage as he was taken into Brian’s hand, stroked and tormented closer and closer to the end until with a shout, his balance was gone and his mind with it. Stealing through him, the pleasure rode shod over his senses as he was caught and held tight – as Brian’s body jerked, as his voice sounded hot and loud in Michael’s ear, as both of them fell to their sides on the bed, wrapped round, with hearts fit to bursting and lungs burning for air.
The two lay as on, insensate to their surrounds, aware only of each other as their strength gave way and consciousness left with it.
- - -
"Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the prettiest Master/slave of them all?"
A laugh, soft and half-full of sleep answered Brian's tease of a greeting, "Lo, the creature from the Pitts doth wake and grace us with his presence." Ash, lying full stretch over one of the sofa's in the living room with his head resting on Declan's lap, smiled before closing his eyes again and nuzzling into the brush of Dec's hand in his hair.
The pair of them were relaxed and settled on the couch with Declan reading a book with one hand while he petted Ash with the other. Both in robes, Declan's black to Ashton's dark blue, having just showered not long before.
Brian leaned against the wall near the hallway down which he'd been wandering. "This place is huge."
"Size queen." Again, it was Ash – who got a twigging of the ear from Dec for his fun.
"Don't." For all his admonishment, Declan's face was still warm with amusement. He looked at Brian, taking in the bed head hair and wrinkled travel clothes. "Your luggage is by your room door."
"Yeah, I figured that out when I almost tripped to my death, thanks." Brian scrubbed his fingers through his hair, feeling a headache coming on – which was usually his only true symptom of jet lag, though they never lasted long given his iron constitution. "What time is it?"
Declan answered, "Evening's come, just. So about seven." He put his book down. "Think you could rouse Michael to the waking world? I made reservations for 8:30."
"I think I can get him untangled from the sea of covers on our bed by then, sure. Where to?"
"One of our favorites, actually. Especially if you like Indian food."
Ash sat up, now very awake and asking with enthusiasm, "Zaika?" At Declan's nod, he was up off the couch and halfway down the hall. "Misha! Michael, up with you! We're this close to having manna of the gods!"
The sound of knocking, Ash's singsong "Wakey, wakey" and then a door was thrown open and Michael was ambushed with a shake to the shoulder as the sound of deep laughter came down the long hall from Brian and Dec.
Brian turned to Declan. "Food of the gods? This should be good."
"We'll practically have to roll him out the door after dinner." Dec laughed, his face lit with a private smile.
"What?"
Declan shook his head, still tickled. "There's a second meaning for manna, other than food." He snickered, "It can also refer to a sweet substance that comes from....” He paused, "Want to take a guess from what kind of tree?"
A beat, and then Brian practically barked out a laugh. "You're shitting me. The ash tree?" He looked back down the hall at the commotion that was Ash pushing luggage into his and Michael's room – make that suite considering the size of it – so that Michael could "get made up, and now."
Brian was the one shaking his head. "You're telling me that a sticky sweet Ash is *literally* your manna from heaven."
"And one hell of a dessert."
- - -
"I could have sworn there was only one of me in these trousers when we walked in the door, now it looks like I'm packing for two. Seams fit to rip."
At Ash's belly-full declaration, Brian almost chocked on his last taste of Michael's ice cream. Managing to swallow, he started to say something typically gay, male and snarky only to have Michael reply first.
"Biting my tongue. I am sooo biting my tongue."
Brian nudged him, "Not too hard, I have use for it later."
They all laughed as Michael stuck said tongue out at Brian, Declan joining in as he came back to the table after he'd settled the bill and gone to speak to the chef with all their compliments.
It had been a good evening. Fantastic really. Zaika was a beautiful restaurant, opened in a former bank. High ceilings, vibrant colors and rich aromas from food so perfect it was almost a crime. The staff had been welcoming, and aside from the small heart attack Michael had had when viewing the menu prices – a fact he'd kept to himself – the place had been one well worth the visit.
The dining experience alone had been one to remember. Exotic tastes, easy humor and plans for the coming days all shared between friends and lovers. Michael had been looking around, people watching, still caught up in the surreal feeling of each new minute on foreign soil. And Brian had enjoyed seeing it reflected in his lover's eyes, knowing not for the first time the pleasure of experiencing Michael's joy and delight on top of his own, making the journey all the more fresh, as well as new.
"He quickens you like no one ever has," Declan said, having leaned in to speak softly for only Brian to hear. "Am I right?"
Brian didn't turn, didn't stop looking at Michael who was engrossed in one of Ashton's many tales that had kept them entertained all evening. "Always has."
Michael heard the last, meeting Brian's gaze as he still listened to Ash.
Brian nodded, "Always will."
Declan chuckled, leaving Brian with one last thought before turning back to the conversation at hand. "He's not only your exception; he's your certainty as well." Looking at Michael, he asked, "So have you two decided what you'll be doing tomorrow?" Declan was going to be preoccupied with the set up of his show, so that left Ashton as guide for Michael and Brian's first full day in London.
"Ash suggested we take it easy the first day out, so breakfast... Where'd you say?"
"More like brunch, at Covent Garden. That way you get to browse around, do some great people watching. There are usually street performers, for a laugh. Great shops, a little bungee jumping."
"Bungee jumping?" Michael asked, because really – how do you do that in the middle of a city like London?
"It's more of a bounce-bungee set up, but it's great to watch people giving it a go while you sit at the cafe. Though if either of you are of a mind to try, I'd suggest doing it before we eat." Ash added, "As for the rest of the day, there are a few beautifully fierce lions in Trafalgar Square that I'd like to introduce to you both. The British Museum's right close by, so we could spend an afternoon looking at Egyptian mummies and gawking at nude men in marble and stone."
Brian chuckled, "Leave it to you to make something as dry as museum hopping sound pornographic."
"I like a little spice with my culture, thank you. Besides, what do you really think all that high-minded talk about the 'appreciation of the human form' was for if not to whitewash what could easily have been perceived as obscene by the viewing public? Art has always been the thinking man's pornography, to one degree or another."
Declan replied, "Brian, even you couldn't find a trek through that place boring when you'll have Ash there to tell you all the salacious background that went into a lot of the works on display. The British Museum, the Victoria & Albert Museum – doesn't matter which. He's an encyclopedia of tasty tidbits, grisly gossip and select speculation."
"Acquired through years of research, reading and not a little sweat of my brow at University, thanks very much."
Brian put up his hands in mock surrender. "I give up; the Museum it is." Even at the worst, it would be a place to go gift shop hunting for Lindz.
"He says he gives up, and me without my recorder." Ash grinned.
Declan and Michael were still smiling when a waiter came to their table with an envelope in hand, causing a stop in the conversation. "Mr. Forster?"
Ash took the black envelope, one that was made of an elegant sheen embossed stationary and closed with blood red wax. Wax that had been marked by the press of a seal, one baring the letter "D" in elegant old world script. Once the waiter had departed, Ash brushed his fingers over the wax and looked at Declan. "Master?"
"You may open it, now. I won't make you wait."
Ashton nodded, looking for all the world as if he were a kid on Christmas morning – but also as if he were a bit anxious of the contents. He looked at Brian, then Michael. "Should I explain, sir?"
"I will." Declan traced his fingers along Ash's jaw, unmindful and unconcerned if his actions drew any odd or reproachful looks, then moved them round to sooth at the back of his lover's neck. "You have something to be doing, Darkling."
He didn't turn his eyes from Ash as he explained to their friends, "The missive is a formal bequest, from Master to slave. He's either being told something that will change the status quo, or he's being given an answer to a formal request." He paused, "A master's word is law, which is why it's presented in writing. My hand to his."
Michael watched as Ash brought the envelope up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the red wax. The Englishman looked at Declan, and said thank you before he slipped his finger under the flap and eased the seal apart. Another kiss, to the crisp white card that shone within and then he pulled it free.
Neither Brian nor Michael could see the words of the message; that remained private from Declan to Ash. But they did pay witness to the shine that met Ashton's eyes, the rose of his skin and the happiness of his expression. Like a harp that had been strummed with a well-practiced hand, Ash's whole presence seemed to sing without any sound. And with the song, came emotion rich and true.
A breath, a space in time that passed as Ashton seemed to read and then reread his Master's message; then he was reaching for Declan's hand, pulling it close and bending to press a kiss against Declan’s palm – his eyes closing as he tried and failed to fight back tears.
A proud smile from Declan, and then a kiss atop Ashton's head were followed by, "Gentlemen, I believe your plans for Thursday have now become sacrosanct."
And with that, both Brian and Michael were left to wonder at the mystery as their evening out came to a close. The details left for a later time….
- - -
"How's your head?"
Michael jumped a bit, surprised as he pulled the towel from off his hair to see that he'd practically walked right into Brian. Brian looked so good, standing there by the bed in nothing but a white terry robe – one that matched Michael's, both gifts from Declan and Ash that they'd found in their bathroom after dinner.
"The headache's gone; shower did the trick."
Brian didn’t reply back, he just sat on the bed and pulled Michael close. Hands slipping under the folds of the robe to rest on the smooth skin of Michael’s hips, his thumbs tracing the line of pelvic bones as his gaze roamed up to meet Michael’s own.
Michael murmured, “Your hands are still warm.”
“So’s the rest of me, come lie down.”
His robe pushed to the floor, Michael climbed onto the bed. Brian threw his own to the floor and then rolled to lie beside him, the pair falling easily into one of their usual sleeping positions – Michael on his side with Brian at his back, legs intertwined. A pull to settle the covers, and Brian relaxed, the brush of Michael’s dark damp hair against his nose. "Think you'll sleep through?"
Michael yawned before he could answer, and then managed, "Seems so." He closed his eyes, saying softly, "Best do, with all that walking we'll do tomorrow."
Brian snorted, "You in those sneaks so old they're practically antiques, and me in walking boots. Quite the pair."
"Hmm, you bought 'em for me." One of those rare times years back when Brian had pulled Michael into a store during a shared lunch hour, and made him leave with a box under each arm. One with burgundy suede sneakers, and the other with one of the most expensive pair of dress work shoes that Michael had owned to date. Little good Michael had thought it would do him, working at the Big Q.
"We could look while we're here, get to tease Ash about English craftsmanship of footware."
Michael smiled, "He'll just call you a Yank and change the subject."
"His insults are part of the fun."
Quiet came, the two of them easing into Morpheus' arms for several minutes when the silence was broken. “What time should we be up?” Michael mused quietly, his words already a little subdued by the coming of sleep. “Didn’t see a clock.”
Brian nodded, “No alarms on vacation, it’s a rule.” He squeezed Michael a bit, shifting about as he closed his eyes. A smile touching his lips as he heard Michael’s murmured okay.
“Uhmm, ’es sir.”
Sleep claimed all the rest.
- - -
"Okay, spill." Brian leaned back in his café chair, elbow up on the back of it as he relaxed after their late “full English” breakfast – including beans, tomatoes, eggs, toast and sausages. “We’ve sufficiently clogged our arteries, and while you’ve been an exuberant host, you’re a black belt dodger when it comes to secrets.”
Ash chuckled. “Black belt dodger, that’s good. I’ll have to remember it.”
Brian bowed his head, "Thank you." Then added, "You're still avoiding."
"Absorbing, more like. I never thought Declan was going to agree, he'd taken so long to decide. Almost a year."
Ash's words pulled Michael's attention away from watching the folks surrounding the bungee bounce contraption on the other side of the open courtyard outside the cafe from where they sat. He'd been staring at it, smiling as he'd watched others dare the adventure – though considering how full his stomach was, Michael was more than happy just to play spectator. "You’d better talk, or Brian'll start threatening us with things like his own version of strip truth or dare and we'll all get carted off for public indecency." He laughed as the tail end of one of Brian's remaining sausages got tossed in his lap.
"Hole in one." Brian grinned devilishly. His laugh joined in with the others as Michael mumbled something about him being an expert at that.
Ash couldn't resist, "Willy-waving is a bit frowned upon in Covent Garden – more's the pity. Which means strip anything is out, so it's an answer you shall have." He smiled, sprawling comfortably in his chair with his arms wrapped lightly around his waist. It wasn't too cold of a day for October in London, especially for anyone used to living in Pittsburgh, PA. And for once the sun was shining down, alleviating enough of the air's cool bite for them to be comfortable wearing just sweaters and jeans. Besides which, they'd been warned by Ashton that the museums tended to be on the warm side – so better to avoid shedding coats later.
Ash looked at Brian, “Don’t laugh.” At Brian’s raised brow, the Englishman continued. “I’m a bit of a numerology nutter. It’s a hobby, just.” When it was obvious that Brian was about to say something sarcastic, Ash spoke to Michael. “Eleven years, this anniversary. And eleven has always brought me luck. In life, business, art.” He smiled, “Everyone makes such a fuss on anniversaries ending in zed or five. Like they’re the only crossroads that deserve to be celebrated.” A wry laugh, “Not that we didn’t have a ten year do, brilliant and all. But this anniversary, it’s significant to me, and to Declan, *because* it is number eleven.”
Michael asked, “Why eleven?”
“It’s considered a Master number.” That earned him a snort from Brian, though he managed to hold his tongue as Ash told them the rest. “Ten is perfection. Eleven exceeds that. Holds to represent the artistic, the intuitive. To me, it’s the standing of one and one, side by side – always bonded.”
“Never to part.” Michael smiled, his face full of understanding.
Ashton nodded, looking down at his wrists as he brought them together – both arms parallel in semblance of the number of which they spoke. “It means steadfast, forever.”
Brian surprisingly didn’t banter back with a sarcastic response. Instead, he drank the last sip of his juice after tipping the glass minutely in Ashton’s direction. “And the note from Declan? How’s that play into the year?”
Lowering his hands back to the table, Ash leaned in to be heard over the sudden rush of a brood of kids running back to their parents from the bungee bouncer. “He’s given me permission to give him a gift.” Pause. “Or both of us, rather.”
“Do you always have to ask before giving a gift?” It seemed rather a lot of effort to Michael. Especially if what Ash had said was true, that Declan considered them equals despite their arrangement.
“No, Misha.” Ash laughed, “It’s the nature of the gift that necessitated my having to ask permission first.” He gave Michael’s hand a quick squeeze, and Brian a wink. “My body doesn’t belong to me anymore. So anything done to it, especially if it’s permanent, is Declan’s domain.”
A pause as their waiter came to leave their bill, and then Brian deduced, “You’re getting inked again.”
Ash nodded, “Exactly.”
Michael traced one of the letters on his friend’s wrist, fascinated as always by the meaning behind Ash’s marks. The faith, trust and fearlessness they represented. “Where, what of?”
“I’m not telling, yet.” Ash stood, placing a few pounds down to pay for brunch – waving away Brian’s look. “Not a word, you.” Turning back to the other subject, “I’d like you to come with, see it done. It would mean a lot to share it with you both. To have your support.”
“What about Declan?” Michael asked.
“I’m having it done on Thursday, and he won’t be seeing it – or me, until Friday night. He wants to keep the secrecy going until the big reveal.”
Brian stood, putting on his sunglasses as Michael came to his side. “It’s a date, then.”
Ashton grinned, “Speaking of which. I see several very large lions in our futures, boys. Follow me.”
- - - - - - -
Part 6
- - - - - - -
There are no singular direct routes from one destination to another when it comes to London. It was a lesson quickly learned by new venturers, even under the guidance of a member of the regular cast, born and bred.
So it was that the three of them ended up meandering at a stroll through the streets leading off from Covent Garden, stopping to enjoy the antics and enthusiasm of the street performers practicing their trades. If it wasn't silver painted men with black tiger stripes, it was any number of magicians or musicians or both.
And when it wasn’t that, it was Brian wandering towards the shop window displays to look, admire and sometimes scoff at the items he saw. Men’s clothes, shoes, leather goods, it didn’t matter. If something caught his eye, there he was until Michael managed to pull him away with a promise of later. Shopping was for later.
Michael and Brian were too focused on Ash’s continuing tale of the last time he’d been through the square to notice that they were holding hands as they walked, the pair of them at ease and enjoying the day. “I tell you, there were hundreds of them. Hare Krishna devotees everywhere! All decked out in yellows and golds. It was some sort of festival last June when we flew in for the week. Mind you, it wasn’t but a few days later and the entire square was filled again – only this time every available space was jammed in with wrecked cars and the like. Massive monuments of twisted metal, some sort of public safety display. I tell you, if you want to see London at its most diverse, then this is one of *the* places to come.”
And then there it was laid out before them, the open square named for the battle of Trafalgar – a commemoration of Admiral Lord Nelson’s bravery until death at his last siege against Napoleon’s forces.
The square was filled with large fountains, the sound of running water, traffic, the flapping of pigeon wings, and people – crowds of people taking pictures, meeting friends, having a packed lunch, sightseeing, enjoying the day. And of course, the first thing out of Brian’s mouth? A-not-so subtle comment about how phallic the tribute to Nelson was, rising above it all. Column tall, soaring large overhead with the statue of the man himself perched high on top. And at its base, guarding with menace and dark majesty – the four famous bronze lions of which Ashton was so fond.
Answering back, Ash gave Brian a look. “Says a man who comes from a country that honors its first president with something as phallic and tall was the Washington Monument?”
Michael was smiling; energized with the excitement of being in the moment, in a place he’d only seen photos of or on film, looking left and right, all around, enjoying the atmosphere and the vibe of their surroundings. He held out his camera to Ashton, laughing. “Hush you two, or you’ll both be talking about dicks all day.” He grabbed Brian’s hand again, and pulled playfully. “It’s picture time.”
Having already been the victim, uhmm hmm, target of more than a few flashes that day, Brian begrudgingly growled, “Again? Fuck me.” Only to lose his fake bemoaning put-on of a frown, when Michael abruptly turned and planted a kiss on his lips, and pressed a hand down to squeeze just so at Brian’s groin, the touch gone again so fast others easily missed it.
“Not now, but later – it's a promise.”
And then Michael was off at a fast pace, Brian following after the sexual animal he’d helped to cultivate with an amused Ashton at his side.
By the time they’d ventured past all the fountains and managed to squeeze through the crowds to reach the lions, they’d already used a goodly amount of the memory card in the digital camera. Each man took turns at playing photographer, so they’d all manage to have a few with the others in them. Poses were usually silly or a lark as they amused themselves with ribbing and teasing each other. The pigeons making good their escape as Brian waved his arms and grinned as Michael gave him a shove, Ash shooting the scene as they gave chase past a travel group of Japanese tourists – Michael coming in the winner despite Brian’s long-legged advantage when he dove through a narrow gap to make it to the lions first.
Brian grabbed him, giving him a boost up onto the pedestal before climbing up himself. The two of them in luck as their lion became passenger free, which was a rarity given the popularity of their current position. So up they went, Michael astride up front with Brian at his back. Ash called out for them to look his way, the camera already at work as he took their picture again. And then again as Brian began to tickle Michael until he squirmed and laughed. And one more still as Michael twisted around and did what had fast become a habit, stopping Brian’s devilry by adding in some fire of his own – the pair of them kissing, wind in their hair as Brian pressed Michael to the lion’s back. The shared moment seemed to last forever until Ashton’s catcall whistle returned them to their surroundings.
“That’ll be one for the photo album.” Ash teased as they dropped back down beside him. “What we almost got arrested for while on our first day out in London.”
Brian leaned in, whispering something in Michael’s ear to which he nodded. “Okay.” Looking around, Michael spied a couple of women taking pictures of each other nearby. He smiled, walking over and offering to trade taking a group shot – one of them with their camera, and vice versa. A quick snap of them with their 35mm, and he passed them the camera Ash had been holding. Both he and Brian pulled the Englishman between them, waiting for the lady taking the photo to frame the shot so the lion was in it too – and then on the count of three, the both of them turned and planted wet raspberry kisses to Ashton’s cheeks as he began laughing. “Sneaks!”
A thank you to the women, and they were off for the next part of their afternoon, Ash having convinced Brian that since they were already there, “Why not take a turn in the National Gallery before heading off to the Brit Mu?” He continued to sell the idea, “Tell you what. I’ll trade you one National Gallery, for one Tate Modern.” He was playing dirty pool, because the Tate Modern was the one museum in the city that he knew in advance that Brian wanted to see. “Besides, you’ll love the impressionist wing – and there’s the Van Gogh, and the gift shop. And….”
“I’ll go, I’ll go. Shit, are you sure that I’m the only one in advertising?”
Ignoring Brian, Ash said, “And Michael, I'd love to show you the Rembrandt cartoon!”
“Cartoon?” Michael shook his head, “Something tells me you don’t mean as in animation.”
“Nope, it’s basically a sketch done in charcoal, a practice piece for the artist that’s done before he transposes it to canvas as a guide for the painting. The one they have here is of the Madonna and Child. They’ve got it housed in a darkened alcove so that the lights won’t harm it. But of course that closed-in, low-lit atmosphere only adds to the intimacy and beauty of the piece.”
Michael smiled, “Sold.”
The National Gallery it was.
- - -
The three of them managed to clutter their way into the elevator of the Rai building a few hours later, such space as there was with three men and the multitude of gift bags they had rustling in their hands. True to Declan's promise, Ashton had proved one hell of a tour guide when it came to museums. He'd engaged them so much, they'd discovered with surprise that most of the afternoon had dwindled and there wasn't time enough to fully appreciate the "Brit Mu," as Ashton called it. So that was left for another day.
Even Brian had passed the day fully engaged in their surroundings. Ever the ad man, he'd surprised Michael with his interest in how the works could be adapted to use in modern campaigns. It was just the way he worked, picturing the ads into existence. Often the image came to him before the slogan.
They'd all enjoyed the gift store. Obviously. Michael had gotten a few new pins to add to his Mom's rainbow vest, because if it wasn't a rude saying, naked men would serve her bawdy sense of humor. Even if they were from classical art. Plus he’d found a thousand piece puzzle of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” which would play to two of Debbie’s favorite pastimes – putting puzzles together and collecting all things sunflower. There was a time when Michael was a teen when she'd covered every available bit of counter space in the kitchen with sunflower cooking accessories, a collection she still had up in the attic – one among a hundred, no doubt. And last, thanks to a suggestion from Brian, Michael had gotten his mom a small print of the cartoon they’d been introduced to by Ashton.
He’d bought himself one, too, for its beauty, and for the memory of their afternoon.
For the girls, Brian had chosen one item each. He’d picked a small sculpture designed after one of Degas' “Petite Danseuse” for Lindsay. For Mel, he’d stuck to something practical, a silk scarf of Monet's “The Water-Lily Pond” that she could wear with one of her lawyer lady suits. "I'll just let her think that one was your idea," he told Michael. It was typical of Melanie to believe good gestures from Brian where usually the result of him being poked and prodded by Michael – and not in that fun, life affirming sort of way. Though she had less and less to say to the negative the longer he and Michael remained together. It was one of the perks of their changed relationship – proving the naysayers wrong.
Michael got a table book of the National Gallery's collection for the Temmet's new home – the fixer-upper that Emmett had so quickly fallen in love with, and Ted had agreed to buy around four months back. Michael thought the book would appeal to the pair's old world homey interior design, the look of which Emmett had thrown all his talents into completing while Ted was busy overhauling his internet business. There had been a near miss with one of his employees carrying a fake ID, and ever since Ted had let him go, the former accountant had been determined. It was background checks for all, no matter what the man’s dick size.
And for Uncle Vic, they’d gotten a book on Renaissance master painters. Michael thought it would be a good companion to the books Vic had brought home from his trip to Italy with Deb, just a few short years ago. That Vic was still alive and fighting the good fight would make it all the sweeter to revisit the memories with a glad heart.
They all came spilling forth into the living room, shoes kicked off good and proper, only to have Ashton come to an abrupt halt. He literally *stilled* – head straight but eyes down, and hands clasped at his back. He was looking at a pair of red leather spike heeled boots placed on the rack just inside their home.
“Ash?” Michael looked around to see what might be wrong, but then he noticed that they were not alone.
Coming their way, Declan had a woman at his side. Dark, shining long black hair to her waist, she was tall and strong, carrying about her an air of quiet determination that was evident in her at a glance. Her eyes were a unique amber brown, and Michael had the strange impulse to look away when they passed over him – or down, rather – as if it were her due.
"Oh... ” Michael breathed out the sound, barely above a whisper. She was a Dominant. She must be for Ash to have reacted by going from gregarious charm to respecting silence with the rapidity of a flipped switch. He looked to Brian and saw that his lover seemed to share his insight as he placed his free hand on the back of Michael's neck. The gesture was small, but telling as the woman's perusal moved from Michael to Brian followed with a smile.
"Striking, Declan. But then you always have such good taste in friends." Her words near enough to a vocal wink to have Dec shaking his head with a grin.
"Deborah, be nice." A fond admonishment, but one that still carried weight. Declan came to Ash, who stayed in sub formation as he was kissed softly on the forehead in greeting. "At ease, darkling." The last was a murmur, but it caused Ash to smile.
Relaxed, he lifted his eyes. "Yes, Master."
"Greet our guest, Ash."
A half bow, and he said, "Domme James, it is good to see you again."
The woman, Deborah, laughed. "Declan, you have him so polite these days. The old guard will appreciate it. Well, those you’ve allowed to join us at week’s end."
"Some of them will be forever set in their ways. Polite, yes. Groveling to other dominants on hands and knees, never. They know my mind on this. My slave is mine, and does not show subservience to anyone but me." It sounded like an old argument, though Declan's words were amicable enough. Something it seemed he’d had to deal in the past with others not present.
"Nor should he," she agreed and then turned, a woman who knew how to divert the flow of the conversation when needed. "Come, introduce me to these two."
"Madam Deborah James, this is Brian Kinney and his Michael Novotny. They're colonials." The last was said with a chuckle, and a wicked smile.
Brian's, "Good to meet you," was layered with Michael's, "Ma'am."
Deborah nodded, "Charmed." Then she turned to Declan, "Friday, yes?" When he agreed, she said, "Must be off. Enjoy your new prized possessions, dear." A quick goodbye to the others, and she was gone with the closing of the elevator doors.
“She leaves an impression.” Brian remarked, rubbing his side when Michael gave him a nudge. “What?”
Declan agreed, “She always has.” He came to Ash, rubbing his hand over the man’s chest – just a soft glide from left to right. A gesture he did upon occasion, either to comfort or tease. Or in this case, assure. “She’s a good friend to have.”
Brian decided to ask, “So what’s the issue with the old guard? Something we need to know?”
“Not an issue, so much as differences in opinion. The old argument of whether there is only one path to the same destination, or many roads to follow.” Declan took Ash’s hand. “Nothing to worry about. There won’t be any narrow-mindedness allowed; it’s our big day, our way.” A brush of his lips to Ash’s and then he pulled back. “Tea in an hour, then afterwards….” He looked to Brian, “I thought we’d give that club I mentioned a try. The night seems right for Jazz.”
“Are we in for dinner? Or….”
Declan nodded, “I’ve called for delivery. Why don’t you give these two a bit of a tour of your studio? You promised Michael you’d show him your creations, remember.”
“Yes, Master.” Ash agreed, but then asked curiously, “New prized possession?”
“Not a word, that’s for Friday. Now off with you. I’ve calls to make.”
A long, loud exasperated sigh his only vocal protest, Ash did as bid walking down the hall with two amused yanks hard on his heels.
- - -
"I dare you. I do. You can NOT say it without the screw up," Ash declared. "Ten times, fast as you can and no stopping."
Michael took a deep breath, and shot Brian a look when he started to snicker. "You're no help."
Ash nodded, "Exactly. Brian, be supportive." He paused. "Even when you know he's gonna fail."
"Hey!"
"Mikey, just get it over with or this one'll never let us go eat."
"Okay, okay." 1... 2... 3… "When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whiddled all the while. When I was a wh... little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a whiddle woy I littled all the lile. Damn it!"
Both Ashton and Brian lost it at the same time, the pair of them cracking up as Michael first glared then joined in. "You are evil."
"Oy, that is my back story you’re slagging off there. But then it’s true. Haven't found a soul who can do it without slipping up." Ash shared, "Not even Declan."
"I'm just surprised you haven't had one of these sticks chucked at your head." Brian said, looking at the box beside one of Ashton's workbenches. It contained several sizes and varieties of wood from which Ash choose to create the miniatures that lined a number of shelves throughout the apartment. Small animals, birds, fantasy creatures and caricatures of people he knew. They were everywhere, ranging from the lifelike to the surreal – each a gift for him to keep. Something he'd been doing since he stole his first pocketknife when he was just ten years old.
No matter what other media he delved into and no matter how large or complex his designs, these were the flights of his fancy that belonged to him, none of which were for sale to any patron. They were something of his talent that was his and his alone.
Or rather, that's how they had started. He'd explained that becoming Declan's had meant that all his possessions were no longer his, but the man who held him and loved him enough to see what these creatures meant, and the history of his life they represented, had given them back on the same day he'd accepted Ashton as his own.
Declan had seen the value in having Ash retain the parts of himself that made him most whole. And in turn, they were made dearer as a gift of Declan's continuing trust and faith in him.
"Ever thought of doing a chess set? These fellas look about the right size." Brian asked, looking at the variety of Ash's choices.
"I did think to make a scene chess set, once. It's on my ever expanding to do list."
Michael had crossed over to the display that filled one section of the far wall. Masks, or rather facial studies in mask form – all of Declan in various mediums. Some in wood, some in fired clay, some in marble, each capturing a different quality of his features and facial expressions – from set determination and demand, to impish laughter, to quiet calm. It was the man in many moods, each one as engaging as the man they represented.
"They're amazing, Ash. They look just like him."
"Always so sweet, Misha. Thank you." Ashton weaved his way through the few cloth-covered pieces he was still leisurely working on when in the city, his larger marble sculptures taking up a good amount of floor space. Blocks so heavy they'd had to be brought up in the reinforced service lift located at the back of the building. Referring to the masks, he said, "They're so fragile that I had them mounted so they wouldn't fall to the floor or get jostled." He stopped at a black cabinet nearby, undoing the latch and opening it so that they could see inside. There was another piece set against black velvet, Declan's face shining with a look of pure affection. Shining too because the mask was covered in gold leaf. "Me at my most decadent, he says."
"You do have a flare for the dramatic," Brian patted him on the back. "And the talent to back it up."
A smile and Ash turned to close the cabinet. "While I have you both here, there's something I wanted to show you." They walked over to another worktable where he removed the drape. "These are the models for some of my other projects. Usually the patron is only interested in the finished work, so I get to keep these myself."
He sat on a bench and pulled a few of the clay figures over for them to see. "Some sculptors can see the work emerging as they go, but I've always needed something to build on, especially when I'm using marble. There's too much of a possibility that you could ruin it if you miscalculate along the way. So I start with these."
A dozen figure studies of the male form in various poses, from classical to modern styles, from clothed to nudes. Most clearly designed for scene players judging from the poses they were in. Michael smiled when he saw the model for the slave statue he'd first seen back in Pittsburgh, the memory of its effect on him a cherished one now that he better understood his own nature.
"They're not rough like I'd thought they'd be. It's like you've put in as much attention to detail on these as you did with the finished ones."
"I never can let a thing rest, especially not mostly done. So I usually start the commissioned piece only after these are complete." Turning to Michael, "I wanted to give you an idea of how the statue I'm doing based on Brian's pictures will begin. Once it's done, the clay model will be yours."
A pause, and then Michael began smiling and laughing at the same time. At the other two men's questioning looks, he shook his head. "Sorry, that's really fantastic. Thank you. I just couldn't help but think how satisfying it'll be not being the only one with his ass on display in our home."
"Not to mention his bit and danglies." Ash joined in, leaving Brian standing there rolling his eyes as he lost the inner-struggle to retain his own mirth.
"Go on, yuck it up. Me and my statue-ass will be chowing down with Dec should you manage to follow."
Ashton called after him, "I saw that smile, Brian Kinney. Just so you know I know."
And smile he did as he walked from the room, the sound of two laughing fools at his back.
- - -
"We're never gonna get all this stuff in our luggage." Michael shook his head, slumping over the table as he rested his feet for the first time in hours. Thank god for food courts, not matter on what side of the pond you found yourself.
"We'll get more."
"Stuff?"
"Luggage." Brian said with a straight face. "Practical solution."
Michael wryly replied, "Brian Kinney did *not* just use the word practical."
"Only under dire circumstances, Mikey." Brian looked down at the dozen or so bags surrounding their legs half under the table. "Come the end of next week, this will qualify."
They’d spent a busy morning making a run to the Tate Modern to pay Brian back for their National Gallery time the day before, though Michael had been rather surprised at how much he'd enjoyed the works there himself. A good deal of it had been like a field trip through the land of the bizarre and the bemusing. How some of it could be called art, he didn’t know.
Not that Michael thought he had any grounds upon which to judge.
It was that reaction that had amused Ashton to no end, mostly because there were times when even he had to agree. He’d reasoned that when a person had to spend more time on the explanation of why a work could classify as art than it took to create the piece in the first place – well, that told a story in and of itself.
Brian's taste for the modern and/or odd satisfied, they'd split up for awhile. Ashton left to make a previous appointment, as Brian and Michael grabbed a taxi to Harrods.
Course at this speed, they'd have to hire a freight truck back to Chez Rai.
Not that stopping to shop had deterred Michael from playing tourist when it came to taking a trip or two, or three on the Egyptian escalators. Brian's, "I'll just sit over here holding your purse, dear," had gotten him a shove. But for his good humor, Michael had held his tongue to most, if not all, of Brian's purchases, even though the number of clothes, shoes, gifts and the like was starting to boggle his mind.
It had not distracted him on one point, though. Michael had been adamant that they were going to stop and buy Gus a true Harrods teddy bear. Plush, soft brown with a green sweater embroidered with the store's name in gold thread. It was almost as big as the boy. Michael planned on getting it a companion, too. A Beefeater bear from the Tower of London gift shop. He'd seen them online, and wanted one for his store as well.
"Rage calling Zephyr. Come in, Zephyr." Brian gave Michael a nudge. "Earth to you."
"Cut it out." Michael grinned. "I'm people watching and experiencing price tag shock. I may never recover."
"Tourist," Brian teased.
"Tragic, but true." He added, "Says the man who threw out my dollars to pounds cheat sheet because 'the bank will handle it for us.' As if that was my point for using it in the first place."
"I know your point, and it's not something I want to have spoiling our fun while we're here."
"Litterer."
"You are so...."
"Pathetic." Michael laughed. "I know. I love you, too."
Brian nodded, knowingly and with a smile. "It's a fact." He leaned over, as if to kiss Michael but drew away to add, "Me, too." Then he held still as the words called Michael to him, closing the distance.
- - -
It was a non-descript brownstone storefront in one of the up-scale districts of London, no window displays. No windows. Just a blue door with "Bankston's Custom Leather Goods" displayed in elegant letters on a placard embedded on the wall to the right, with "By Appointment Only" in smaller script below.
"Evan. It's Declan; we're here." After releasing the intercom button, the Englishman looked at his watch. "And on time, it's a miracle." The last was said at a contrite looking Ashton, who was standing back with Brian and Michael as they waited for the purveyor of the shop to open the door.
"Sorry, Master. Lost track of time."
"Lost track of the message, more like." Tone firm, Declan turned back as an austere sounding male voice came over the speaker.
"Welcome, Dr. Rai – please do come in."
"Said the spider to the fly," Brian whispered in Michael's ear, intrigued by all the mystery, or rather exclusivity of their current appointment. It had an ominous quality to it that he couldn't help but tease Michael about.
Michael stepped a bit closer as the door opened, a tall man, very slim and very finely dressed, greeted Declan with quick half bow.
"Dr. Rai, it's been some time." A voice that was prim, but solicitous and smooth. His manner and style speaking to a time decades past, though he couldn’t have been past forty at a look, the man stood back as Declan crossed inside.
"Evan, you know Declan will do for me." It sounded like an oft-repeated phrase, but with little expectation that the other man would cross the line into familiarity. "You're looking well."
“Sir, thank you. Your visit is an honor as always.”
Declan smiled, nodding towards the others. “Ashton you no doubt remember. And these are our friends, Brian and Michael. I trust you to treat them well.”
“Of course, sir.” He turned, welcoming them all into his workshop. “Gentlemen, if you please.” Evan indicated the high back settee, as Dec and Ash sat together. Turning to Brian, he asked, “How may I be of assistance, sir?”
Brian looked at Michael, who was curious, and Declan, who was amused but assuring in his ease. Then at Ash, who seemed pleased, even eager, to witness Brian’s coming gift for Michael and for himself. “Declan told me you have a certain skill, for select clients. And I have this idea. I’d like you to see it done.”
Another half bow, “With pleasure, sir. Shall we begin?”
A wicked break of lips parting on a devilish smile, and Brian nodded – eyes locked on Michael, hungry and hot. “Let’s….”
- - -
“Michael, do it.”
And he had. He’d done as told, taking off his shoes, socks, shirt and still more, coming in the end to stand almost bare in front of a stranger – a bit worried and unsure, but still trusting Brian. He did as directed, standing on a raised platform in a room banked with mirrors as the other walked around and around again, the circling as disconcerting as standing in nothing but his under shorts while he was assessed.
Assessed and sized, that is. Told to move this way, then that. Arms up, arms down, forward then back. Measured again and again as Evan ran his tape from point to point, the man stopping only to write down each figure until he’d mapped Michael from neck to ankle, never uttering a word as to why, or what for.
The what for having been discussed without Michael in a side conversation with Brian and Evan across the room as Dec remained silent with Ashton sliding from his seat to rest at his Master’s feet, avidly watching with a knowing soft smile.
When Evan left them for a moment, Michael quirked an eyebrow at Ashton. “What do you know?”
Declan gave Ash’s hair a quick tug, “Hush.”
A wink at Michael, and Ash answered, “Yes, Master.”
Brian tisked at him, “Not a word, you. I get to tell him.” Stepping up, he came in close, arm circling Michael’s waist until they were touching face to face. “There’s no secret, just a surprise.” His voice low, then getting lower still as he slipped his hands down Michael’s arms to his wrists, pushing them back behind him until Brian held them locked – held Michael locked. “I know how much you like this, unable to move unless I say. Knowing I have the say because you gave me the permission to take away your doubt. To give you, and me, another taste of just how good this can feel.” He leaned in, lips brushing Michael’s ear. “I’m giving us a new toy, or two. Thanks to Declan’s friend.”
“Well, acquaintance more like. Scene players doing favors for other scene players.” Declan shrugged. “Besides, he’s excellent at his work. As I’m sure both Michael and this one will find out.” Another tug at Ash’s hair.
“Me?” Ash asked, smiling. “When?”
“Friday for you.”
“And soon for you.” Brian murmured, as Michael moved forward against him – the smaller man gasping as Brian tightened his grip on Michael’s wrists.
“Mr. Kinney, if you will.” Evan was back, indicating that with Brian’s permission he would begin the fitting.
Michael blinked, trying to think past the warm haze that Brian had induced. He looked to the side. “It looks like a black leather funnel.” A flat black leather funnel, too. With strings. “What is…?”
“Michael.” Uh oh, Dom voice. “Be still, be patient.”
A nod, and Michael agreed, “Yes, sir.” It came out sounding more like he’d try, rather than firm belief that he’d succeed.
Brian smiled, shook his head and then let go. Walking around behind Michael, he told Evan, “Show me.”
And show indeed the man did. Almost half an hour of adjustments noted, alterations to length, material and design, as they worked together to find the perfect fit. One that would restrain, but not endanger. One that locked, make that laced, Michael into his role without even a word needed to set him in his submissive mindset. Until he stood tall, eyes closed so he could focus on his body and the effects of the restraints clasped firm along his arms from an inch above his wrist cuffs, over his elbows and up to mid-biceps.
Michael started a bit as he was shifted, the feel of leather being criss-crossed over his chest and then fastened back, buckled to the long straps that held his arms. “Easy,” a murmur from Brian that sounded both amused and warmly distracted, as if he were reacting himself to the sight of Michael bound. And then again he spoke, his words passing by Michael’s ear as Brian stood in front of him with the fabric of his clothes brushing against Michael’s skin. But the words weren’t for Michael; they were for Evan. “Can you make the adjustments on this and the other by Friday?”
“Certainly, sir. Where should they be delivered?”
Declan’s voice came from across the room, “To ours. You can send them over with my order.”
Brian agreed and then paused as he looked at Michael, taking in the expression of his face and the way he was being so still, so good. Patience imposed. A glance further down and Brian smiled. “Gentlemen, give us a moment?” Declan and Ash rose, Ash chuckling as Dec gave him a light push towards the door. To Evan’s back, Brian added, “There’s no prying eyes, yes – electronic or otherwise?” It was phrased as a question, but the tone bode no less force than the hard edge of demand.
“None, sir. Thank you again. Your patronage is appreciated.” Another slight bow, and Brian was left with Michael alone in the room of mirrors.
Michael’s blind world turned as his face was held and lifted into a harsh kiss, hungry and wet. He was almost desperate for breath when he felt Brian pushing his underwear to the floor as the kiss ended. Then the heat and grip of Brian’s hand coming down over his cock.
“Open your eyes. Look at us.”
Michael did, seeing only Brian at first. Seeing the pleasure he’d brought, always did bring, by his submission – by being ruled by Brian’s desire, by his control. The power his trust made Brian feel, in return, shined evident and burning in his hazel eyes. That alone had Michael not wanting to look away, but he’d been told otherwise, so he did.
His arms wrapped in black, it was the first thing he saw. It looked almost like opera gloves sewn together and laced from top to bottom, braced by the straps running over and under his arms. That is if the restraints were made by a Hollywood glamour inspired seamstress with a hardcore leather kink. Which, okay, that was redundant but probably explained Evan….
And then there was Brian, standing tall and so close. Touching him.
“Us, Michael. Look at us.”
Left, right, everywhere – it was them, a blatant reflection of what they were and what they did to each other. There had been a time when Michael would have had to fight to see past his own insecurity of being one of the pair. But now, given all the time shared, attention given and not a little familiarity with Brian’s fondness for mirrors, Michael could and did *see* them as he should. As Brian did. Two men, wanting and wanted. Equal in both, and to each other.
“There you go,” Brian whispered. Leaning in, he said, “You’re so hard, you’re twitching in my hand.” When Michael unconsciously made to move his arms forward, Brian shook his head. “No you don’t. That’s the point – no moving, no doing anything with your hands until I say you can.” A brief kiss, and then Brian took a step back. A step back, and then to Michael’s surprise, Brian went to his knees. “You can’t do, Michael. But you can take.”
Hands grasped at Michael’s waist, steadying him as Brian set to drive him out of his mind. Both with his mouth and the mind-fuck that was their image reflected back again and again.
“Fuck, ahh.”
Caught up, and captured.
Captive, even as he was allowed to come.
- - - - - - -
Part 7
- - - - - - -
“If the National is your gossip gallery, then this place is your… ” Brian stopped, as Ash jumped on his sentence before he could finish.
“It’s my playground. It’s everything I love. Art, history, life, death, the real and the surreal. It’s the world right on our doorsteps, from the Pharaohs to the Aztecs. And best of all, I know it like the back of my hand.”
The closer they came to the British Museum, the more alive and alight Ashton seemed to be. This place, whatever it held, Brian thought, must be anything but dry, at least seen through his friend’s eyes. Which in his own experience would be quite the change from the boring, dull ones he’d been dragged through by Lindsay back in their college days. Of course, those had little to do with the Brit Mu – or so Ashton was determined to prove.
“Hours and hours, almost every day I could after school, and then in university – this was my escape. I got to know a couple of the staff; after awhile, I even got tours of the stuff behind the scenes, things most never get to see. But it’s been awhile since I’ve visited so this feels like…. I don’t know.”
“Coming home?” Michael guessed.
“Yeah. It’s one of the places I most miss, and always want to come back to again.” He looked at Brian, “I’m a nutter, I told you. Just bear with, ok?”
Brian scratched a hand through his hair, looking up at the imposing structure before them as if he had to think on it – only to lose the false put-upon indecisive look when a smile came as he said, “I’m just here for the show, so lead on.”
And on he led, Michael and Brian following him into the world of wonder that was Ash's greatest hits of the Brit Mu. They started with the Egyptian collection, where Michael stopped to take pictures of every stone statue, dog- or cat-faced deity, mummy, sarcophagus and burial mask in their path. Brian wandered about, video camera in hand – mostly taking in the reactions of his lover and their friend as they weaved in and about the crowds, discovery lighting Michael’s eyes and fond nostalgia lightening Ashton’s heels.
“Look, look! Five legs,” Michael hurried over to one of a couple of winged sculptures that towered over them all. He looked back at Brian, smiling like he’d won a prize. “Bri, remember. The movie ‘Maurice’ – Emmett used to watch it all the time. That scene with Maurice and Alec Scudder.” Turning back, he looked at the nearest lion-like creature with a human head. “God, I’d forgotten. They filmed that here. Right here.”
“I remember he used to play it on a loop until his tape broke,” Brian shook his head. “But it looks like they were right, five legs.”
Ash reached up to touch the stone above the glass barrier surrounding the bottom of the one closest. “It’s so they always seem to be standing tall against evil, either from the front or the side. They were the guardians of the Assyrian kings.” He turned back. “There’s three of ’em, each almost three thousand years old.” Ash smiled at Brian’s camera, “They seem to embody mystical majesty, yes?”
Brian looked at them over the camera, grumbling out a quick biting, “Next,” even as he took the sting out with a wink.
Ash gave Michael a look, “Now that just proves it. Green is his color.”
Michael laughed. “What?”
“He’s an Irish jade, this one.” Ashton added a bit wisely, “A master of the game, all surface and shine to most but underneath….”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Michael finished.
Brian glared at the view screen, “Can we please move on before either of you start making me sound any more like the Wizard of Oz, or Harry Houdini?”
A shared grin between Michael and Ash, and then the Englishman clapped his hands. “Right, next the man says and next he’ll get.”
Next was a walk through the Grecian world. Bronze masks, bodies of marble and other stones, jewelry and every sort of object – from the mundane to the magnificent, thousands of years past and there for all to see. The most popular display, also the most prominently featured, being the Parthenon sculptures housed in a room opened to the sun through a large area skylight. “It’s so the marble won’t turn black,” Ash told them. It explained why this space was the brightest they’d seen so far, and the warmest. “In summer with all the tourists and the heat, it’s like walking through a sauna fully clothed.”
But for all his words, Ashton’s voice seemed almost reverent as they came to stand in front of the large featured remnants from the pediment of the Greek temple. “This one is Dionysus – God of wine.” The reclining nude was strong, beautiful – a celebration of the male form, now badly damaged by time. “He taught me a lot,” Ashton smiled. “But not as much as they did.” He nodded to the three goddesses nearby. “Hestia, Dione and Aphrodite – each one a master class for any sculptors worth their salt, I can tell you.” And they were, truly. The female form, naturalistic yet seductive, each framed within the stone waves of their sculpted diaphanous gowns.
Once they’d wandered throughout the main level, the three of them headed upstairs – walking through the ages as they went gallery to gallery. Though they did start with a bit of a laugh as Ash hurried into a gallery of prehistoric relics arranged in a display called “Objects of Power” – which mostly consisted of trinkets made of bone, except for one item which had Ash grinning before they’d even come to a stop in front of it. “Gentlemen, feast your eyes on the Brit Mu’s ten-thousand-year-old stone willy.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Michael nudged Brian as he made a point of zooming in close on the object with the camera. “I told you that you’d both end up talking about dicks today.”
They all laughed. Then Brian said, “Well, the sign does say Objects of Power.”
“I’d say a phallic fertility symbol made up of two folks having it off qualifies.”
Ash shook his head, “Okay, right this way to Viking spoils, medieval knick knacks and then back around to the Egyptian Funerary fun land!”
He was already off and walking, as Michael and Brian looked at each other. Brian was the one to say it first, “Funerary fun land?”
Michael couldn’t help but grin as he teased, “Last one there is a mummy’s uncle!” Then he took off after Ash at a near run, leaving Brian to follow with a look of fond amusement on his face and the words, “beautifully pathetic,” echoing in his mind.
- - -
Somewhere in the midst of the resulting skull and body parts count – after which none of them ended up knowing who was the more accurate – then a trip to the gift shop downstairs and a stop into the museum café to rest their feet, they found themselves making plans for the evening. Ashton wanted to show them his new favorite movie house. He figured a lazy night with sandwiches in, a film and then a ride through the wildly lit London night would be a good way to unwind.
“That’s the thing about being a tourist – you walk your feet off and spend way too much time trying to pack so much into so little time that you miss just the fun of *being* here, you know. I want you to enjoy the laidback approach, too. Just an evening to *be* rather than be on the go.”
"Sounds good," Michael agreed.
“We've got time to kill." Brian asked them, "So where else are you two dragging me before then?”
Michael laughed, shooting Ashton a look. "This one's his fault, I swear!"
Their friend waved that away, “Let’s put the inspiration where it’s due, with that wondrous woman that Misha calls mum.”
“Ma, or Mother, thank you.” Michael interrupted.
“Such manners,” Ashton tisked. “Anyway, as a tribute to Debbie’s packrat nature, I’ve planned a quick in and out visit to the former home of someone she’d find a kindred spirit." He paused, and then added, "Well, more like kindred on speed – if she’d been male – and rich – oh, and more eccentric times a hundred than she already is. And you get to tell her all about it.”
The tell-all event was to the home of one Sir John Soane, or rather to the museum that used to be his home, office and library. A famous architect who died in 1837, he’d left his house – or rather the space that used to be three houses that he’d conjoined and redesigned before his death – to the nation. Okay, maybe not to the nation, but to “amateurs and students” of his profession rather than to his own son, “supposedly such a disappointment,” Ash tushed. "But over the years the residence has been opened to any visitor who wants to step inside to take a free peek."
But a peek at what?
“Gentlemen, welcome to what I like to call the Clutter Club.” Ash waved Brian and Michael inside after a short time in line, grinning at the incredulous expressions that graced both their faces. Yes, even Brian’s.
“Shit, look at this.” Brian shook his head, “It’s like a yard sale blew up all over the place.”
Ash threw him a faux disapproving look, “A little respect, please.” Then he laughed, “I know they say one man’s garbage is another man’s gold, but look around. We’re talking antiques, artifacts, paintings, furniture, even skulls. You name it, he probably tried to buy it and hang it on his wall – thousands of things from floor to ceiling. Rooms, hallways, nooks – the man never had enough space.”
"That’s an understatement," Michael mused as they wandered around, milling in and out amongst the others tourists with eyes wide, thinking maybe they’d seen the last that could be a surprise, only to find still more around the next bend.
“Oh, and did I mention the sarcophagus in the basement?” Ashton whispered with his mouth half-covered like a kid telling a horror story by a campfire. He gave them a wink as he started down the stairs. Looking back, he called to them, “Guys, come on. Seti's waiting.” Below, they found the Sarcophagus of Seti I, c. 1370BC., to be exact. “It was one of Soane’s most prized possessions; something he used to show off during candle-lit parties with members of high society and the scholastic upper crust.”
“From king to coffee table,” Brian snorted, snickering as Michael gave him a little shove and a big, “Shhhh.”
"He's a bad one," Ash commiserated with Michael. "Bless."
"Big and bad, just like he likes me." Brian said in response, as Michael groaned and turned to leave them behind.
Ash teased Brian once Michael was out of earshot, "I think you're flunking serious-traveler-101."
"Yeah, but I have sufficient talents to compensate."
"I'll not argue that." Ash nodded Michael's way, "Shall we finish getting our sneak-a-peek on?"
This time it was Brian groaning as he walked away, a mischievous magpie of a man at his back.
- - -
The plan for sandwiches in changed once they got back to find that Declan was home. He agreed that the movie was a good idea, but once he heard where they were going – Dec voted for fish and chips at the theatre.
The *where* of where they were going turned out to be the newly renovated Electric Cinema.
"As opposed to what? The hand-crank generator cinema?" Brian asked.
The Electric was a large screen movie house, redecorated with modern home comfort and class in accent colors of red and white. Instead of theatre seats, it was outfitted with red leather armchairs – some even came with footrests and food trays. At the back, if one was lucky enough, there were even a couple of couches where viewers could cozy up in the dark while watching movies, both new and old.
Michael was surprise to see they had a restaurant inside, catering food that could be taken into the show. Somehow he'd thought Declan had meant they would be stopping in somewhere close by to eat before the film.
"They should do this more back home, with food other than just snacks," he smiled as he and Brian wandered back up into the lobby after the movie was over. "Course, being on the cleaning crew would suck." That's one summer job back in the Pitts during high school that he'd long since wanted to forget.
Brian dumped their trash, throwing an arm around Michael's shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. There's a certain balcony I'd miss." He watched as Michael looked at him, then down with a smile on his face that was both happy and embarrassed at the reference to their reclaimed space at one of the local cinemas in Pittsburgh.
There had been talk about it being torn down to build a multiplex, but at the last minute a group of investors had bought the property to renovate it so that it could act as both an active cinema and community playhouse. Brian and Michael had been quick to revisit one of their old favorite places of escape once it was reopened, with Brian serving up a few new distractions that had had Michael almost failing to bite back the noises drawn out of him by Brian's wandering hands.
Since then, *their* balcony had been the scene of more than one encounter – the pair of them doing what they could get away with as they added new memories to the old.
Outside, they found Declan and Ash waiting by a black cab. Declan gave the driver the address, as they all settled inside. "Ash tells me that tomorrow is Tower day."
Since Michael was too preoccupied staring out of the window at the lights of the city to answer, Brian said, "Apparently we're going to be doing the, what is it?"
Ash answered, "The dungeon crawl."
Teeth flashing white as he smiled while they rode past a neon sign, Declan nodded. "I suspect that's because this one," a nudge at Ashton's side, "thought it would be amusing to do a double-dip with visits to the Tower of London and the London Dungeon." When Ash tried to say something, Declan gave him a look that was both silent and strong, enough to cause Ashton to hush and move to sit on his hands in a way that seemed old hat, if a bit irksome given his expression.
Declan continued, "The Tower's a great place, so much history and pain within a compound that combines beautiful architecture with the glamour of jewels and bread-fed ravens. You should take the tour they offer. It's the best way to get the most out of it. But you," he told Ashton, “have a prior commitment.”
“I do?”
“With Evan, yes. You’ve a fitting come tomorrow morning.” Declan added, “You can meet up with them at the history horror fun park that is The London Dungeon in the afternoon.”
Michael gave Brian an inquiring look, but it was evident that he also wasn’t privy to any additional information as to Ashton’s coming absence. “Will you be away tomorrow?” he asked Declan. Their time with him had been kept mostly to nights since he’d been overseeing the coming show and the flood of details for the opening night party.
Declan nodded, “Yes, for a few hours. I would go with you – the Tower’s a favorite of mine – but time is short before Friday. And you’ll have much more fun at the London Dungeon with Ash’s youthful exuberance than my jaded nature. I just ended up shaking my head last time out.” He was grinning at the last, scratching at his beard a bit as he added, “Also, tomorrow night we’ll be leaving you both to your own devices.” He soothed his hand down Ash’s back, “The hours are short before I will leave, and long before Friday’s return I have plans for you.”
Michael watched as Ash closed his eyes on a smile, the enclosed cab seeming to grow warmer with just a few intimate words from Master to slave. Lover to beloved. He almost started when he felt Brian’s arm drawing him near once more, long fingers running down his neck as they traced the collar fastened as always around his throat, then again at the words spoken next to his ear. “He’s not the only one; I’ve plans enough for us both. Tonight, tomorrow. And that nice – big – bed.” A brush of his lips against Michael’s face with each of the last three words, and then a welcoming sound as Michael turned to meet them.
It was a time when what was on tap for tomorrow mattered not at all.
- - -
“One more, up here!”
“Mikey, I’m gonna be flash blind for life at this rate,” Brian groused.
“It’s daylight, we’re outside, and no, you won’t. Come on,” Michael laughed as he climbed the stairs to yet another level of the battlements of the outer Tower wall. “We’ve got to get the Tower Bridge in the background.”
Brian squinted against the oncoming sun as Michael managed, not for the first time today, to find a kind-hearted and, most importantly, honest fellow tourist to take possession of Brian's expensive digital camera so the two of them could get photographed together. Grinning, making faces or just smiling at each other with hundreds of years of pivotal English history surrounding them – the morning's photographs would fill whatever album or web page on which Michael chose to store them.
Since Brian had brought his video camera along again, he didn't have much room to complain. That hadn't stopped him, of course. He'd made up for it by training the lens on all of the choice sites that Michael was apt to point out as they roamed around the fortified castle grounds – the Traitors Gate, the White Tower, the site where Anne Boleyn lost her head and the armory display with its shining suits of armor and fairly outrageous ornate helmets. His lover had taken time to read up on this place almost more than any other that they'd be visiting on their vacation, so while they had taken the tour per Declan's recommendation, they'd also gone around on their own to absorb the feel of the place, the age of it.
The Tower stood as something striking, tall and defiant against the ravages of time in a busy city like modern-day London. Fantastic.
Even Brian found himself impressed by how much he'd enjoyed the visit. Of course his snark levels were set on high the whole while regardless, leaving very little verbally un-torched as he walked about having fun at the expense of the Beefeater Yeomen Warders in their dark blue and scarlet uniforms and the guards standing oh-so-still in their red coats and tall fur hats. It was a cliché, really – having a laugh at their expense, though the laugh Michael had made as the last guard broke rank for only a second to wink back at Brian's antics had made it a memorable event, and worth the effort.
The mood had been more somber once they'd reached the dungeon part of the tour. The instinct to make light in the face of fear was smothered as they walked along the displays of instruments that had been made to cause nothing but pain and death. The reality of what others had suffered through the whim of whoever was on the throne, or in the name of religion, was enough to have both Brian and Michael heading back into the warm light and cool breeze of the English day.
Not that their sense of frivolity had been so squashed that they didn't leave the Royal Jewels display laughing. How could a person not laugh when they were made to stand on a conveyor belt and literally whizzed by the clear fortified glass cases with little time to do much looking, or have much of an impression other than, "Ohhh, shiny," as Michael kept joking afterwards? It was like some episode of ‘I Love Lucy’ where the tourists were the chocolates being endangered by a mad dash to the ground should the contraption go amiss.
They both knew that Michael would end up buying a book on the Tower that featured color photos of the locale and the sparkles for their friends to gawk at once they got home, just like he'd done from the gift shops at the National and the Brit Mu. Ash had suggested keeping them as coffee table conversation pieces, saying there was the personal side of travel with the pictures they took themselves, and the presentation side – hence the travel books.
Michael thought it was a great idea. Brian thought having them would be good, but was already plotting their shelving on the bookshelves he'd had installed when Michael had come to live with him in the loft. He was still working on the compromise between his minimalist esthetic and Michael's Deb-induced packrat habits. They'd done a good job of working out a system of what went where, but there were still times when each of them made a game out of teasing the other about one steadfast habit or another.
"See, all done." Michael got a quick peck on the cheek from the young woman who handed him back the camera after taking their picture, which had Brian whistling after she got out of earshot.
"Michael Novotny, lady's man."
"Shut up," Michael gave him a bit of one-handed shove, only to have Brian grab his wrist and pull him close.
"Uhnn uhh. Play nice," Brian said, leaning in to add, "Or I may have to warm that hot, cute little ass she was ogling behind your back."
Maybe at another time, Michael would have said something smart back, but Brian's tone, his voice sugared rough but sweet like velvet, chased the impulse away, because the man meant it. And just the thought of Brian's hand rubbing his skin as it burned from what that hand had just done to him, for him... "I, I uhm...” He paused, the sound of the passing crowds coming back into focus as Brian stepped away, grinning. "Hungry, I'm... Yeah, hungry. Lunch?"
"I've a bit of an appetite, sure." The tease was back in his voice, but Brian nodded down into the courtyard below. "But first, aren't you forgetting?"
Michael frowned, then he remembered. "Oh fuck, teddy bear run!"
"Exactly."
There was a Beefeater bear in both Michael and Gus' futures, just a gift shop away.
- - -
The London Dungeon was very much as Declan had described it, a horror fun house that covered English history and some of its most gruesome events, emphasis on gruesome but with the frivolity of a haunted house on Halloween. A venue at which people paid to have themselves scared silly.
It was the direct opposite of the Tower's dungeon atmosphere, all somber and serious. No, the London Dungeon meant to put on a show and often times Brian found himself snorting as both Michael and Ash jumped at the antics of those on staff, and the kids that were running about screaming one moment only to laugh the next.
And in the end, even Brian was pulled in by it all – begrudgingly posing with Michael, the both of them imprisoned in stockades for a photograph. Locked in at wrists and neck and grinning as they shared a look that spoke to a memory of them with their heads stuck through cardboard neck holes of Captain Astro and Galaxy Lad at the last Comicon they'd been too.
Michael's smile was even brighter than it had been on that day that seemed so very long ago.
Brian's had changed, lacking the relief he'd been feeling then at having managed to say the right words to keep Michael in his life. In its place was a gladness that shone through, both from being with Michael and from having him in all the ways he'd almost robbed them of because of his pride, and the power of both their doubts.
New smiles for a new life.
"Smile for the dirty birdie," Ash called.
*click*
- - -
Ashton, when he did appear out of his bedroom the next day, was quiet. Soft spoken as he made eggs and tipped off Brian and Michael's coffee. His natural energetic demeanor quite subdued, sub being the operative word.
"Where's Declan?"
"Left early," Ash said. "Before I was up." He paused, then added, "He wanted me to thank you, both, for going with me today. He said knowing I will be able to share the experience with you, rather than doing it alone, is something he appreciates."
Michael came around the counter, giving him a hug. "Thank you back. And him. I'm glad you want to have us with you. I've never seen someone getting tattooed."
Brian smiled, "That's because you've been fascinated but scared by it at the same time. Ever since high school, remember."
“Don’t you say it.”
“Whatever could you mean?” Brian asked, then just as quickly added, “Jamie Crowley, Leo Tillman, aaaaaand...”
Michael tried to cover Brian’s mouth, but couldn’t reach him as Brian finished with, “John Cohen.”
Groaning, Michael grumbled, “Bastard,” as Brian pulled him in despite his struggle to get away.
Ashton was smiling, the seriousness cracked by the catharsis of a good laugh. “What’s this now?”
Brian gave Michael a squeeze. “Just three unworthy objects of Michael’s teenage affections. Each and every one, inked in ways that drew the eye.”
Michael told him to hush, “If it gets told, I’m telling.”
Chuckling into Michael’s messed up bed-head hair, Brian complied.
An embarrassed half-smile to Ashton, and Michael said, “Long story short. They were jocks, football. Upperclassmen. Sports clique types. Each of them celebrated their eighteenth birthday by getting trashed and then hitting the tattoo parlors.”
Brian nudged him, “And… ”
“Aaaand, they were trust-fund brats. Great to look at, but,” he stopped, looking a bit reflective and sad. “Anyway. They got the tattoos done in places so their folks couldn’t see. Hips, lower backs. Used to show ’em off after gym class for all to see.”
Ashton quirked his head to the side a little, looking thoughtful. “Good looking, but what?”
Michael didn’t say, he just glanced down. Brian could feel him drawing into himself, so he answered instead. “But dangerous, as in homophobic pricks who made picking on anyone that wasn’t like them a pastime.” When Michael tried to move away, Brian hugged him from behind. “Hey, hey. It’s ok. I sorted it, right?”
“Yeah, black eyes and all,” Michael snorted. He leaned against him and looked at Ash. “Anyway, it was just stupid in the end. I was fascinated by the designs. Talked about them, probably too much. It was just something I’d wondered about, but didn’t dare think to do, you know?” A smile came into his eyes, and across his face. He looked back at Brian. “I told Ted and Emmett you had a tattoo, once. Drove ’em nuts trying to figure out where you could have possibly hidden it. Mr. Exhibitionist.”
“That’s right, give ’em more of an excuse to ogle me at the gym. You should sell tickets at the shower room door.” Brian laughed. “You’d make a mint.”
“Please, why would they pay for a show they can see for free?” Michael dodged Brian’s hold, slapping playfully at his reaching hands.
“I’m not the only one they’re looking at, smartass.”
Now it was Ash’s turn to shake his head. “You two are just too cute.”
His mood had lightened, they could tell. So Michael hazarded to ask, “What time is your appointment?”
“Just after lunch.” Ash looked over at the digital clock display on the stove. “Tell you what, we’ve got time to make a run over to the London Eye beforehand. It’s supposed to rain later today, but it’s clear now. Should be a good view of the city.”
“Deal!” Michael had been looking forward to riding on the Eye ever since Ashton had shared stories of a wine tasting he and Declan had attended there a while back. The Ferris wheel overlooked the whole of greater London. Half an hour in the sky.
Brian nodded, then reached up to run his fingers through Michael’s tangled hair. “Better try and tame this mop first.” He grinned when Michael made an offhanded comment about him needing to look in a mirror before he talked about other folks’ bed head.
“I could just get it cut.”
“The hell you will.” Brian called out after his retreating lover’s back as Michael left to walk back to their bedroom.
“Who made you the hair sheriff,” Michael answered back.
“You did.” Brian laughed as Ashton smiled at their antics. “Back in a few.”
“Says you,” the Englishman replied. “But I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt.”
“Fifteen minutes, or I’m buying lunch,” Brian assured.
“Ohh, and I’ll be sure to work up an expensive appetite while I change clothes, then.” Ashton set off down the hall with all the confidence of a man who knew he’d already won the bet.
- - -
With grudging amusement, Brian paid up on his lost bet before they left the restaurant for Ash’s appointment.
“Fortune Foster,” Brian groused as they exited the cab. “Where are we now?” He looked around. “First you threaten us with Hungarian food at the, what was it?”
“Gay Hussy.” Michael answered.
“That's the Gay Hussar, actually. And I was just teasing, wasn’t I?” Ash smirked. They’d ended up having Italian instead, after leaving the Eye. “And like it says on the glass, love, this is Hugh’s place.” He pointed to the lettering there which spelled out, “Hughlon Miles Studio.”
"How can a tattoo parlor be so non-descript that you can't even tell it's a tattoo parlor?" Brian asked.
"Because his main living comes from his graphic art and painting commissions. The tattoos are a sideline. But he's so good at it, he's built up a client base just on word of mouth. I've known him for ages. We were at school." Ash pulled open the glass door and waved Brian and Michael inside. "Hugh! Stop sniffing paint and come give us a squeeze!"
The gallery was empty, which is probably why the owner yelled out from the back, "For the love of god, you've got a gob on you to rival a fishwife's any day."
An answering call from Ash, "Annie'll kick your arse, if you keep talking about her that way."
"Like she'd need the excuse, ya mongrel.” It was a gruff voice, one to match the man who came up from the back. He looked as strong as a mountain, and tall as a tree. Well, nearly. He dwarfed everyone in the room except Brian, and still he had a few inches on him as well. He was a striking figure all around, with merry green eyes and dark brown hair that was offset with a touch of ginger in his closely styled beard. Hugh walked in quick strides towards them, giving Ash a hug that almost took him off his feet. “I’ve said it, and she’d agree. You’ve been gone from us way too long, ya scamp.”
Gasping a bit for air, Ashton spent what little he had left in a laugh. “I just saw you both only a few months back.”
Another squeeze, and Hugh drew back – his smile bringing a glow to his cheeks and a shine to his eyes. “As if that was having ya home, one dinner and then off with ya and that man of yours on the go again and again.”
Ash nodded, but then asked, “Is Annie here?”
“No, and she’ll be kicking herself for missing ya. Especially tomorrow night, but with her mum just out of hospital – she’ll be in Blackpool for a fair few days or weeks.”
Looking worried, Ash said, “I thought her mum was in remission.”
Hugh nodded, “That she is, but then if she didn’t take a spill in the garden and fracture her leg. I tell ya, it’s been a hell of a year.”
Ash agreed, “True. Please give her our love, okay?” He looked over. “Hugh, this is Brian and Michael. They’re visiting with us for a couple of weeks.”
Michael smiled as Hugh shook his hand, then Brian’s. “We’re the moral support tagalongs.”
Ash tutted, "Not a wit." He looked at Hugh, his face serious as he said, "They've fast become family."
The words held a meaning that was clear from the expression on Hugh's face, as if they weren't something said often but it was clear they held weight. "Then it's glad I am to know you," he said. He patted Ashton on the back, "So we're doing this then?" At his friend's happy nod, Hugh pulled out his keys. "All right, head on back and I'll lock up."
Ash led Michael and Brian through the gallery and into Hugh’s workroom, which proved an odd mix of separate spaces set aside for easels, sketch tables and then the section that would matter most for their afternoon. The tattoo area was outfitted with a lift chair that swiveled and a body-length, padded table – both upholstered in black leather with chrome accents. Between them was a rolling chair and what must be the tattoo equipment. Against one wall, there was a matching sofa, a computer system set on a counter to one side and a sound system standing beside it. The adjacent wall was partially covered with a floor to ceiling mirror, so that the work area could be seen from the sofa and either the chair or table. The section not covered by mirror was banked by custom made black module with cabinets on top, more counter space and drawers down to the floor with all handles again made of chrome.
Ashton reached into the jacket he was wearing and pulled out a computer disc. "Mood music, check." He tossed the coat over the back of the lift chair, and then kicked off his shoes. "Last time, Declan brought a CD with him that just played on repeat, over and over until they were done. I thought Hugh was gonna crawl into a ball if he had to hear one more Billie Holiday song." He laughed, "He was a bit of a punk in his day."
"Give me a song you can't and wouldn't want to dance to," Hugh's voice preceded him into the room.
"It can't all be the Sex Pistols," Ashton smiled.
Hugh protested, "Now, I've a broader mind than that. Give a poor man some credit."
Brian and Michael sat on the sofa as Ash headed for Hugh's computer. "Same password?"
"Yeah, 'anniesfanny' as always." He grinned when Michael laughed. "I'm a man with a one track mind."
Ash put the disc in, set the media player to shuffle and hit play. The room filled with the first of a mix he'd told them earlier was a selection of both his and Declan’s favorites. Ashton wanted the room relaxed, happy and full of memories of how they'd come so far. "Scene’s set."
Hugh clapped his hands together and rubbed, “Time to play.”
- - - - - - -
Part 8
- - - - - - -
“What’d you call a tattoo artist who has a sneezing fit?”
“I have no idea.” Michael answered from his perch on the lift chair.
“Picasso.” Hugh proclaimed.
Brian groaned from the couch where he was laid out, looking through a collection of Hugh’s work. “I’ll have to tell that one to Lindz,” he told Michael, who smiled for a bit before his face grew serious, focused as he was on what was happening and how Ashton was reacting to it, his mother hen instincts in full gear.
“Ohhh saints be, man. Stop ’im now before he gets to the knock-knock jokes.” Ash groused in a raspy voice, the words blending in with a gasp as the needles hit a particularly sensitive spot.
“Lad, never knock the skills of a man who’s driving needles into your skin,” Hugh joked. “I could take it personal, like.”
“Bastard’s lucky I’m a bit of a masochist,” was Ash’s muttered reply. Good natured, but still said a bit begrudgingly.
"You're the one who wants it done in a day. Same as those years back when we did your wrists," Hugh said, leaning in close to Ash's back as he carefully passed his hand and the machine over the last of the tattoo's outline. "Polar opposites, I tell you. You gripe and moan to distract yourself, and Declan – he was as still and silent as the grave."
"You make him sound like a vampire."
"And a fine one he'd make. Course he'd probably wind up being all cape, fangs and hair."
"Hugh!"
"Hugh, nothing. And keep still," the man laughed. "It's you I've to blame for the state of Annie's reading habits after all. It's vampires this, and werewolves that. I swear, I've even heard the woman whispering 'Jean Claude' in her sleep." As Ashton started laughing hard enough to shake, Hugh leaned back holding his gloved hands and the needle gun away from the man's moving skin. "Look at ya. You're lucky I've got to change to the mags, so it's a time out for you."
It was their third break since he'd started, which was a sign of how long they'd been at it. Brian got up and stretched his legs as Ash got his breath back and closed his eyes to relax. Coming up beside Michael, Brian whistled as he took a look at their friend's back. Ash's skin was still a bit shiny from the ointment they'd applied before starting, but rose up slightly along the now black inked lines that made up the design he'd asked Hugh to adapt for him from an original piece. Tinged bright pink by all the needlework and the constant rubbing of a cloth to wipe away ink and whatnot, "You look like you've got a bad sunburn." It was the first analogy that Brian came up with.
"Charmer." Ash sounded tired, his voice soft like it'd been that morning. “The red fades afterwards.”
Michael touched his hand. "Can I get you anything?"
Ash smiled, but didn't open his eyes. "No, Misha." He was sounding a bit in a zone, as if he were happy but distanced. Not falling asleep really, just drifting around in his mind's eye. “m good.”
Brian turned to Michael, scratching his fingers over the hair that graced his lover's chin. "Hey."
Michael took hold of Brian's hips and smiled up at him, "Barn."
They both shared a goofy grin since it was one of their older jokes from years and youth past. Right up there with TUMS=SMUT. The kiss that came after was sweet, and slow, and very adult.
"Told you they were cute." Ash was blinking up at them, talking to Hugh as the other man finished switching out his needles for the shading magnums.
"Aye, they do make a handsome pair." He looked over Ashton's back, "How are you feeling?"
"Like if I drank water, I'd spring a leak." At Hugh's muttered, 'Always a comedian,' Ash answered seriously. "I'm riding it, so I'm good. I'll come down later, you know that."
"I do know, but you know me back – I'll keep asking."
"I love you, too." Ash closed his eyes again, settling his arms more comfortably. "So how's it looking?"
"Beautiful." That was Michael. "Intense." That was Brian. Both speaking over each other.
Hugh replied, "Sounds about right. Beautifully intense." He leaned in towards Ash. "Though I'm thinking it'll be one of my best, so I'm biased."
Brian walked around and squatted down to Ashton’s level. “You certainly aren’t a man to do things by halves.” He paused, and then ruffled Ash’s hair as he stood up. “Declan will love it.”
Ash nodded, doing his best not to move as Hugh wheeled the chair back up to him. “That’s my hope.” As the man snapped on a new pair of gloves and then checked his equipment, Ashton looked at Michael. “Still fascinated?”
“Hours under a needle and you’re still teasing,” Michael laughed, his cheeks feeling a bit warmer. He listened as the buzz of the machine started to mix once more with the background music. “I guess a lot of folks get tattoos because it’s trendy or they want to seem cool.”
“Or they’re drunk. Lost a bet,” Hugh winked.
“But this isn’t about any of that.” Michael nodded his head towards Ash. “I never thought of it as a gift before now. It’s like a….”
“Declaration.” Brian cut in. “To Declan.”
“To a degree. These were my declaration,” Ash moved his wrists. “This,” he paused. “Is for us both. My gift, my thanks, my hope. It’s my life. And his.”
Michael put an arm around Brian’s hips, looking up at him with a smile. “It’s *their* always.” The meaning shared as Brian leaned in and kissed him on his forehead, fingers coming up to press the platinum medallion that hung from Michael’s collar against his skin. The ‘always’ engraved on the underside was theirs. When Brian remained close, his fingers tracing over the A on top, Michael leaned up to speak in his ear. “You’re thinking so hard, I can almost hear it. What about?”
Brian just flicked the medallion and grinned before stepping back. “I’m thinking Chinese. Hugh, know of a good place that’ll deliver?”
“Menu’s under the phone by the computer.” He looked back to the design he’d been inking in, then up at Ash. “Ready for the shading? Or do you need more time?”
Shifting a bit, Ash rested his face against the pillow Hugh handed him. “I’d say do your worst, but it’s your best I’m paying for.” He chuckled when his friend popped him on the leg with his free hand. “Bully.” Taking a breath, he said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
“This bit’s gonna be the finer detailing; gotta add the sense of depth. Bring ’em to life, yeah. So be good, and be still.”
A snort, “Now who sounds like a dominant, Mr.-That’s-Your-Scene-Not-Mine?”
“Ashton,” Hugh said. “Keep it up, and you’ll have smartarse etched across your pretty hide.”
Ash turned his grin into the pillow, biting his lower lip to keep from answering back as Michael and Brian looked on and laughed.
- - -
“Ash. Ash. Whoa, easy. Yeah, that’s it.” Brian voice was equal parts amused and aggravated. “Standing now, lean on me.”
Ashton, who was at best a little worse for wear – okay, make that happily blah-do, blinked up at him and grinned sloppily. “Just a little drunk punched. Uhmm, punch drunk.”
“No, you’re just drunk.” Brian laughed as Michael came into Declan and Ash’s bedroom to help him with getting their friend settled.
“No, sir. I’m punch, that’s me.” Ash blinked, and then pointed. “That makes you Judy. Punch, Judy, get it?” Just as fast as it started, his humor ended and he wandered onto a new topic as he was seated on the bed. “God, you’re really tall.” He smiled as Michael came to sit beside him, telling him, “You’ve got your own jungle gym, just grab hold and climb.”
Michael snorted. “Yep, and he has the best handlebar I’ve ever played with.” He looked at Brian who was keeping Ash from falling back onto the bed, and hence onto his bandaged back – ouch. “He’s totally wasted.”
“Blame Hugh.” The man’s one more for the road had turned into two, then more than two. Ash hadn’t really seemed too affected until they got him into the cab home, then his adrenaline dropped and wham, in came the alcohol high.
“Okay, Ash. Look at me.” Michael was using his I-Know-You’re-Trashed voice, soft and happy – the one meant to sooth and guide. “We need to put you to bed, so you can sleep a little. All right?”
“Not tired,” Ash frowned. Then smiled, “Telly! Dec said we could.”
Confused, Brian asked, “What’s he talking about?”
Michael jumped back as Ashton made a sudden move for the nightstand drawer, managing to pull out a remote, which he then waggled in the air like a prize. Grinning, Michael got it. “He gave you permission to watch television while he was gone.”
“Let’s get him into the bed; he can lie on his stomach while he watches,” Brian reasoned. He wasn’t usually so fastidious when it came to drunken friends, but this one had been left literally and figuratively in their hands. “We can line the pillows around him so he won’t roll over.”
“Okay,” Michael made to slide off the bed so he could nab the pillows on the other side, but Ash made a grab for his hand.
“Stay! Both stay. Lots of channels, so little time.” He thrust the remote at Brian like a bribe. “Yes?”
Shaking his head, Brian grinned. “Tell you what. We’ll stay, and I’ll let you keep the remote. But… ” The grin turned into a full on smile. “You have to give up your clothes.”
Ever an uninhibited soul, Ash happily agreed. “I can do that.” And promptly tried to remove the enormous t-shirt he’d been given by Hugh while still holding the remote.
Michael ended up giving him a hand with the shirt, making sure it cleared the bandages without snagging, while Brian got Ashton out of his jeans. When the Englishman tried to pull off his boxer briefs, Brian stopped him. “This isn’t a clothing optional sleepover, now up with you.”
Ash climbed up slowly, with a grumbled, “Bossy much?” Then he slid down in the middle of the bed and pushed a button on the remote. The cabinet at the foot of the extra king sized bed opened as a large television came up from its hiding place. “I love telly.”
It was said with such an emphatic sigh that Michael had to bite back a laugh as he searched through Ash’s discarded jeans. Pulling out the paper that Hugh had given them before leaving, Michael checked over the instructions, not that he wouldn’t end up reading it again come morning when they removed Ash’s bandages. He’d volunteered to help Ashton out until Declan received his gift the next night and took over. The task being to watch out for Ash and to help him take care of the tattoo like a good patient. Cleaning, ointment – the works. Especially the ointment, repeated every few hours. Something Ash couldn’t do on his own given the size and placement, not to mention presently being a tad drunk and the coming hangover tomorrow.
Brian handed over the tube that Hugh had given him earlier. “I’m going to get some water and juice from the kitchen. Want anything?”
“Soda.”
“Ice cream.” Ash added, never taking his eyes from the screen.
Michael gave Brian a squeeze, hugging him sideways. “Better bring a tray.”
Rolling his eyes, Brian walked out with a parting, “Slave driver.”
“I heard that!” Ashton’s words followed after him down the hall.
- - -
A crack of light eased through the parted drapes onto the wall to at side of the bed, morning's announcement of a new day. As time passed, the sun came further into the room until it shown over two tangled pairs of feet that lie bare below two sets of denim-clad legs. The warmth touched the sleepers as it spread across the room and up their bodies, calling one of them to wake as he blinked a bit, then shut his eyes and tried to turn back into dark sleep.
That proved an impossibility when out of nowhere a flying hand unconsciously whacked Michael against the ear, causing him to start and groan in pain, now very much awake.
"Brian?" Squinting a bit as he shifted up, rubbing at his ear, Michael saw that the still sleeping Brian hadn't been the culprit as yet another whack landed – this time across his hip. "Ash?" He reached to give his friend a gentle nudge. "Ashton, wake up."
They were all three lying horizontal across the middle of the bed with Brian closest to the end, Michael in the middle and Ash asleep between him and the pillows they'd put against the headboard so he wouldn't have room to turn over before he'd gone to sleep. Best laid plans and all that. They'd meant to watch a little television and then once their friend had drifted off – sleeping too heavily to sleepwalk due to the alcohol, then Brian and Michael would go to their room. Little had they understood the Englishman's stamina for all things boob-tube related; hence here they were, the two of them having fallen asleep before their host while still in their clothes.
And now here Michael was, sandwiched against Brian who was dead to the world and Ash who was lost in a bad dream. Michael gave him another nudge, holding the man's hand down when he next tried to swing. "Wake up, Ash."
"Wha–?" Brian sounded gruff, coughing a bit as he opened his eyes. He sat up, "What's he doing?"
“Right now, hitting me.”
“Why?” Not that Brian waited for an answer as he reached down and pulled at the man's toes. Hard.
A surprised burst of noise, and Ash lifted his head as he jerked his foot away from Brian's reach. "Bloody hell, owe!" Hands reaching for his head, Ash moaned. "Kill me."
"You were having a nightmare." Michael told him.
Ash paused, pressing his face back into the pillow. Then he murmured, "Large men, chasing me with hypodermic needles." He shuddered, and then winced at the twinge of his tender back. "Bugger. That would be why then."
"Which is worse, the head or your back?" Brian got up, holding out a water bottle he'd brought in the night before – the lone soldier that had lasted as Ash had drunk its comrade at Michael's insistence.
"Take your pick, I think my head's just making me more aware of the other." He slowly knelt up, his stomach growling as he did. "But I'm too hungry to be hung over."
"You were sobering up pretty well by the time you went to sleep, so... ” Michael was guessing, as he got up and came around to Ash's side. "Let's get you some aspirin, and then I can help you with what Hugh said we needed to do for this." He laid his hand on Ash's shoulder, smiling as the other man muttered agreement and then left the bed. Once Ashton made it to the bathroom, Michael asked Brian, "What do you think we should do about breakfast?"
"I'll go scramble some bacon and burn some eggs, while you get to play nursemaid."
Michael snorted, "Yes, dear."
After that, they all started moving a bit quicker – more awake once breakfast was devoured, more refreshed after cleaning up and changing clothes. There seemed to be an underlining current of passivity about their plans for the day; none of them put forth any other options other than spending time in before their big night to come. In the end, they just ended up hanging out, listening to music and talking until the afternoon had come and the day was half gone.
Feeling better, Ashton kept teasing Brian after Michael helped him reapply ointment on his tattoo, saying how fortunate he was to have a lover like Michael. “Sooo good with his hands.” When Michael’s face had gone half red, Ash said more seriously, “You’ve a talent for care-giving, Michael. That nature or nurture?”
Michael shrugged, but Brian told him. “Deb once told me that she thought it was your greatest talent, caring so much. So well.”
“She said that?”
“She did.” Brian raised his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, and then leaned in to press his forehead against Michael’s. “Woman’s got a point.”
“She’s also got a red wig.” Michael shook his head, sounding happy.
Before Brian could join in with a fond jibe, they were all surprised by a buzz coming from the intercom by the elevator entrance. The sound usually signaled a delivery from downstairs. Ash went to answer it. “Evan’s here.”
Brian’s expression changed with the news to one that was deliciously feral. So much so that Michael asked warily, “What did you do?”
“Anything I choose to,” Brian answered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s time to play.”
Michael swallowed nervously, “You look like you could eat me alive.” At Brian’s slow nod, he asked, “What’s the game?”
“Just consider it a little turn at strip and show.”
- - -
"It'll never fit."
"Sir, I can assure you they *always* fit." Evan's voice still held his quiet formality, but it was the emphasis in his phrasing that had Brian smiling as Michael stood in front of a mirror, eyeing the article being held up by the designer. It was a matter of skill, and it was evident that Evan was very aware of his own.
"Evan, let's check on what you've brought for me. Give them some time alone," Ash, ever the diplomat, called the man from the room, leaving with a wink to both men as they exited down the hall.
Brian picked up the shirt Michael was doubtful of, “Take off your clothes.”
Understanding that it was an order, not a request – Michael nodded, and pulled off the t-shirt he’d changed into after he’d showered earlier. The shirt, then the sleep pants he liked to walk around in on lazy days when they stayed inside, and weren’t …well, engaged in other – naked – pursuits.
Speaking of which….
Brian drew his eyes down Michael’s frame, enjoying the warmth he knew his gaze caused the other man to feel. Throwing the shirt onto the bed, he reached into the garment bag and took out the pants. Thin, soft and gunmetal gray with just a bit of silver sheen, the leather was sensual to the touch. Brian couldn’t wait to feel them stretched over Michael’s skin.
Kneeling down, Brian gave Michael’s foot a teasing thump. “Shake a leg.”
Michael stepped in and tried to stay still as Brian slowly brought the leather up his body and pulled it over his hips. He failed to keep that stillness when Brian reached in to adjust his sex inside. Clutching Brian’s arm, Michael closed his eyes. “Bri… ” He was too distracted to know if he was asking for Brian to stop, or go further.
“Shhh,” Brian eased his hand out and carefully fastened the zipper, buttoning the waist. He took a moment to run his hands over Michael's backside, enjoying the feel of the leather as it perfectly molded over his curves. Drawing back, he looked down and nodded in approval at the design. He'd told Evan to start with basic rock star with a dash of well worn to scuff it up, but to mix a bit of Goth punk into the design. Which reminded him. “Not done yet, hold on.”
Michael opened his eyes as Brian pulled three belts from the same bag. He looked them over with a pleased sound, one that indicated Brian approved of Evan’s choices.
First, he threaded the simplest belt – black with metallic silver stitching and a pewter buckle, through the loops around Michael's waist. Then he took the next, larger belt – silver leather with black embossed geometric designs along the length and width of it and worked it around, feeding one end under the first belt on Michael's left side. Then Brian brought it around to the front, buckling it on the right so that it hung in a sweep, low on Michael's right hip. The buckle on the second belt was a large silver Celtic clasp, one that shone when the light hit it.
Then Brian picked up belt three. It was black leather with a high glossed silver stud design running down the length of the piece. The studs were in blocks of five by eight rows with an inch of black showing through and between as each block was repeated. The overall effect drew the eye as the studs flashed back any light that touched their surface, which is what Brian had wanted when he'd requested it be adapted to the leather pants Michael was wearing. Adapted in that this belt in particular was made to be a part of the pants, to be attached in a way that Brian had specified and Evan had been glad to incorporate into the design.
Kneeling back down, Brian turned Michael so that he could see the hidden snap closures running along the back and inner thigh of Michael’s right leg. Just above the knee, up to just under his groin. Brian buckled the belt, and then looped it. “Step into it.”
Game but still wondering where Brian was going with all this, Michael put his foot in the center of the circles and watched as Brian pulled the belt up his leg. Once over the knee, Brian started matching up the snaps on the back of the belt with the ones sewn into the pants. After he was done, he sat back and nodded. “Take a look.”
Michael turned to the mirror. “Whoa.” The belt circled his thigh snuggly about three inches above his knee, then crisscrossed in the back to come round again about six inches higher to circle tight around his thigh again, just below his crotch. He turned around, looking from all sides at the effect of the belts and how they hugged him. “I….”
“Wait,” Brian stood up and pulled the shirt that couldn’t possibly fit right over Michael’s head. Funny how it did indeed fit – skin tight, true, but meant to be. It was made of a really soft feeling transparent net fabric. Intentionally made to look as if it were half torn, with rips and ragged ends, the shirt was really two different pieces sewn together – the under bit made of silver metallic gray, with the outer being transparent black. And like the rest, there was a shimmer and sheen to both sections that was accented by the rest of what Michael was wearing.
Brian gave the sleeves a shove up Michael’s arms so that his ever-present cuffs showed. Then he reached up and pulled at the neckline until it ripped and hung low enough that Michael’s collar wasn’t obstructed. Another small jerk, and he had a hint of collarbone showing too.
When Michael gave him a look like he was nuts, Brian grinned. “I remember too, you know. Senior year, the two of us holed up in your room practicing on second-hand guitars and that amp of death. The one that almost got me electrocuted once.”
Michael laughed, “Robert Smith-wannabes.”
Brian nodded. “We never made it past the first few cords,” he said. “But now, tonight… ” A nod to the mirror, “Take a look.”
“Whoa.” Even Michael had to admit he looked, well… good. All he had to do was see Brian’s hungry expression to know that. As for himself, he liked it. He more than liked it. It made him feel like he’d reached a level of cool that he’d always thought beyond him as a teen. “Thank you,” he said, meeting Brian’s eyes in the glass. Both of them knew that it was for more than the clothes.
“Welcome.” Brian hugged him from behind, arms around Michael’s waist. “So what do you think? Spiky hair, some eyeliner and I’ll have my own rock star by my side tonight.”
“Lord, Ashton’ll be making plans for me the minute he sees all this.” Michael nudged Brian as the taller man rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder, his hand rubbing at the patch of skin that showed a couple inches below the shirt’s tattered, cut hem. “And you. That’s why you got me those boots the other day.” Black half boots with silver buckles on the sides; they were a good compliment to Michael’s outfit and clearly a planned choice.
“Guilty.”
Turning to look back at the bed, Michael asked, "And that? Is that what I think it is?" In front of him sat a long and a tad ominous black box with Evan's signet embossed on the top.
Brian gave Michael's ass a pop with the flat of his hand before stepping back. "Evan's as fast as Declan said he'd be." When Michael went to open it, Brian pressed it shut. "Michael. Not now, that's for later." Dom voice.
Knowing that time was growing short before they all had to start getting ready, Michael still gave Brian a quick, "Pretty please, Mister Sir." Worth a try.
Brian snorted, "And speaking of killing Ash." He took the box and slid it under the bed, decision made. Getting to play with the finished version of Michael’s arm restraints could wait for another day. “Time for you to go make sure party-boy is getting a move on.”
“Spoilsport. What’ll you be doing?”
“Sport, yes. Spoil – not a chance. Which means, tick tock. Off you go.”
Brian had a garment bag of his own to play with.
- - -
“La, look at you! Misha, that’s too perfect. Give us a turn.”
Michael did a spin, coming back around with his arms spread wide. Dropping them, he looked around, “Where’s Evan? I wanted to tell him thanks.”
“He’s just off; had another stop to make.” Ashton picked up a garment bag from the bed and hung it from the back of the bathroom door. Turning, he caught Michael staring at his back and smiled. “Lend a hand?” He was bare from the waist up, letting his tattoo breathe but he needed to make sure it didn’t dry out.
“Ointment?”
“Yeah, just have a care for your clothes.”
After washing his hands in the bathroom, Michael grabbed the tube and sat on the bed as Ashton faced away. Gently dabbing along the inked skin, he said, “The red’s faded a lot.”
“Cheers, then.”
“Your shirt’s not like mine, is it? Cause Hugh said no tight clothing for awhile.”
Michael could hear the smile his mothering put in Ash’s voice as he replied, “Taken care of. Besides, I’ve a feeling I won’t be wearing it for long.”
“Stop teasing; tell me.”
“I’ll show you, in a bit. Then we’ll need to finish off your look with hair, and….”
Michael interrupted. “Eyes. I told Brian you’d pounce on those.” He was laughing as Ash looked back over his shoulder with a wink.
“I know what works. Too bad I don’t have that silver eyeliner we used at Havenshire.”
“Oh god.” Michael groaned at the memory. It had been one of the wilder “looks” Ash had given him, but still – the drama had been more than effective given Brian’s reaction.
A couple more minutes and Michael was done. He wiped his hands on a towel as Ash went into the bathroom to use a hand mirror to see the reflection of his back.
When Ash caught him looking, okay staring, at it again, he asked, “Ever think about it? Having one done. Smaller, granted, but… ”
“I… ” Michael stopped, thought about it and then said, “Years ago. Almost did it once when Brian was off in college. But I always ended up talking myself out of it.”
Ash unzipped the garment bag, but turned back before opening it. “Like you did with being a submissive?”
That surprised Michael, because he had never thought about it that way. “A bit, yeah.”
“Well, you dared to do that when the right time and the right man came along; maybe this’ll be the same.” It was an off-handed comment, Ashton’s attention already wandering back towards the garment bag. “Here we go.”
First the shirt, lightweight and expensive – it was a dress tux cut shirt designed with a twist. No buttons down the front. Which meant it was suppose to be worn open and loose, except for the sleeves which had cufflinks already in place. Celtic love knots, in silver or platinum. “Very nice.” Ash brushed a finger along the crisp collar. “I’ll have to wait until the ointment absorbs.” He hung it on the closet door, nearby.
Next he brought out the pants, “Oh, sweet heaven.” Ash was smiling, large and bright. It was instant adoration. “Look at these.” Not that he gave Michael a chance as he jerked down the pajama bottoms he was wearing – the ones he’d pulled out from the back of a bureau, old, threadbare and barely worn anymore unless he was alone. Just as quickly, he disappeared into the bathroom as Michael fought not to laugh at his retreating backside.
“Fuck me. I’m in love! Misha, come see.”
Jet-black stretch denim from the back, they were waist-less and skin tight with silver stitched pockets – all of which looked damn good on a man with a body like Ash’s. But then he turned around, and Michael knew why he was so happy. The pants had been cut so that from mid-shins to the tops of his legs, the denim gave way to leather – black and smooth, molded to his body over knees and thighs, denim from shin to ankle. And denim from the low-slung top to his crotch, they were sewn together with silver stitches and fastened with a silver zipper, and topped off with a love knot button that matched the cufflinks.
“Shit, you’re gonna kill him the minute you walk in the door.” Michael grinned. “Those are amazing.”
Ash held up his hand, “Wait. Wait a sec.” He disappeared, then was back sitting on the commode as he pulled on a pair of black boots he’d had in the closet. Bit of a heel, pointed toes and shined up – they were a great match. Pulling the pant legs down over the top of the boots, he stood and asked, “Now how does it all look?”
“Dangerous.”
Ashton looked in the mirror, angling to see his back, then forward again. There was a smile on his face as he breathed out, “Darkling, indeed.”
- - -
"Where *is* that man of yours?"
Michael turned from the dressing mirror where Ash had just finished showing him his handiwork after fixing Michael's hair – a tad mussed with a small amount of shine threaded through by Ash's fingers using a special mouse he kept on hand. But no answer came as his eyes locked on Brian coming into the room as if on cue.
“Blimey, would you look at him.” Ashton filled the silence as Michael walked straight to Brian, as if drawn by a magnet. “I don’t know who’s the luckier man between you,” their friend smiled.
Michael, if he’d been capable of comment, would have gladly said there wasn’t a comparison, though Brian would have disagreed. But Michael had lost the ability to do anything but stare, mesmerized by the man who was his.
Magnificent.
It was the only word he could put to the image that was Brian Kinney in black and china red. Dress shoes, perfectly shined. Tuxedo trousers with sharp pressed lines. Red silk sash, wrapped around his waist and tied off on the side with the ends flowing down on the left with small tasseled edges. And then above, he wore a tight sleeveless black leather vest with flared collar that was clearly custom cut with ribbed vertical black stitching from waist to neck, each line about an inch apart from left to right.
Fastened down the front with silver clasps that looked like they'd been taken from a Tudor period film, it was a style that followed through as Brian turned slowly so Michael could see the rest. The back was Chinese silk, red from neck to waist, but with the added feminine flair of being corseted – directly juxtaposed with the masculine leather of the front. Thin black strings were threaded through lacing rings on either side, crisscrossing his lower back as it cinched the garment together and pulled the leather tighter to Brian's tall frame.
"How the hell did you get into that on your own?”
“Trade secret.” Brian smirked as Ashton made a show of fanning his face in response to Brian's outfit, but he turned his attention back to Michael as his lover came to him.
Standing close enough to almost touch, Michael did just that – reaching out with something close to reverence. He traced the warmth of Brian’s exposed arms – strong, firm and powerful. His gaze followed everywhere he touched, from Brian's shoulders to wrists, stopping to run his fingers over the etched initials found on Brian's leather cuff.
Smiling, Michael ran his palms over the leather that covered Brian's chest. Then he headed back around Brian’s sides to the silk and ties. Michael wasn’t even aware that he’d closed his eyes to absorb the sensations, to enjoy them, until Brian’s voice came and his focus shifted.
“Mikey.” Brian stopped for a moment as Michael looked at him, the pleasure visible there in his brown eyes a satisfying turn even for a man who was well aware of his own reflection. “You like?" It was evident in his voice that he was amused, but also gratified by Michael's appreciative daze.
“I love it,” Michael whispered. He rose up to kiss Brian, and then smiled with such pride. “Beautiful.” Both the man, and his clothes.
Brian nodded, joking, “But you’re biased.” Giving Michael a squeeze, his hands traveled for a moment over his lover’s backside before he let go of the newly flustered Michael.
“How’d you hide all this?” Michael knew the outfit hadn’t been in their things on the plane.
Looking over at Ashton, Brian replied, “His Master can be a very resourceful man.” Ominous, that.
“Don’t I know it,” Ash said, wistfully.
Grinning at the yearning that was clear in Ashton’s voice, Brian gave the man a once over. “He’s got damn good taste, to boot. You look like sex walking.”
A half bow, and Ash said, “Thank you, sir.”
Brian clapped his hands together once. “So, whadda you say? Shall we get the bride to the church on time?”
Michael covered his mouth, but still failed to hide his laughter as Ash snarked back, “That’s to the gallery, thank you. Some attention to detail, please.”
A playful nudge from Brian to Michael, and the taller man leaned in to whisper – rather loudly, “Think he can say handful?”
But it wasn’t Michael who answered, “Potentially not as quick as wanker, no.”
Leave it to Ash. Every time.
- - - - - - -
Part 9
- - - - - - -
Declan had specified that they should arrive before the guests, so it was a good hour before the showing when the three of them ventured out of the hired car – also arranged by Declan – and through the appointed gallery glass doors to which Ashton had a key.
Michael was surprised to see the place was empty, bare white walls and no one about. “What’s… ”
“There’s a new installation coming in next week,” Ash cut in. “This place, it has three levels. This one’s for public display. Upstairs is for private showings and invitation only exhibitions. Grant, he’s the owner, is an art broker, mostly. He uses this place as a showcase for his clients – buying and selling, rather than focusing on general sales to the public.”
Brian watched as Ash went round the reception desk, and pushed a button that brought up the lights. “What’s on the top floor?”
“Grant lives there,” their friend answered a bit distractedly. “Wait staff should be by soon, if they’re not already. DJ and cater, too. We’re upstairs,” Ash finished, already heading for the stairs against the back wall.
Brian and Michael shared a look, and then Brian nodded up, “After you.”
At the top, they came up short at the sight of Ashton facing the stairs with his back to the room, on his knees with head lowered and eyes closed.
“Ash?”
Anything else Michael was going to say was silenced when Brian raised his hand, finger to lips. He pulled Michael to stand with him, back to front with arms around Michael’s waist as he leaned in and said softly, "Watch."
That was when Declan appeared.
With a confident stride, innate and powerful, he came, hair perfect, dark and curled to his shoulders. Face as clean as the day Brian and Michael had first met him, shaven – the beard he’d worn but two days past, gone.
“Uh oh – someone’s in trouble,” Michael murmured, shushed by Brian which caused him to grin.
Whether he meant Declan for having lost the beard, or Ashton because of the naked menace of the other man’s smile – it hardly mattered, because both were probably true. But Brian would place odds that Ash would soon forget the first, once he got a look at the man.
Black leather pants, skin tight with boots laced from foot to knee. Around his waist, a silver chain belt in gypsy style with coins hanging down that swayed when he moved. His shirt a vibrant, jewel-tone sapphire blue silk with poet cut sleeves. And hands, covered in black kid gloves, with something held in each on either side.
In the right, Declan held a cane. Shining like black glass, it was topped with silverwork flames that encased the shaft from the top down to mid-thigh. The handle was a dragon, fierce with teeth bared and fire in its ruby encrusted eyes. The piece was a work of art, held with ease by a master of the scene.
And in the left…
“Darkling, stay.” Declan said, as he came to stand at Ashton’s back. A nod of welcome to Brian and Michael, and then he was crouching down with one knee on the floor. Voice low but strong, he said, “What is your truth?”
Ash inhaled sharply, then answered, “You are, Master.”
“Your past?”
“You, Master.”
“Your future?”
“Only you, Master, as you please.”
“And your now… ” It wasn’t a question; he’d said it like the beginning of a phrase that only Ashton could finish.
“Is as you would have it, Master.”
“And you… ” Declan finished, setting his cane on the floor as he came up on his knees.
“Yours. I am yours.” He said the words, and meant them in every way.
Declan closed his eyes, and pressed his nose to Ashton’s hair for a moment as he breathed out two words. “Thank you.” Then he drew back and raised his left hand, reaching around as he said, “Open your eyes. See what I would have you wear.”
In his hand was a collar, black leather with metallic silver stitching along the top and bottom. The piece was a couple of inches in width all the way around except in the center where it dipped down in a rounded v-shape. Handmade, it was decorated with three silver pieces of metalwork – two of which were flames fanning out on the left and the right. And there was the larger centerpiece. A dragon, one reared up with wings spread – the collar a direct match to Declan’s cane.
“Oh but that is…. So beautiful.” Even from a distance, Ashton’s pleasure was evident by the shine of his wet eyes. He traced his fingers over the dragon, “Who….”
“Deborah.” Unbuckling the piece, Declan pulled Ash’s shirt collar back and placed it around his slave lover’s neck. Fastening it closed, he placed a kiss on the side of Ashton’s neck. “Rise, slave of mine. And greet your Master as you should.”
Standing himself, Declan leaned on the cane and grinned as Ashton turned to see him.
Michael only just managed not to laugh when Ash saw Declan’s face; it was almost the equivalent of a guppy fish, with eyes a bit wide and mouth open in an O. Though he had to hand it to Ashton for managing a quick recovery.
If a gasped, “Bloody hell,” followed by a chagrinned, “Sorry, Master,” could be considered quick.
Indulging him, Declan tilted his head. “Forgiven.”
Taking a moment to look his lover up and down, Ash bit his lip and clenched his fists. Taking a deep breath, a tad shaken, he went forward into Declan’s waiting arms. He bowed his head, resting it on Dec’s shoulder as he murmured private words that Brian and Michael couldn’t hear.
A pause to listen, and Declan answered back a little louder. “You too, Darkling.” Turning his head, he added, “But you know my favorite of your outfits is you in nothing at all. This, though,” left hand skimming over Ashton’s hip and thigh. “This’ll run pretty high on the list after tonight.”
When Ashton laughed, Declan pulled him into a kiss. Firm, but affectionate. Afterwards, Declan held Ash’s eyes with his own and said softly, “Happy Anniversary, love.”
“And to you. For every year, thank you.”
In a tone that was more fondness than the sarcasm he would have used a year ago, Brian told Michael, “Cue the string section.”
“Shhh.” Michael elbowed Brian, but it only caused the taller man to laugh.
Which had Declan and Ash looking their way as Dec shook his head. “Okay, okay – sap factor’s running close to cringe-worthy, yeah?” He made a quick check of the time. “This place’ll be brimming soon, what with setting up and then the guests. So, how about taking an advance look around? Before chaos reigns.”
Michael agreed, “Brilliant. I can’t wait to see your photos.”
“Looking forward to it,” Brian said.
Declan reached over with his cane and pushed a button on the wall that lit the spots above each of the eleven enlarged prints from Declan’s collection. “Gentlemen, I give you ‘NUIN’.”
- - -
One of Eleven:
Stark, grainy. Raw. It was a double portrait, Ashton sitting on the floor with Declan standing to the right, angled from the side in front of him, reflected full figured in the mirror on the wall behind. Both were physically younger, but the look in their eyes – weary, worn. Old before their time.
Ash looked at Declan like he was his last hope; the one man who could be his saving grace, yet also dejected, like he’d been told no before having the possibility of a yes.
Declan, face cut off with a blank dark expression, looking into the mirror, not at himself, but at the back of Ashton’s head. Inflexible, decided.
But then the question – why take the portrait if it was a moment to forget? The act seeming to say more than their resolute stillness could.
“It was the night we first met. He’d said no to every suggestion, every request. Until he was almost out the door, but then he turned back and….”
Declan interrupted Ash, “And I asked to take his picture. I said I’d pay him back with time, more of my time for more of his.”
Two of Eleven:
An all-together different style. At a glance, it was autumn in the English countryside. A nature scene captured in black and white in what looked to be a windstorm. Trees swaying, ancient and looming tall as their limbs were caught in the whirl of nature’s fun and frolic. A dance during which they dipped and moved together, and from which they would be left spent and unadorned until spring called forth the new from the old.
On the ground below, half buried in leaves, lay Ash. Smiling, light – reaching a hand out as if to call the cameraman to lie and roll about at his side. His spirit in his eyes, he was a sprite partially obscured by the foliage that cushioned and curled about him. The leaves his comfort, cover and toys.
“We won’t even discuss how many bites I got from rolling around like a whelp right out of his nappies.” Ashton laughed. A bit chagrined at the memory.
"No, but tormenting you with the itch cream was interesting," Declan smirked.
Three of Eleven:
Figure study, with a twist. Or rather a kink. The picture’s focus was on a pair of hands, rough, covered in drying clay and marble dust. Callused fingers curled inward, wrists bare, crossed. It was a portrait of Ash, sitting on a stool looking exhausted, his head down, face buried in the bend of his arms. Elbows on his worktable with hands up, but folded down.
The moment made more intimate for his lack of awareness. For the harsh contrast between the sharp focus on his hands, and the soft faded blur of the rest of him. An artist driven from within to work, to create until he could no longer see past the pain. His body finally saying no more, when his mind warred in denial that those words even existed.
“When’d you take that?” Ash asked, the surprise in his voice making it evident he’d not seen it before now.
Declan lifted his lover’s hand in his, tracing over the knuckles with a small smile. “It was one of your deadline pushes for university. Can’t remember which. You were so out of it, you didn’t even know I was there. Didn’t see the flash.” He shook his head, “I think you slept almost 48 hours through once you’d finished that piece.”
“Cor, I remember that. Long time past.” Ash turned his hand so that he was holding Declan’s. “Sneaker.”
“That made him sound like a shoe,” Brian mock-whispered to Michael, earning himself a double thump – Michael to the left, and Ash to the right.
Four of Eleven:
Full on close-up, face framed by black empty space. Declan, from forehead to chin. Eyes obscured, covered by spanned fingers – but on closer look, by two different hands. Ears too, closed off, palms laid flat – separate hands. See no evil, hear no evil? Or not, given his mouth was free, though he was smiling – out of the side of his mouth granted, with jaw off center, and his teeth biting into his bottom lip.
The two of them having a bit of fun at Declan’s expense. Ash’s hands callused and nicked, over Dec’s right ear and left eye – he had to be hidden behind, reaching around. And Declan’s, slim long fingers and manicured nails on the left ear and right eye. A calm, cute moment that on film captured a side of them that was playful. Unassuming.
A snort, and then Ash burst out with a laugh. “You should see the outtakes on that one.”
Declan tisked, “No. No, they should not.”
Ash winked at him, then said to the side, “Two words – giddy giggles.”
“Ashton….”
“Yes, Master. Shutting up now, Master.”
Five of Eleven:
Half a circle of light wands, the type used in performances – long and bright, like florescent light bulbs. Each had to be four feet tall, perfectly spaced between. They were the only illumination in the dark room. And at the center – rising, caught and captured by the camera, was the line of Ashton’s back.
He was naked, skin a mix of shadow and reflected lights, body wet with sweat. On his knees, arms spread above him and pressed flat to the floor above his head. Head lifting up but obscured, and back bowed enough to give only a hint of his behind as the outline was consumed by the dark.
A man made more by the postulating of himself to the truth of his nature. Made new as he rose at his Master’s command.
“That’s good, powerful.” Brian said, appreciating the structure of the image – the technique one he’d have found appealing professionally. The piece was made more satisfying because he knew the men in front of and behind the camera. “Anytime you wanna chuck the glamorous life of therapy, and give this a go for a living – consider me interested in your campaign.”
“Ta,” Declan grinned. “But it’s still a hobby.”
“Says the man who’s standing in a gallery that’s showcasing his art with a viewing public less than an hour away.”
“Nothing I haven’t told him a few thousand times,” Ash interjected. “But he likes to keep it close.”
His grin growing, Declan shrugged. “The man. And his mystery.”
Six of Eleven:
Standing tall, back to the camera. Leather pants, no shirt. Dark hair, curling at the ears and neck.
It was Declan, younger, hair shorter than now. Lit from the front in a blacked out room, his body outlined with streaming light as it slipped and spilled around his shape, highlighting the muscles of his slim back, the strength evident in the tension of his taut arms and clenched fists.
And around his neck, wrapped time and again – a long length of corded leather. The whip, held fast with deliberate placement as the handle hung over his shoulder and down his spine. Ominous, yes. But then from out the lower corner of the picture’s frame, there was a hand – fingers spread wide, reaching for but not daring to touch either the man or the whip. Though the yearning, the eagerness was evident as it strove to be near either goal, or both.
“Ashton’s to blame for this one,” Declan said, as Michael stood transfixed. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring, and being pulled from his locked focus had Michael blushing as Declan looked at him with enough insight that he had to fight the urge to squirm.
“It’s brilliant, and you know it.” Ash insisted.
Indulgently fond, Declan replied, “Never let it be said I don’t do my best to satisfy your creative urges.”
Brian snorted, “Sexual or otherwise.”
Seven of Eleven:
In the middle of a laugh, it was the pair of them at ease. In a private setting indoors, lying on mats before a fire. Their townhouse in Pittsburgh. Ash with an arm thrown over his face, mid-wiggle as Declan rose up above him on an elbow, grinning like mad. The Sunday paper puzzle was spread out on the floor to their sides, but Declan had found a better canvas for his answers. T-shirt rucked up, stomach bare – the Master was drawing a duplicate puzzle square on his slave’s skin, letters half filled in before Ash lost his composure and laughed.
Laughed as Declan’s right hand smudged a line towards his navel, his left holding down the clicker as the camera caught the moment. Two lovers, randomly happy and in love with the moment, and each other.
“Now look who’s too cute for words,” Brian teased. Having fun at spinning the word back at Ashton.
“Yet you’ve managed to find some, regardless,” Ash scoffed, amused for all his snark.
Eight of Eleven:
Spotlight on black velvet, camera zoomed in so close that the circle filled almost the entire frame. And on the crushed velvet, resting with wrists pressed together side by side was Ashton’s arms from elbows to finger tips. With a difference that wasn’t new to either Brian or Michael, but had been when the photograph had been taken – the cuff inked tattoos, Declan’s name twice over. Once in Cyrillic and once in Gaelic lettering.
Marks that meant he was Declan’s, in every way he could become.
“They’d just healed, no more ointment. No complications, thanks to Hugh.”
Michael looked over, “How’s the… ” He stopped when he realized he didn’t know what he could and couldn’t say without risking the surprise for Declan.
“I’m good, Misha. No fears.”
Nine of Eleven:
Rain, on a day so overcast everything appeared blue-gray. Or would have if the photo hadn’t have been in black and white like all the rest. A day when most would have been safe inside or ducked into an alcove, trying to avoid being drenched. But not the reveler framed now for all to see. Ashton Forster, wet through and kicking up puddles as he looked back towards the camera with a wide smile.
He’d been caught spinning, arms thrown out wide, on a stray London street. No traffic, no one else to be seen. Just an Englishman playing a child’s game, being indulged in his hilarity by the man snapping the photo from what must have been a safe doorway or from under an umbrella.
“Gene Kelly lives,” Michael said, as Ashton gave a bow.
“I lack the talent for tap, but if it’s a song you’re after – I’ll give it a proper go.”
“One bar of ‘Singing In The Rain’ and I’m calling for a cab.” Brian made as if he were looking for the exits, only to have Michael yank him back by his hand as the taller man laughed.
Declan leaned in, “Not to worry, Darkling. Later, I’ll happily be your audience of one.”
Ten of Eleven:
Man as canvas, wearing only skin and paint. Hair slicked back, shining dark. Face half-covered with a mask, only the mouth and chin free. Lips parted as if taking a deep breath. He was sitting on a stool, naked but covered strategically by a raised thigh, foot on a higher rung as he turned a bit forward to face the camera. Arms raised, hands locked together in restraints that were attached to a hook on the wall above his head.
And the body, slim and pale – but missing the wrist ink and nipple rings. Marked with permanence only along one arm, the tattoo upside down given the angle of his captured limbs. But marked he was in another decidedly more temporary fashion. By paint.
Black lines, dribbled down on him from above in random patterns, circles and swirls. Covered in such a way that he became the art, rather than the artist – framed and decorated by his beholder. Made primitive, bound as he was in his prime.
Not an inch of him free from Ash’s dark touch.
A man, a Master – made in the image of his slave, *by* his slave, lover and friend.
“Fucking hell, Declan. You’ve got nuts big enough to feed a whole family of squirrels.”
“Crassly put, but thank you.” Declan chuckled at Brian’s reaction. “I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?”
Michael looked at the portrait, then at Declan and back again. “It’s really good. How’d you get talked into it?”
“You mean how did the big bad Dom find himself submitting to Ash’s wandering paint brush?” Declan laughed. “It was my gift, this time last year.”
Ash nodded, taking Declan’s hand and looking back at the portrait. The memories seeming to pass through his eyes as he murmured fondly, “Our tenth.”
Eleven of Eleven:
The two of them, at evening’s end. Standing together, pressed close with Declan behind and Ashton in front. Declan’s arms around Ash’s waist, with one hand pressed flat against his lover’s heart. Both men dressed, trousers and dress shirts with ties hanging free and collars unbuttoned. They could have just come in from a fancy dinner, or a party or a play. Come back to a quiet space that was just them, and what they could be and were to each other.
Ash’s head rested back against Declan’s shoulder, his eyes closed and lips turned up with a gentle lift as if hearing words whispered. Declan’s face turned, pressed against Ash’s hair – eyes camouflaged by long dark lashes and mouth parted as if he’d just said the naughtiest thing. Or something lovely and fun.
“You’ve a bit of the romantic in you, to end on this one,” Michael said, turning to see Ash being held in a similar position as the last portrait – Declan hugging him lightly from behind.
Brian nodded solemnly but with not a little humor in his eyes. “Shhh, now. Wouldn’t want that to get out. Might ruin his reputation.”
“Hardly,” Declan smiled. “I’m too much the dragon for it to scourge me – for one night.”
Ash turned around, lifting a hand to brush against Declan’s smooth jaw. Then he paused, and asked, “Wait, one night? The show’s….”
“For one night. Only. Our night, Darkling.” He kissed Ash, leaving him looking a bit stunned. “Happy anniversary.”
Ashton leaned in and pressed his face against Declan’s shoulder – mirroring a bit the photo in front of which they stood. “Thank you, love. For so much.”
“And to you, for all the mores that are to come.”
- - -
“Brian.” It was Declan, coming over with a hand raised to pat him on the arm after making what had to be his fourth turn through the milling guests and wait staff. Music filling the room, Brian leaned in to hear as Declan asked, “Where’s Michael?”
“Standing by the bar with Hugh, why?” Looking over, Brian saw Hugh giving a belly laugh as Michael shook his head and laughed himself. They’d both been taken fast under the larger man’s wing as it were, once he’d arrived for the evening. So if there were a lull in introductions amid the sea of different and new faces, or if Brian and Michael got separated, then Hugh wasn’t far away. Brian figured it was probably because as much as Hugh was a friend of Declan and Ashton, he was feeling a bit of the odd man out without his Annie at his side.
“It’s almost time for Ash’s moment,” Declan answered. He was standing there, leaning on his cane with a style and ease that usually only came with frequent use, his eyes locked on his slave’s form from across the room.
“It’s his gift to you. Doesn’t that make it *your* moment?”
That enigmatic smile, again. The one that spoke to Declan’s inner amusement, but outwardly showed that he could but wasn’t going to elaborate. “Thank you, by the way. For the present. Ash shared the news.”
Brian grinned, “Well, you said no anniversary gifts.” It was a part of Declan and Ashton’s tradition that they gave gifts to each other, but did not receive them from others. “Michael figured if we called it a host gift, then you’d bend the rules.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling that the choice of what to give was yours.” A laugh, and Declan asked, “Where did you find a six-pendulum Newton’s cradle?” They usually came with only five.
Just what every therapist needed on his or her desk – an Executive Pacifier. Swinging balls and all.
“A resourceful assistant is a wonderful thing,” Brian joked. “Did he tell you it was engraved?”
D-E-C-L-A-N on one side of each silver ball, and A-S-H-T-O-N on the other.
“The two of us knocking balls in perpetual motion?” Declan, ever an artist at deadpanning. “Yes, he may have mentioned it – when he could gasp in enough air to breathe after his laughing fit.” Declan smirked. “I do appreciate your humor, Brian. In all its uniqueness.”
“Glad you like it.” Brian mock bowed, “And the gift.”
Declan raised the cane, holding it under one arm as he slipped a hand into his pocket. With smile, he pulled out a small key and handed it to him. “Mind this, will you?”
Brian looked at the key, “What’s it for?”
A shake of his head, “You’ll have to wait for that.” Declan looked around as the music suddenly stopped. “I think that’s my cue.”
Cane firmly back on the floor, Declan turned and walked to the center of the room. The people around him looked and then seemed to part, widening the space around him until he stood alone.
Michael joined Brian. “What’s he doing?”
Brian put his arm around Michael, leaning in to say, “Receiving his gift, I think.”
Ash appeared, in front of Declan but half a room away. He bowed, staying down until the room filled with the triple tap of Declan’s cane against the floor. Face serious and eyes only for his Master, Ash walked the distance and knelt at the other man’s feet. “What is your will, Master?”
“Rise.”
The room remained silent as Ashton did so, standing still as Declan slowly, deliberately circled him – walking around him with eyes appraising until he stood back where he’d started. His eyes locked with Ash’s, as he said, “Madam James, would you please?”
The devil was smiling as Deborah parted from the crowd and came forward, taking the cane that she’d made for him into her possession until it could be returned again.
Michael was close enough to hear her fondly murmur, “Dramatist,” before she went back into the crowd. He bit back against the impulse to laugh as Brian whispered, “Ain’t he just.”
Declan’s reaction to her name-calling was a wink, and then he was kissing Ash – soft, full and long – parting their lips to speak three words. “Dance with me.”
A raised hand, and the DJ followed Declan’s signal – music filling the room to wrap around the two of them like a pulse, slow and seductive, a Latin undertone with a sway to it that matched Declan’s body as he took Ashton close and began to move. Began to rock and flow in time to the beat, easy and sure – focused on Ash’s face and body rather than on anyone else watching in the room.
Keeping their bodies close, Declan moved forward and then back – touching Ash’s chest as his slave raised hands to hold Declan’s hips. Leather-clad fingers teasing, then palms pressing over Ash’s nipples, Dec said something that was lost in the music, something that had Ashton reluctantly moving his hands back, then away from Declan’s body. Not that Declan left them there for long….
A beat, and then he turned and circled Ash again – his hands moving along the length of his lover’s arms as he traced them from wrists to shoulders, making as if he were going to draw the shirt back by the neck. But then he stopped and returned to the front. Returned, and drew first one of Ash’s hands up then the other – removing the customized cufflinks that held the sleeves of Ash’s shirt closed. Never missing a beat as he slipped them into a pocket and continued to move against Ashton’s body, the two of them mesmerizing as they slow danced.
Slipping under Ashton’s shirt, Declan ghosted his hands up the man’s back where he softly mapped his skin with a light touch until he reached what must have been the bottom of the design – skin a bit silky with the remnants of ointment from hours ago. Face suddenly serious, he stopped moving and stood against Ash as their gazes held and Declan moved his fingers further up, tracing blindly the edges of where the tattoo must be. “What have you to show me, Darkling?”
Ash drew in a breath, one that Michael could see even from a distance was shaky. The man’s face so full of emotion that Michael tightened his hold on Brian’s arms as Ash bowed his head and spoke.
“I have nothing to give, Master. Except myself, and all that is a part of me. Ever may it please you.”
“You have pleased me, for many a year. It’s proud I am that you’re mine.”
Ash raised his head, and looked at his lover with eyes full of love and hope. “Would you receive what I have to give you, Master?”
Declan slipped his hands back around and drew them up Ashton’s stomach and chest, then with a smooth push, the shirt fell down Ash’s back and off his arms to the floor. Revealing to the others the mark he would now carry for life.
The room no longer silent, a murmur carried as those who were near reacted to the design. The looks on people’s faces, curious and approving as Brian glanced around and then back as Declan lifted his hand to touch Ash’s face, and then turned him around so he could see what the others had already seen.
Spread across his mid to upper back from one side to the other, was a medallion design – a circle within a circle, measuring about ten inches round. The border space between the two circles held an intricate and beautiful Celtic pattern, which caught the eye but truly served more to draw one’s focus in towards what was at the center of the inner circle itself.
A tree that was more than a tree, a design that was more than what one saw at first glance. Above were branches, ancient and rising up tall to disappear into the curve of the border. Below were the roots intermingling together, reaching down until the circle assumed them. But between, there was the absence of a trunk – the tree instead made whole by the intertwined bodies of two men. Bare of all but each other’s arms as they held one another, kissing – they were the tree. They were the life from which the branches rose, their hair the source from which the limbs grew. They were the claiming of each other and the right to life as their tangled legs grew down into the roots that fed and held them strong.
The two of them, the pair matched together indelibly as the Celtic Tree of Life Lovers. Held fast together, with a permanence and strength to weather all storms.
The design itself was vibrant, done with a skill that Hugh had every right to find pride in. The men, the branches and roots were almost three dimensional, giving the appearance that if one reached out to touch them, they’d be real.
And indeed, that was what Declan did – air-tracing his gloved fingertips over the lines with a reverence for what they meant and for the man who had suffered their placement. “Dar…. Darkling, mine.” His voice was a rasp, his face held fast only by the barest of threads as he leaned in and pressed a kiss just above the tattoo. Pressed and held there, with eyes closed and arms wrapped around Ash’s waist. His silence and Ash’s shining eyes saying more than words could.
Locked for the longest as the music continued to play and their guests looked on, sharing from afar as Declan held Ash, and the moment held them both. Together.
- - -
Others had started dancing once Dec and Ash took a brief break to go find a few minutes alone. Music flowed, along with the booze, and everyone was happier for it, having a good time.
Everyone, including Michael and Brian. The two nigh on inseparable as they moved to the beat, Michael’s hands skimming over Brian’s chest and hips as Brian switched from having his arms crossed over Michael’s shoulders to riding low on his lover’s ass.
Buzzed and smiling, Michael moved against Brian, enjoying the way it made the taller man’s hazel eyes grow hungry.
“Dangerous ground, Mikey. Keep this up, and I’ll….”
Interrupting, Michael lifted up his head to kiss Brian – fast and sweet. “I like keeping you up.” He circled a bit against the interest he could feel developing down below.
“What are you going to do? Molest me on a public dance floor? I’m shocked.”
“As if you haven’t been molesting me on public dance floors for years.”
“But the last six months have been the most fun,” Brian laughed, stopping Michael’s answering words with a kiss as they continued to dance, continued to tease.
“As much as I hate breaking up this lovely bit of foreplay, and I mean that… ” It was Ashton, standing at their side – looking a bit rumpled and still missing his shirt. “Declan sent me to fetch you both.”
Brian had to ask, “If I throw you a bone, will you wag your tail, too?”
Hardly missing a beat, Ash replied, “I’m only interested in one man’s bone, thanks. And he’s the one who sent me.”
Michael chuckled, and then asked Brian, “Think you can walk?” He rubbed his hips against Brian again, his eyes full of mischief.
Head falling back, Brian lightly growled, “Someone save me from smart-assed submissives. I’m surrounded.”
Ash snorted, “There’s about a dozen dominants in this room who would more than appreciate being in the same predicament.”
“Okay, you two.” Michael gave them both a playful shove. “Declan’s waiting.”
Brian threw Ashton a look. “I think he thinks we’re twelve.”
Ash grinned. “He may be right.”
Leading the way, he took them out of the crowded exhibition area and around to the back of the building. It was quieter, just the faintest murmur of voices and music reaching them as they walked down the hallway, at the end of which was Declan.
The man was leaning against the wall by a pair of doors that featured an ornate beveled glass design – one that was frosted to allow light to pass, but obscured the view of the room on the other side. The light showing through seemed to flash and flicker at a steady, if mysterious, pace.
Standing tall with his cane once more in hand, Declan greeted them with a smile. “Brian, I believe you still have the key that I gave you, yes?”
Brian pulled the key from his pocket and handed it to Declan, watching as the man unlocked the door.
Leaving it closed, Declan handed the key back to Brian. “While it is a tradition of sorts for us not to receive gifts on our anniversary, it is also our tradition to give a gift to folks we care for. You two came within our circle at a critical moment in your relationship. And since then,” Dec smiled at Ash, then looked back at Brian and Michael. “It’s been a true pleasure to witness how you’ve grown, and explored this newer side to your natures.” He stepped away from the door, as Ashton came around to stand at his back. “So this year, it was a readymade decision to give our gift to the two of you.”
Michael glanced at Ash, seeing him looking fondly at them both. “But, you’ve done so much to help us, and now this trip with you playing tour guide, and….”
“Misha, you deserve to receive all the faith you give,” Ash said. “Let us thank you, for sharing with us and looking after me.”
Brian put an arm across Michael’s chest, hugging his shoulders from behind. He met Declan’s gaze with his own assessing eyes, and then gave him a small nod. The men having said thank you and you’re welcome without a word, as was often their way. “So, what’s behind door number one?”
Declan answered, “More a moment, than anything else. A time and space to share with you what we see when you’re with us.” He reached out and opened the door a crack. “The rest of the night’s yours, with no interruptions. Just turn the lock when you enter, and lock it again when you leave. I’ll see to having everything returned safely home tomorrow.” Letting the door open fully, Declan stepped back.
“Your show awaits.” He smiled, with a merry sparkle in his eyes.
Brian asked one last question before heading with Michael into the unknown awaiting them. "This show have a name?"
Declan nodded, then answered with one word. “‘Embraced.’”
- - - - - - -
Part 10
- - - - - - -
The click of the closing door and Brian's subsequent turn of the lock found them both standing speechless as they looked around the room – a room that had been set for more than a casual viewing of interest, per Declan and Ashton's usual flare for style and scene.
Hurricane candle lamps were lit in all four corners of the room, with accent votives spread throughout along the walls and on shelves until the place was all shadows and low, warm light. Ambience all around.
In the center of the room was a pile of cushioned mats covered with richly colored quilted throws, topped with an array of large jewel-toned pillows. Beside which, there sat a bucket with champagne on ice and an assortment of hors d'oeuvres arranged on a platter within easy reach. Everything the two would need for an indoor picnic – intimately arranged.
Which would have been more than nice enough, but it wasn’t what Declan had been referring to when he’d named it a show. Or a showing, as it where.
No, that name only signified to them as their eyes followed the next flash of light to the farthest wall.
“Oh, god.” Michael breathed, a quick glance at Brian and then back. “It’s us.”
And it was – the pair of them, tangled and lost in the passion of the moment that was them wrapped tight, naked and kissing on black velvet. A flash, and it was them again. Another flash, and again. And then another. Half a dozen of them, set on random speed so that some remained for longer intervals than others, repeated over and over again.
Brian turned his head, finding the projector that was set up against the wall opposite the images. “Bastard made slides,” he said, ruefully amused. He’d been expecting to get the photos he’d had Declan take of him and Michael once they got back to the states. But it seemed Declan had been busy with more than his own exhibit while Ashton was playing tour guide.
Looking back at Michael, Brian saw that he’d walked across to the room – staring at the images as they passed over his back and onto the wall.
Coming up to him, Brian teased, “Will you look at the ass on that one in the blindfold.”
Michael shot him a look, his face hot even in the low light of the room. But he couldn’t help but smile a little as Brian gave him a wink, and then hugged him from behind – the both of them watching as the picture changed again. The memory of what they’d done, of what they’d said, so clear in their minds – and now with images writ large as day.
Michael shook his head, shifting as he felt himself responding – only to feel that Brian was as well. “I see you. So gorgeous.” He took a breath. “Always beautiful.”
Brian rested his faced against Michael’s hair, speaking into his ear. “I see you, dark and light – lost in the way I can make you feel.” He kissed Michael’s neck, and then raised his eyes back to the wall. “You look amazing, Mikey.” A squeeze, and he added, “We look amazing.”
It took him a bit, but finally Michael found it in himself to see what Brian saw – them together, rather than himself or Brian separately. “We...” Michael raised his hands to hold onto Brian’s. “We do,” he murmured. Then chuckled, “Thank heavens, you’re the one on top.” When Brian nudged him, Michael turned around in his arms. “I don’t think I’m anywhere near ready for full frontal.”
A hand slipped down between them, and Brian had Michael biting his lip as he tried to hold back a moan. “Doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to worry about down there.”
“Bri, you – oh, that feels good.”
“Supposed to.” Brian rubbed his face against the soft scratch of Michael’s chin, growling softly, “I want you spread out, just like you were then.” To which Michael could only nod before he was swept up in a kiss that served to practically melt his toes.
They were heading for the mats and pillows when the room went almost dark, but for the candle flames. The sudden absence of a lighted slide stopping them, their eyes went back to the empty wall just as the projector flicked to its last and final presentation. The image there was one to see and hold in the memory. The one that showed them as they truly were….
Michael holding and held so tight, his mouth bruised and full and his eyes open – locked with Brian’s own. The blindfold gone. Brian above, pressed against him, clinging to Michael as they felt the impact of the words Brian had just said. The meaning of those words mapped over their faces, the power hitting them as they crested the wave and fell, each into the other.
That moment, that truth – captured in time.
Brian’s wish to have, and Michael’s desire to give – there for them to know.
“Now.” The word was Michael’s. He reached up and turned Brian’s face to his, letting him see his decision. He threaded his fingers into Brian’s hair, reaching up to kiss him. And then kiss him again. “You said. You said I could pick the time.” Brian nodded, eyes serious and all humor gone. Michael smiled, his voice emphatic as he said. “I want it to be now.”
Not just another time. *The* time.
“Michael.” His lover’s name a rasp, Brian pressed his face against Michael’s and breathed in deep the smell of candle wax and Michael’s skin. He groaned, his arms circling the smaller man with a force that had Michael almost off his feet. And then he was, Brian lifting him with a laugh that broke from his chest and had them both stumbling a foot or two until Brian tripped himself and Michael onto the mats and pillows in a mess of arms, legs and laughing hearts.
Michael's shirt landed on the floor, tossed with only enough care so that it didn't catch fire. Brian rubbed his face against Michael's flat stomach, feeling his lover's hands as they reached and scrambled to get something else off – whether it be his clothes or Brian's. "Help me, dammit." The frustration in Michael's voice pulling Brian's attention up from placing soft bites along his waistline. "How do we get you out of this?"
Brian rose up on his knees as Michael dropped his hands from the corseted shirt-vest with a groan. "Easy, I got it." He sucked in a breath and worked the clasps free down the front, the ornate beauties apparently not just for show. Pulling it back off his shoulders, Brian quickly had help as Michael sat up and pushed it down Brian’s arms. Both bare from the waist up, but for the leather and platinum that would remain.
There was a brief tussle as they fought to pull Michael’s boots off, and then Brian pressed him back until he was lying down. “I’ve been wanting to peel these off you all night,” Brian murmured, his eyes hungry and his hands doing their best to do just that.
Michael jerked as Brian gave his leather pants a tug that had them down at his thighs quick as a flash, the belts undone and off just as fast. His legs trapped, Michael inhaled sharply as Brian covered his hard-on and mapped his flesh with warm fingers as they played along his length and scratched through the dark curls surrounding. “I need, please just…. Bri.”
“Feel that, Mikey? Flesh to flesh, skin to skin. Can you imagine it?” The words were rough and thick with the desire that even the thought of what was to come could ignite in Brian.
Pressing Brian's hand against himself, Michael shook his head. "I don't want to imagine." He rose up again, kissing Brian as the other man went about removing the rest of Michael's clothing, blind. Finally kicking them free, Michael knelt and held onto Brian with arms around his waist as they looked at each other. "Make it real." He shivered as Brian's hands slid down his back and over his ass. "Do it."
Brian nodded, burning with just the idea of what they were about to do. He pulled Michael's hands down between them to undo his trousers, as he reached into a pocket and took out something they would need. And something they wouldn't. Two packets in his hand, one he kept – the lube. One he threw across the room as Michael pressed against him and licked the bend of his throat.
The scratch of Michael's teeth against his collarbone, and Brian cursed. "Fuck, get these off me." Dueling hands worked his shoes and trousers down, freeing him to guide himself over Michael as they arched and thrust against each other. Every touch, every kiss driving up the tension until Brian held Michael down with a hand flat on his chest as he drew the smaller man's legs up and over his thighs.
Michael moaned, trying to keep his hips still but failing as Brian wet his fingers with lube and then pushed them down to where they both wanted them. The pressure, the friction and then the slight burn as Brian eased the way, slicking the inside of Michael's body with a skill that had him clutching at pillows and arching into Brian's next thrust.
Brian watched Michael move for him and bit back a sound; he knew this was going from zero to 60, but he couldn't slow himself down enough to care. He wanted, they both wanted this – to the extent that it needed to be now. "You feel so damn hot inside," Brian said, his hand shaking unconsciously as he wet his fingers again and slicked them down his cock. Fuck, just the thought of what it was going to be like inside, clasping, wet and warm. If he didn’t do this soon, he’d burst like someone half his age.
For a man who prided himself on his sexual stamina, he was fairly close to having no control at all. “Fuck, Mikey.” A quick grab for a pillow to shove under Michael’s hips and Brian was over him.
Michael couldn’t think; he couldn’t do anything but feel. Feel and breathe out in a gush, “Ohh, god. Brian, ahhh. In, fuck. In me.” He squeezed his eyes shut with the first full thrust, the first moment that was Brian inside him – skin bare, with nothing between them.
“Look at me,” Brian groaned, his teeth clenched as he pushed forward and absorbed the sensation of his cock parting Michael’s flesh and breeching his body. Driving home, as he felt the fire of the moment flowing down his spine. “Look, aww.” Brian shook as he settled inside Michael, as he felt Michael’s body adjust around him. As he met Michael’s eyes, and saw the impact of how he felt mirrored in his lover’s dark gaze.
Michael wrapped his legs tight, grunting as Brian moved into him fully seated. He ran his hands over Brian’s body, his strong arms, his firm sweat-slicked chest and then down. Down to where they were joined, his fingers touching Brian and himself. Feeling the skin at the base of Brian’s cock where it was housed within him. “Move,” he whispered. “I want to feel you move.” His words a moaning plea to experience it from both the outside and inside.
Shifting, Brian hissed as he moved – his eyes focused between them, seeing what Michael could only feel given the angle. Seeing and feeling as he fucked. As he joined with Michael again and again, bodies inseparable as he thrust faster and faster.
Heart a blitzkrieg of sound in his ears, Michael’s hand fell away as he fisted the fabric at his sides, as he writhed under Brian’s sleek body and solid form. He couldn’t think past the sensation of Brian’s cock fucking into him, pulling back, then pushing in again. Even his own hard-on became an absent thought, though his body was wet with the evidence of his rising desire.
Hips snapping as Michael’s thighs squeezed, Brian worked them both closer and closer until he was over Michael – weight on his knees and hands. Leaning in, he moaned as Michael rose up and licked at his mouth, wetting his lips before thrusting past them to play over his tongue. The two of them, kissing and calling out – words like “good” and “God” passing between them until neither was capable of saying anything as the rush surged up inside. And then the moment came, the fire flared and they cried out as their bodies quaked and came.
Michael first, semen coating his stomach and Brian’s where it pressed against him with delicious friction. Then Brian, not a moment after, jerking as Michael’s body clenched around him so tight that he came with something that was both pleasure and pain.
“Michael, god.” Brian turned his face against Michael’s neck, moaning as he felt himself held surrounded by flesh and lube and seed. He pulled Michael close, easing them both on their sides a bit to settle his weight. His hand traveled over Michael’s back and behind until he was tracing them both, at the opening that had him, housed him and had driven him quite mad. “So wet… ”
Michael closed his eyes, still breathing hard, body sensitized and tingling. He opened his mouth but words didn’t come. Swallowing, he tried again. “I’m gonna have you running down my thighs. A real mess.”
Brian groaned as Michael’s tease had him pressing closer, trying to hold himself inside as long as he could. But his flesh was weak and as the seconds ticked by, he felt himself slipping free. “Damn, you’re killing me.”
A hum from Michael as he shook his head, and then a sharp gasp as Brian pressed his fingers through the wet ring of Michael’s body. “Aww, fuck. That’s…. ” He couldn’t even say.
Brian nodded, inhaling the smell of sex and skin as he rested his hand where it was, connected and warm. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is… ”
Was, and would be again.
- - -
A loud knocking at their door had Michael jerking awake. He was disoriented, half-asleep and when he moved he hissed softly. His muscles were feeling the effects of last night's play, an almost endless flash of memories running through his muddled head as he remembered what had happened. At the party, after the party and then back in their room at Chez Rai.
Another knock, and he groaned. Taking a deep breath, he started to untangle himself from the sheet he'd managed to get wrapped up in. Brian was still dead to the world on his stomach, body bared to the rays of sunlight that were peeking through the drapes. Michael glanced at the mirror across from the bed, and winced. "Just what every good gay boy needs, wind tunnel hair." He eased out of bed, mouthing, "Owe," as his body protested the move.
Another moment to find his feet, and Michael went to the door – opening it a crack to find no one there. He frowned, looking up and down the hall, managing to miss the tray at his feet only by chance. Black lacquered to shine and inlaid with oriental flowers, the tray held plates of toast, jams, fruit, sweet rolls, juice and milk. It also had a note from Ashton.
"Gone shopping, and to visit an old friend. Back tonight. So happy for you both, I can hardly say! Love, Ash. PS – If either of you see the other side of your bedroom door today, Declan's left you a surprise. Check under the plate – enjoy!"
Under the plate, there was a key. One with another note attached on a string. This one was in Declan's elegant script. "Fifth door on the left, down the hall. Kids in a candy store should have somewhere to play. D"
Slowly moving through the room with the tray in hand, Michael put it on the bureau next to the bed. "Bri?" No response. Michael grinned, his lover dead to the world. With due cause, considering the state of himself and Michael's sore behind.
Such an unbelievable night.
Michael caught himself after a moment, lost in thought. He rolled his shoulders, resolving to have a soak while he ate. A few bits of fruit and some toast on a plate in one hand, a glass of milk in the other – and he was off. Hot water and bubbles calling his name.
It was sometime later that he opened his eyes to find Brian standing in the doorway, watching him as he relaxed back in the large tub. When nothing was said for the longest, Michael sat up and leaned against the side with his chin on his folded arms. "We got you all dirty," he murmured – smiling a bit as Brian scratched at his stomach – the remnants of their night dried on his body as it had been on Michael's.
Brian nodded as he came closer, enjoying the heat induced flush that tinged Michael's wet skin. But not as much as the look in those dark eyes as Brian stepped into the water and eased down opposite him. Drawing up his legs, Brian pulled Michael up so that he was kneeling between Brian's thighs. "Wash me."
"Yes, sir. Mister Sir." Michael agreed with a grin. He started running the soapy sponge over Brian's chest and shoulders, the two of them playing as Brian leaned in close as if for a kiss only to bypass Michael so he could reach the fruit on the ledge nearby. "Meanie."
“That’s me.” Brian closed his eyes as he ate a strawberry, absorbing the warmth of the water and the sensations caused by Michael's caring hands as the minutes passed. "You okay?"
Caught off guard by Brian's question, Michael stopped bathing Brian as he looked up to see he was being watched again. Brian's gaze moving over him, rising the flush of his skin as he lingered on some of the more visible marks left by his mouth or hands. They'd gone at it very needful there at the end, when his body had been pushed almost past the point of knowing it needed to slow down. "You took care of me; I'm good."
And he had. Brian had been very aware that even given their normal level of sex, this was new ground for them both. "How's your ass?" It was a serious question, but he still had a flare of amusement in his eyes as he said it.
Michael laughed, "I could ask you the same thing. How was my ass?"
"Fan-fucking-tastic," Brian said. "Now answer the question. We went at it a lot."
"I can feel it, but I'm okay. I checked," Michael said distractedly, letting go of the sponge as his hands went further down Brian's body – cleaning him intimately. His attention was caught again as Brian pulled his hands away, "What?"
"Stand up. Show me," Brian's voice was pitched low, but firm.
It was a mixture of command and concern that had Michael swallowing as he felt himself responding to Brian's control. It touched something in him, leaving him aroused and feeling safe at the same time.
He stood up, water and bubbles sliding down his body. He remained there, standing above Brian for a long minute as the other man traced his hands up Michael's legs until they rested on his hips and tugged until Michael turned around.
"Eyes open, Michael. Hands on the tub."
Michael tried to bite back his groan, but failed as he found himself bent at the waist with hands down and eyes looking straight across into the mirror that reflected them back. God, but he had to tighten his arms as the picture of himself and Brian assailed him. As he realized how similar it was to another memory. Their first time in Brian's bathroom. Fuck.
Michael had to fight to keep his head up, his eyes from closing as Brian leaned in and ran his hands up Michael's legs, between his thighs and then up again to his ass. With no hesitation, he pulled the cheeks apart – the opening to Michael's body bared to his eyes. To his touch. "Not too bad," he muttered, Brian’s voice sounding a bit thick as he ran his fingers over it, testing a bit by pushing inside. He had to hug Michael's legs as the other man moaned, his position becoming perilous as his knees threatened to unlock. "Easy, come here."
He guided Michael down until he was sitting between Brian's legs, resting back against his chest. Turning his face, Brian kissed him softly, and then again with more fire. The two of them necking, enjoying the kisses as they lie together in the water. Unhurried, and unconcerned for the time that passed. Each focused only on the man in their arms. And there they remained for it mattered not how long.
- - -
“Hello! Would you look in here,” Brian said, blocking the doorway so Michael was incapable of doing just that.
Giving Brian’s towel-clad hips a push, Michael came around and stopped. “Whoa.”
It was a playroom, completely equipped and décor expensive by the look of it. Done up in three main colors: black – equipment and furniture, all customized to match; silver – accents, chains and light fixtures; red – walls, vibrant and rich. There was a black lacquered floor that resembled the tray Michael had returned to the kitchen and a black ceiling with soft white recessed lighting along all four walls. The walls were customized with the letters D and A painted in large black script with silver borders, the initials overlapping with the D above and the A below.
“Again with the whoa.” Michael walked into the room, skirting the edge of the scene pieces – some of which he’d only seen in movies or described in books. There was the St. Andrews Cross in one corner. Padded benches, odd shaped stools of varying heights and designs, and the massage table with built in restraints. There was even a leather sling hanging from the ceiling in another corner. “Why am I not surprised that they have one of these?”
Brian came up to stand with Michael, his fingers playing over the sensitive skin of Michael’s bare neck – the collar safe in their room. “You ever try one of these?” He could tell by Michael’s quick head shake that it was something that intrigued him though; it was that nervousness Michael tried to hide before he reluctantly gave in enough to admit the lie with a small smile. Always so damn endearing. “Want to?”
Michael stared at it, and then shook his head. “Rain check? I don’t think my butt’s up for it yet.”
Brian snorted, “Your butt and my back.” It wasn’t a sign of age, he told himself. To feel a twinge or two – or three, considering the night they’d had. Not that he’d admit that to anyone other than Michael. Still, he was chagrinned at the admittance nevertheless. “Tell you what. Instead, why don’t we give the table a go?” He pulled Michael close, nuzzling his face against Michael’s as he murmured, “A nice massage, you do me. I do you.”
Michael swallowed, circling his arms around Brian’s waist. “Yes. Please.” He hid his private grin against the taller man’s neck as Brian groaned lightly. Please had come to mean something rather intimate between them over the last few months.
So a bit of pampering it was. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.
- - -
Sunday started out lazily enough – all having slept in following a night of dancing and drinks on the town. One club after another, with a visit to the famous “Heaven” somewhere in the middle, until they’d all spilled into a cab in the wee hours and made it back to crash in their respective beds. A Saturday night spent like so many others, but made more unique and wild because it was London. Where everything was new, and felt like more due to how important Friday had proven – for both couples, in different ways.
Now, Sunday – they had a late brunch at a local café. The air was cooler than any other day since they’d arrived in London so they’d bundled up. They were all sitting around the outdoor table with coffee or tea to warm their hands, discussing their plans for the day. “How about Camden Lock?” Ashton suggested.
Declan groaned. “It’ll be packed, a complete mad house.” He pressed a hand to his head, having admitted earlier to having a headache. Not a hangover mind, because he’d been rather conservative in his alcohol intake the night before. Instead, he’d chalked it up to the volume of the music. Or rather, the “blaring noise,” of the last place they’d stopped.
“What’s Camden Lock?” Brian asked.
“Shopping!” Ash smiled. “Open air markets, pubs, theatres, shops. A very “in” – and often eclectic – mix of people, tourists and other oddities. I love it.”
“And I like it fine, but Sunday’s are the busiest day. Mid-week’s more my preference.” Declan gave Ash’s hand a squeeze. “You should go. Have a laugh. The three of you can browse and buy to your heart’s content, and I’ll head back to settle this head of mine.” When Ashton started to protest, saying he’d go back home as well, Declan shook his head and grinned. “You’ll have fun; that’s an order.”
A short tube ride – “for the experience” – later, and they were shoulders deep in a very diverse and interesting crowd. The three of them had to stick close not to get separated as they walked about, people watching and window-shopping. It wasn’t long before the buying began. So it was only a few hours until they were laden with a handful of bags each, and had stopped in at a pub for a drink.
Brian suggested they drop their finds back at Ash’s, and then head towards Harrods. Ashton agreed, “They’re open until six, so we’ve got time for me to check in with Declan. He might come with.”
They took a black cab back, the floor littered with plastic and paper bags of various sizes and weights. Brian held the cab as Ash and Michael headed up. After a few minutes, they returned without Declan. “He’s asleep in his study,” Ash told him. “We’ll talk with him about dinner when we get back.”
They split up after the first hour there, Brian wanting – much to Michael’s amusement given Brian’s earlier jibe on the subject – to spend more time hunting for shoes. Ash and Michael went to grab a snack from the food court, and were about to head back up to nab Brian when Ashton stopped suddenly.
He just froze. Still as a statue, staring across the way. “Shit.”
Michael sidestepped at the last second, having almost run into the back of him. “Ash? What’s wrong?”
Nothing answered, Ash didn’t even move. Michael looked around, and saw that it wasn’t something that Ashton was watching. It was someone, a woman with a small, straight frame, about Michael’s height, wearing conservative clothes and no makeup. Hair more white than blonde signified her age, though at a glance she had the kind of face, drawn with something akin to disappointment, which made her look older than she probably was. Late fifties, maybe. There was a bitterness to the set line of her mouth. But it was her eyes – so like Ashton’s own – that shone the hardest. “Who is that?”
Ash opened his mouth to answer, but the woman turn her back on him with dismissive rejection, and stalked away until she became lost from view in the crowd. The moment she was gone, Ash just folded – barely managing with Michael’s help to make it to a nearby chair at the table they’d just abandoned.
“Ashton, hey. Talk to me, okay?” Michael tried to lift his friend’s down-turned face, but Ash wouldn’t move. He just stared at the floor, his body so tight it looked painful. Pulling up a chair, Michael reached for Ash’s hands and tried to ease the fists they were clenched up into so he could hold them. “Ash. I’m, you’ve got me worried here. Look at me please.”
For the longest, Ash stayed still, focused inside so deep, too deep almost. It was frightening to see him so drastically changed from his normal happiness, to this. Michael looked around, not knowing what to say. He wanted Brian, but he wasn’t going to leave Ashton like he was. “Shit. I wish Declan was here.”
At the mention of his Master’s name, Ash drew in a quick breath – his hands squeezing Michael’s. He closed his eyes and whispered Declan’s name with a voice so quiet and rough, it sounded like sandpaper.
Michael nodded, his heart racing as he leaned in and hugged Ash. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He patted his friend’s jeans pocket, pulling out the mobile he felt in the right. It took a second to find, but he soon had number one on the speed dial ringing. Answered on the third ring, Michael spoke over Declan’s greeting – his voice shaken and probably too loud despite the noise of the shoppers around them. “Declan, something’s wrong. Ash is, he won’t talk to me.”
“What’s happened?” Declan asked quickly, “Where are you?”
“Harrods – the food court. I don’t know what happened. We were fine, and then there was this woman. She didn’t even say anything. Ash saw her, and just shut down when she walked away. He’s just sitting here, so still.” Michael said, leaning in with the phone so that Ash might be able to hear. “Dec, please can you come? Brian’s upstairs. I don’t want to leave Ash….”
“Already in the lift,” Declan interrupted Michael’s worried rush. “Put the phone to his ear.”
Quick to follow Declan’s order, Michael held the phone for Ash and watched closely as the sound of his lover’s voice brought Ashton more and more out of the shell he’d hidden within. He still didn’t talk beyond a yes, no and yes again, but he’d uncurled a bit, leaning on the table as he reached up and covered Michael’s hand on the phone with his own. Michael gave his knee a squeeze with his other hand, sitting with him as the long minutes passed. Finally, Ash pulled the phone down. “He’s here. Outside.”
Michael gave him a smile, glad that he was talking. But he looked so tired. Exhausted, even. Like all the strength had left him, and he was waiting for its source to walk into the room.
Which it did just moments later, as Declan came into view – dodging past folks to get to Ash. One hand on Ashton’s neck, and Declan knelt as the other man fell forward into him with clinging arms. “Shh, Darkling. I’ve got you.”
Face buried against Declan’s throat, Ash shook his head again and again. “It was her. She just….”
He didn’t finish, the words sounding so sad as Declan scrubbed his hand through Ash’s hair. “Hush, hush.” Turning to Michael, Dec said, “I’m taking him home. I need you to take his bags.” He was already rising, Ash following stiffly as he held onto his lover, leaning against Dec’s side. “This place closes soon. When you find Brian, come back to ours, okay?”
Michael nodded, watching Declan guide Ash slowly towards the nearest exit. He couldn’t help it; he had to ask. “Who was she?”
Who could do what she’d done to Ash with only a look?
Declan looked back with eyes gone dark, holding Ashton close as he answered with only two clipped words – his tone sharp enough to crack the air before he turned and they were gone.
The answer?
“His mum.”
- - - - - - -
Part 11
- - - - - - -
The cab was caught up in traffic, much to the frustration of both its paying passengers. It just seemed like every light was plotting against them getting back faster than they were. The atmosphere inside was tense with Michael staring down at the floor and Brian out the window.
"He's never mentioned any of his family," Brian said. Ashton had been so open about everything to do with his lifestyle and his nature; it just seemed off to realize that the whole while, he'd been silent on something so basic.
"Yeah," Michael answered, rubbing his hands over his denim clad knees. Even that one word sounded guilty. Some friend, right? He could remember asking whether Ash's family knew about his lifestyle, but he'd never thought to ask anything past that. Ashton had said no at the time. On reflection, it was all he'd ever said in the way of family outside of his life with Declan and his extended circle of friends. "Must be bad, if it made him feel that way."
Brian didn't answer, knowing all too well how bad a bad family could be.
When they got out of the lift, it was to find the lights off everywhere but in the kitchen. The large room was empty, save for one lone figure sitting at the breakfast table.
“Declan?” Michael came in, stopping when he saw the bottle sitting on the table and the cut crystal glass in their host’s hand.
Brian took in the same view and went around to the other side of the table. He pulled up a chair, turning it so he could sit astride. “Where’s Ash?”
“Sleeping.” Declan took the last swallow, tilting the bottle to fill the glass to half way again. “He won’t be up until tomorrow.” A pause, and then he signed. “Had to sedate him, otherwise he’d drive himself on and on – pacing. Remembering. Awake or in dreams.”
Brian nodded, Michael sitting beside him as he mentioned, “He told me that he sleepwalks.”
“Gets worse when he’d upset,” Declan agreed. He took a long swallow then hissed as it burned down his throat. Pushing the glass away, he leaned back in his chair and looked at them. “He’ll be nervous tomorrow. Fidgety. Like he’s got all this energy under his skin that he can’t expel.”
Michael hugged his arms around his waist, an old gesture of insecurity that they’d been seeing less of until now. “He just went so….”
“Still. Quiet.” Declan interjected. “He hasn't done that in almost four years.”
Brian heard the anger in his friend’s voice. It was an emotion he was rather familiar with, all things considered. “What did she do?”
“What didn’t she do?” Declan answered. He looked at the bottle again, but then shook his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “This’ll take awhile, and I haven’t eaten since this morning. So I’m opting for Thai. Michael if you’d do the honors and call it in, then I’ll get into it, yeah?”
Once the order had been placed, they settled in the living room. Declan tugged his legs under himself, as he got as comfortable as the current topic would allow. “Ash couldn’t have had more polar opposite parents than Charles and Elin. He was a smile and a laugh, always full of good humor and a welcoming spirit. She was the product of a strict home, reserved and serious. Pretty in her youth, but did nothing to support it so now she looks worn and… ” He didn’t finish, pausing as if trying to find the right word.
“Bitter.” Michael said. “She looked plain and bitter.”
“Well, there – as you say,” Declan agreed. “She had a hard upbringing, lout of a weak-willed father and an overbearing mother. So she did what she could quick enough to leave it behind. Charles and one wedding ring later, she found herself in a small flat, still a teenager – living off her husband’s meager wage and pregnant with Ash.” A small smile touched his lips, the first he’d had since they’d come back. “Charles loved his son so much, and was so loved by him in return. Elin had Ashton’s sister, Katherine, three years into their marriage. And while Katie was everyone’s dear, Ash was his father’s joy. I think Elin resented that, largely.”
He looked thoughtful, then said, “From what he's told me of Charles, Aston is so very much his father’s son. I’m glad that they had time to share before Charles passed. If he hadn’t, if Charles had died sooner than he did and left Ash in her care while his personality was still forming – I don’t think he would have come my way.”
Brian glanced at Michael, the two of them sharing a moment that spoke of their own pasts. Neither of them had any experience of having had a father whose world revolved around them. Vic had come close, for the short while he would come in and out of their lives. But it was hardly the same. As for the mother – Brian looked away. It was sounding rather too familiar.
“How old was he when….”
Declan finished for him, “When Charles died? Fifteen. Aneurysm, sudden and quick when he was at work. And just like that, Ashton’s whole world changed. His mother withdrew; she was a part of their lives but never truly there for either of her children emotionally. She just wouldn't or couldn't connect without Charles there to play mediator."
He straightened his legs and stood, pacing as he continued. "More and more, Ash had to care for his sister – from homework to laundry – acting as father in Charles’ stead. He tried to fill the void in her life that he couldn’t in his own. But at the same time, he was so lost. Eventually it got to be too much and that's when he started delving into ways to escape the havoc in his life when he wasn’t at home. Experimenting with sex, and then into the scene. Always keeping it hidden from his mother and sister. It was like he was living another life."
Brian nodded, telling Michael to the side, "Been there, done that." They'd both done a bit of hiding in their everyday lives – Brian from his parents and Michael from his former co-workers.
Declan agreed, "To a degree, we all do it. Ashton just tends to take things a step further than most."
"Seems understandable so far," Michael said. Probably more so once they'd heard the rest.
"It was a pattern. Elin ran towards marriage, which ended in disappointment and widowhood. Ash ran towards the scene, and started playing too far much too fast. And Katie – she ran to her first boyfriend who skipped town as soon as he heard she was pregnant." Declan sighed, "But unlike their mother, Ash and Katie turned their negatives into positives. Ash when he came to me, and Katie as soon as she held her daughter in her arms. Little Lola," he said, voice full of happiness and something so sad combined. "He always said if ever a child could hold your heart in her hand with just a smile...."
He stopped and looked down, lost for a moment in memory. When next he spoke, it was forced, like he was pushing past emotions that were thick as – well, a London fog. “Elin threw Katherine out when she found out about the pregnancy, so she came to live with Ash while he was scraping by in university. They managed, created a home for Lola despite everything. But then Ash went on holiday with a friend for a week in Edinburgh.” Declan inhaled slowly, running his hand over his mouth and down his chin. “He came home to an empty apartment. He called all sorts looking for Katie, and then he contacted the police. Found out there had been, that she was – she’d been hit by a car on the way from work the day after he’d left. Breaks gave in the rain; she died almost instantly.”
“God,” Michael shook his head. That was brutal.
“Wait,” Brian stood. “The day after? And no one tried to leave word? None of their friends or the cops?”
“The friends hadn’t been told, and the police did what they always do. They contacted her nearest relative.”
“Fuck. Elin.” Brian cursed.
“Exactly. Who did nothing to tell her own son that his sister had died. She’d already had her cremated, with no service.”
Michael drew his legs up on the cough, hugging his knees. “What about Lola?”
Declan nodded, the answer clear on his face and in the way he was clenching his hand into a fist. “Elin, again. Sussed out the daycare from the card in Katie’s purse and played the dutiful grandmother who had to pick up the toddler because her daughter had been delayed at work. When Ash called them, the attendant who’d talked with his mum had quit two days after Elin left. And the role call roaster for the day Katie died just showed, ‘released to family member’ – with no other details. He was half mad by then. So he called Elin.”
Losing his cool and letting the anger show, Declan continued, “The bitch told him that Lola was no longer his concern, and then hung up on him. When he tried to come by her house to reason with her, she called the police on him. When he tried to get assistance in gaining visitation, her barrister got his case denied due to her son’s ‘amoral lifestyle’.” Declan looked at them, “He hadn’t even known she knew he was gay.”
Brian sank down onto the sofa beside Michael, staring at Declan – his expression harsh. “What did Ash do after that?”
“He exhausted his avenues, and then himself. He became despondent, played too hard and dropped out of school because he couldn’t function.” Unconsciously, Declan pushed his jumper sleeve up and ran his fingers down the tattoo on his arm. “He hadn’t seen Lola for almost a year by the time we met. To say he was wounded and raw is an understatement. I just didn’t know the reason why at the time.”
Michael leaned against Brian, taking his hand as they sat there trying to process everything they’d heard. He thought back to Ashton’s face when he’d seen his mother earlier that day. The image in his head only added to his sense of dread so he asked, “There’s more to tell, isn’t there? Something even worse.”
“Yes, Michael. Something worse,” Declan said, and then jerked when the buzzer sounded from downstairs. He bit his lip, and then sighed as he went to answer the intercom. “Food’s here. Back in a minute.”
Once he’d gone down in the lift, Michael turned to Brian. “Shit.”
Brian pulled him in, letting Michael hug him hard. “Wonderful world, isn’t it?”
Michael just nodded, his face staying pressed against Brian’s chest until he heard the lift doors open a few minutes later. Brian and Michael got up to help Declan in the kitchen as he went through the motions of setting up for dinner. None of them said anything about the dubiousness of their appetites given the current topic, but the smell of the food reminded them quickly enough that none of them had had much in the way of proper food that day.
Declan asked, “Eat now, details later – okay.” He sounded almost as tired as Ashton had looked.
Chalking it up to the Italian in him, Michael did manage to eat some despite everything. As did Brian and Declan – though the latter only finished half his food before he started talking again. “About five years ago, Ash’s Grandmother contacted him. She told him that Lola was in hospital; she had leukemia. Her doctors were asking all close family members to be tested to see if they could be potential bone marrow donors. The decision to call him had not been a popular one with Elin, you can believe. Ash asked to see Lola, but was refused again.”
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “That was a hard, hard time. He told his Gran that he would gladly donate, no strings. And even that proved a waiting game because it was Elin's decision, and she wasn’t agreeing to shit. Her mother added pressure until she agreed. Ashton and I went in, and he had it done – expecting *not* to see her. But his Gran met us on our way out, and took his hand. She sneaked him in, and for shortest ten minutes of his life – he stood over Lola’s bed and watched her sleep.”
Declan stopped, reaching again for the bottle he'd abandoned earlier. A couple heavy swallows and he winced, passing it to Brian. "That's my limit done for now. Tomorrow's going to be intense enough without adding a hangover."
"That's a fucking understatement," Brian agreed, but took a couple slugs regardless.
Michael frowned, picking absently at his food with little interest, too focused on the details of Ashton's past. "You said that was five years back, and that you left England for a new start around four years ago. What happened to Lola?"
Declan reached over and squeezed his hand, then pulled away. "She had the operation, and for awhile things looked promising. But Ash's mum still wouldn't budge, so he didn't get to see his niece again while she was getting well. After awhile, his Gran stopped telling him things because Elin threatened to cut her off from Lola, too. But still, he was happy that he'd been able to help. He felt like he was more a part of Lola than ever. That was his consolation."
He shook his head, clearing his throat as he strained to finish. "But then months later, it got worse. And again Elin kept it from him. She never said a word. He didn't," he paused, finally managing to say what Michael had felt was coming and had been most dreading. "He didn't know that Lola had died until two days afterward when his Gran left an envelope at the front desk downstairs. It had a short note, explaining that she'd passed. And a packet of photos – Lola at different ages, smiling with shining eyes and dimples in her cheeks. I found him sitting on the floor, motionless with them spilled all around him. As quiet and still as you said he was today."
Michael wiped at his wet eyes, his heart aching for all that his friend had suffered. "I don't understand how a mother, how *anyone* can treat someone with such cruelty. Ash’s mother,” he looked from Declan to Brian. “Your mother. It’s just fucking unnatural.”
Brian bit back his usual response when his mother was mentioned, which was distain and anger. Instead he nodded towards Michael while speaking to Declan. “Says the man with the biggest heart in the room.”
“Doesn’t he just,” Declan agreed. “But given the world, he’s beautifully refreshing.”
“Always has been,” Brian said, as Michael rose to put away the leftovers. Turning his attention back to Declan, he asked, “How do you want us to handle tomorrow? Stay out of the way, or clear out so you two have some space?”
“No, stay. Be here. It’ll help him focus on something else,” Declan assured him. “He’ll be alright; it’s just that seeing her brought all the pain back like a blow when his defenses were down. He’s so strong, my Ash. He’s had to be, one loss after another. And it’s never dulled his shine. I won’t ever have that happen, if it’s in my power to prevent.”
Brian took the bottle and raised it high. “With you at his back and by his side, may he ever glint the sun and glow the moon.”
Declan smiled as Brian drank to seal the toast. Looking more relaxed then he had all evening, he teased with something like his old self, “You *are* Irish.”
- - -
“You're thinking too loudly, Mikey.” Brian spoke in the darkness of their room. It had to be the middle of the night, and Michael was not sleeping. Which meant neither was Brian.
It was something he hadn't thought about really. How similar their sleep patterns had become.
Michael turned towards him, and moved closer. Resting his head against Brian's shoulder, he said, "Sorry, just – I don't know."
Brian rolled over, pulling Michael against him in the dark until the two of them were lying on their sides with their heads on the same pillow. "You're worried."
"Course. But it’s more that I'm angry. I feel so bad that they just had this wonderful day, and then wham. She just saps it out of him with a look.”
“Mikey, don’t. She’s only as powerful as you allow her to be. Let it go.”
Michael sighed, nodding as he lay there with his eyes closed. He tried to drift under on the sound of Brian’s breathing and the warmth of his body. But he just couldn’t slip into sleep. “My brain won’t shut off,” he whispered, moving restlessly. Finally on the verge of giving up and getting up, Michael gasped in surprise when Brian suddenly grabbed his thigh and jerked it up so that they were angled groin to groin. “Ohhh. Fuck.”
“Precisely.”
Sleep was a long time in coming, but once they had, it did too.
- - -
It was lunchtime on what had so far turned out to be a quiet, ominous day.
Crashing glass and a string of curses drew all eyes around to find Ashton already on his knees trying to pick up the shards from the drinking glass he’d dropped on the kitchen floor. He gave a bit of a laugh, the sound ringing hollow with the brittle merriment he’d been attempting to maintain since he’d shown up to breakfast that morning with a frowning Declan at his side. “Clumsy goose, that’s me.” He shook his head and muttered something too low to hear, eyes focused so much on the floor that he didn’t realize….
“Ashton, stop.” Declan stood up, coming to him as he grabbed at Ash’s wrists. “You’re bleeding.”
Frowning, Ash looked at the drops of blood on his hands with a confused expression – like it being there was something he couldn’t reason. Then he said, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t feel it.”
Brian and Michael shared a look, both hearing the void that was in Ash’s voice, a kind of absence that brought their backs up.
Declan’s too it seemed, as he pulled Ash to his feet. “You must have a care,” he said, his tone so controlled. “I won’t have what’s mine damaged, Ash.” He grabbed a dishtowel and wiped away the blood. Just small cuts here and there, but the fingers would need to be wrapped. Declan put his free hand under Ashton’s chin, insisting on the man’s attention. With his other hand, he squeezed with enough pressure on the towel that Ash winced. “Is this what you need, to feel? To see clearly who and what you are?”
Ash blinked, inhaling sharply as Declan let go. His awareness stronger, as if he was closer to coming clear of the cloud that threatened his mood. “Master.” He bowed his head, pressing it against Declan’s neck. “Please.”
Declan threaded his fingers into Ashton’s hair. “Tell me. What do you need?”
“To feel, too much. So much that I fly.” He raised his head. “Help me, push me there.”
Declan held his gaze, taking his time to answer. To decide. And then with a single nod, he answered. “Go. You know what to do.”
Ash leaned in, touching his forehead to Declan’s for a moment as he breathed, “Thank you, Master.” Then he was gone.
When Declan turned their way, Brian met his gaze but not Michael. Michael’s eyes dropped, trying – and failing – to hide the worry and doubt that was there for all to see.
“He needs the release, Michael.” Declan gave him a smile, assuring, “Emotionally and physically.”
“I know, it’s just – he was so drained, and now…”
Brian stopped him, asking, “Why are you so scared of it?” When Michael looked at him with surprise, he said, “It’s what he wants. And you’ve seen him, Michael. After. Laughing, blissed out on sensation.” He knew Michael had confused Ashton’s reaction at first, the time he’d walked into their playroom thinking something was wrong. But he’d talked to them both and knew it had been happiness, not harm in Ash’s response.
“Easy. We fear what we do not know, or understand.” Declan came over. “Ash wants you to understand because it’s so much a part of him, Michael.” He crouched down in front of them, speaking to both. “It’s not something you have to want for yourselves. Being in the scene, holding the roles that you do – this is only one aspect of what’s possible. And none of them are more or less important than the rest.”
Rising up, he turned to Brian. “Do you still have the key I left?”
“Sure, why?”
“It was an invitation to use the room at any time during your stay. Why not now?”
Michael asked, “What do you mean?”
Declan looked from one to the other. “Bare witness, and be at ease.” Addressing Brian, he asked, “Is it a yes?”
Brian thought about it and then took Michael’s hand, giving it a squeeze to both reassure and reiterate his given role as control. His decision for them both made. “Very, yes.”
- - -
Half an hour found them within the playroom, and hyperaware of every whack, tap, smack and thump.
Not to mention every moan and gasp that came from Ashton as he moved under the force of Declan’s arm. The rhythm was a constant, even as the tempo changed – sped up, slowed down. Every hit, each one contacting with Ashton’s skin, a measured thing as his Master worked him like an instrument well known and used well.
Michael shifted, and then fought not to squirm as Brian held him locked back against his chest as his fingers roaming over the inseam of Michael’s jeans, doing all sorts of mischief between his thighs. As they had been since almost the start, after the two of them took up position close by. They were sitting on the floor; Brian’s back against the wall with Michael in front sitting between Brian’s legs. “Fuck,” Michael gasped, edging closer to losing it as Brian increased the pressure of his hand as it worked over the bulge of Michael’s hard-on, trapped within its denim cage.
“Not yet,” Brian breathed against his ear. “Watch. Watch and imagine how he feels. He’s going to give over and come. Just as soon as Declan tells him too.”
Michael squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, taking a breath to ground himself and then did as told. Eyes open and locked on the scene unfolding before them, becoming transfixed by it the longer he stared.
Ashton was naked and blindfolded with arms tied, spread out on either side. Standing now only by his strength of will and the danger that bending his legs would put him in. Considering how much pressure that would put on his shoulders and arms, it was an effective, though subtle, assertion of Declan’s control.
The Englishman’s back was of course off limits due to the new tattoo, but for a master like his Master – it proved no limitation. After all, there was so much more of him to play with instead that it hardly mattered. Not that he hadn’t paid proper attention to that span of flesh as well, starting the scene by slowly spreading ointment over the inked design with a care that was reverent of both the man and the meaning behind the gift.
He’d left Ash standing there, without sight and absent touch as he’d stepped away to partially undress. His cashmere jumper tossed over a nearby chair, Declan had removed all except for his black trousers. He’d rolled his shoulders and raised his arms to stretch his back before going to a cabinet close by. Inside there were almost two-dozen different implements of his skill, enough that Brian had turned and whistled softly in Michael’s ear, who could only gulp at the sight.
What surprised them both was that Declan didn’t choose one of the most common instruments to start with, a lightweight suede flogger or the like. But instead, it was a crop. The kind you’d imagine in hand if you were riding to hounds. Even Brian had gone a bit still when Declan turned around with it in hand.
But again, this was definitely Declan’s floor and he’d set to work with no hesitation.
The first tap landed dead center on the left cheek of Ashton’s ass, not a blow hard and harsh, more a sharp smack, quick and over. One meant to sting, and then burn as the second one landed. And the third, and fourth, and so on. The same spot over and over as Ash gasped, clenched his teeth and moaned through it. Cheek fully-blushed bright red, Declan pulled back – not even breathing hard. He grabbed something that looked like a white ball of fur from the cabinet, and slipped his hand inside. It was a mitten, soft to look at and apparently to feel as Ashton shivered and pressed back against it when Declan ran it over his hot skin.
Only a brief respite before Declan switched back and started in on Ashton’s other side. The same pattern, the same focus. And as Ashton’s body grew moist with sweat and the stinging tears that wet his blindfold, the crop still fell and Declan played the game. Following down his slave’s thighs, his arms and around to his nipples – the last causing Ash to yell out and jerk, whimpering as Declan followed up with the fur that was now moist from his body.
When he was trembling hard and almost insensate with wanting still more rather than the less that most people would assume – Declan drew back again. He changed things up by pulling out a new toy, a long flat black strip of leather encased in nylon. “You move so well for me, Darkling,” he said as he ran it over the line of Ashton’s hip. “For me, for them.” Declan turned his head, looking at Brian and Michael. “Can you feel their eyes on you? My eyes.” He turned back, nuzzling against Ash’s side – soothing him as his slave shook and pressed against him like he was the best and greatest high worth having. Declan smiled, “How close are you?”
“Master,” Ashton rasped out, the first true word he’d said in some time. “If it please you, so close.”
“It pleases me to know what you want; what would you have me do for you?”
Ashton gave a choked laugh, his endorphins kicking in. Then he sucked in a breath and yanked at his captured arms as he leaned his head back. He groaned, softly. “Harder. Push me over, Master. Please.”
Declan leaned in, and spoke quietly to Ash, the words lost as Brian drew Michael’s attention back with a quick sleight of hand that had Michael’s zipper down and his jeans open in the blink of an eye. “Uhmm, hot and wet.” He pushed his hand inside, not moving further – just holding Michael’s hard length cupped in his hand. “You can’t come, Mikey. Not when he does. Not until I tell you to.”
“Fuck, Bri. Don’t. Let me.” Michael shook his head, tightening his hands on Brian’s thighs as he pressed back against the answering bulge he felt against his back.
“Not a chance, now keep still and watch.”
Not that he had a choice as his eyes snapped back towards the other two men, called there by a sudden loud smack-slap sound. The kind that was louder than it was strong, but still powerful. One hard one followed by a cry as Ash shook and whispered, "Again. Please, Master." Declan angled another hit of the slapper on the other side of his bottom, the impact leaving a red mark over already blushed skin – as did all the rest that followed. "Again, yes." Another over the back of his thigh, left. Then right. Ass and thighs, over and over until Ashton was writhing under the constant motion, the sensations spilling out of his mouth in a hoarse plea as his mantra of, "Again," changed to, "Please! Master, now!"
The last so needful, yet insistent, that Declan threw the slapper on the nearest table and encircled Ashton, enfolding him in his arms from behind as he pressed against Ash's hot skin and reached around to touch him. To stroke and jerk him just right, just so with wild words in Ashton's ear as the man's pleasure slammed into him with a force that would have taken him off his feet had Declan not been there to hold him through it.
And there it was again, the reaction that Michael had glimpsed before. Ashton a jumbled wreck of laughter and tears. But unlike before, Michael could see it was something his friend reveled in as Declan touched him, held him and told him he was valued and adored.
Eased free both literally and figuratively from the ties that bound him, Ashton flowed against Declan who supported him as he turned towards Dec and came to rest his head on his Master’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Dec’s waist, the two of them swaying gently as if listening to song only they shared. A pull and Declan had the blindfold off Ash’s face, and then he turned his head and kissed him. Kissed him and ran his fingertips down Ash’s behind and thighs as Ashton gasped, hissed and laughed against Declan’s lips.
“They’re… ” Michael paused, turning to see Brian. He didn’t know the words to say; it was as if the moment was more than words could hold. Instead, Michael pressed his forehead to Brian’s and held his eyes as the breath of each man warming the other’s mouth. Unhurried, his own arousal taking a back seat as he just *was* – content in a way he hadn’t known he could be having seen what he’d seen. But now he knew that he understood, and that made all the difference.
And there both couples remained, intimately in the moment – each in different ways.
Each happy to be in this place made freer because of the one he held, and who held him in turn.
- - -
“Shift it, Misha! He’s waiting,” Ash called over his shoulder as he quickly dodged past people who were trying to head for work.
London in the early morning, cold and dimly lit – but still so atmospheric for the visitor in its mists. A visitor that was having trouble keeping up with the revitalized Ashton Forster, who had been bouncing off the walls awake before all the rest of them, making plans for their day. A day without Brian or Declan, one meant just for “the kid in our hearts.”
Phrasing that had Michael wondering if it may have also been for the child in Ash’s memory, as well.
But he didn’t ask, too happy to see Ash smiling and teasing like it was any other day.
Any other day that included being dragged out of bed and across town to the *perfect* bakery for just the right sweets before going by black cab to Adelaide Street near Trafalgar Square.
And all because Ashton was being mysterious about having breakfast with some mystery man.
“Wait up! What’s this guy’s name again?”
Ashton stopped, and did a quick turn as Michael tried to avoid running into him. Grinning, the smile on his face matching the one in his eyes, Ash handed him the bag from the bakery. “Oscar Wilde.”
Michael shook his head, laughing incredulously. “Where are we going, a library?”
“Aww, bad gay boy. No.” Ash turned around, and waved towards something that Michael hadn’t noticed when they’d stopped. “Misha, meet my friend Oscar.”
To their left, only a few feet away was something that looked like a bench. Green granite – oddly shaped but as they got closer, Michael could see why. It was similar in design to one of the sarcophagi in the Brit-Mu. At the foot was inscribed, “A Conversation With Oscar Wilde – 1845-1900.” At the head….
At the head was Oscar Wilde. Or rather, a bronze three-dimensional artist’s rendering of him rising from the granite monument with flair and a smile. He even had a raised hand complete with cigarette.
The other added touch being an inscription. The words, Oscar Wilde’s own. “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
Ash walked around, and spread out lengthwise on his side before giving Michael a wink. “This is one of my favorite spots in London.” Sitting up, he reached for Michael’s arm. “Come have a sit with us. Oscar’s always good at lending an ear.”
While his friend got busy pulling out one of the pastries they’d brought with, Michael sat down and looked around. “This is weird. Feels like we’re sitting on his coffin.”
Ash laughed around a mouthful of sweet, then swallowed it down and said, “It’s actually meant to be interactive art. Obviously it’s a monument, but the artist, Maggi Hambling, wanted the viewer to be a part of the piece. So even now, sitting here having breakfast with a friend – we’re a part of his history and he’s a part of ours.”
“You artistic types, always so clever,” Michael laughed.
“Says the writer of a successful comic book.”
They spent a pleasant hour people watching, talking, eating and having a laugh. And not a little teasing as Michael dared to mention his chief question of the day, “How in the hell are you able to sit after yesterday?”
“Misha, love. I could ask you the same thing – for entirely different reasons.”
“Ash!”
“Oh ho, there it is. The color in your cheeks matches the color of mine, before the red went out.” Ashton laughed, loud and free – never even caring when heads turned as passersby were on their way to somewhere other and else. He calmed soon enough, answering Michael. “He cares for me, afterwards. Bathing, massaging and napping. And the burn disappears, until it’s more of an ache. I’m not bruised, but I’m tender to the touch. Doesn’t hurt; it just reminds me – in a good way, that I’m his. And that is a wonder to me, no matter how many years go by.”
Wonderment at his place in another man’s life, it was a feeling that Michael was intimately familiar with – to a separate degree. Brian’s limelight cast a shadow under which he’d oft times found himself in the shade, though now it warmed him from the inside as well as the out.
They finished their treats, although Michael had a time of it trying to keep a straight face when Ash kept making sticky finger jokes – mock whispering them into the bronze Oscar’s ear.
“Right then,” Ash popped up and checked his mobile for the time. “Declan should have Brian off by now. He’ll get an eyeful,” he said with a wink at Michael. They both knew where their men were headed for the day, a private exhibition by one of Declan’s friends in the art of Kinbaku, Japanese sexual rope bondage.
Michael snorted, “More like he’ll be one step closer to receiving his knot tying badge.” The invitation had been extended to him and Brian, but after the last couple of days Michael had bowed out of it. His care taking instincts were still in full force when it came to Ashton, hence why they were headed off to have a day of silliness and fun. Lost boys on a lark. “But I’m calling foal if he tries to truss me up from the ceiling.”
“Well, you have to admit. It’d be a look.” Ash snarked, sidestepping Michael’s playful shove.
- - -
“Smile for the birdie!”
“More like quack for the duck,” Michael laughed, getting more tickled as Ash continued taking pictures of him standing beside their latest mode of transport. He looked behind him again. “Where do you come up with these things?”
“Live here long enough, and you’ll see the strangest things passing you by,” Ash answered. “This just happened to be one of the more memorable.”
Memorable seemed an understatement considering they were standing in front of a bright yellow and blue painted tour bus that looked like a hybrid boat on wheels. The herald and hallmark of the Official London Duck Tours Company. The vehicle, one of five apparently, had originally been one of the amphibious DUKWs used to transport troops ashore during the D-Day siege. Now, it had been reborn as one of the more gawktastic touring vehicles that Michael had ever seen. Who needed a red double-decker when you could ride a Duck?
“It’s one of my guilty pleasures,” Ashton admitted as Michael stepped aboard with him, the two of them finding seats readily in the intimate setting of its 30-occupant capacity.
“I’m happy you wanted to share it with me; it sounds like an adventure.”
“Sightseeing by land and Thames, it’s a laugh to be sure.”
A laugh, indeed, one that continued to lighten their day and Ashton’s mood as they enjoyed the sights, the expressions on the faces of the folks they passed and the stories the tour guide had to tell. If it wasn’t Michael’s awe as he looked up at the soaring beauty of Westminster Abbey paired with the majesty of Parliament, Big Ben and the Eye in the distance, it was them cracking jokes about passing Buckingham Palace on a yellow duck mobile.
But it was the sudden unbidden whoop that Michael released when the vehicle first hit the water that had Ashton cackling so hard he got slapped on the shoulder. “Shut up!”
“Your face! Priceless, hold still for the birdie.” *flash*
Experiencing London by river, now that was fun! “God, can you imagine all this at night with the lights shining?” Michael kept looking all around, left and right – grabbing the camera from Ash so he could try and capture just some of the amazing things surrounding them.
“Why imagine? We could take a nighttime cruise around, the four of us. Could be an idea, yeah? After dinner tonight.”
Michael never turned from the view, enjoying the motion of the water as he smiled. “Definitely, yes.”
- - - - - - -
Part 12
- - - - - - -
A long lunch of sinfully good pizza and a visit to the last of Ash’s must sees for their boys day out – the Pollock Toy Museum – had them returning back to Chez Rai. Albeit in a grand fashion, with the pair of them practically spilling off the lift without noticing that Declan was standing at the entranceway with eyebrow raised.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Michael smiled, chagrinned.
“Master! We –”
“Stop.” Declan held up his hand. “Before you’re off rambling at high speeds that baffle the mind, in three words or less, how was your morning?”
Energy barely contained, Ash grinned. “Wilde, Duck, Toys.”
His Master snorted, “No wonder your giddy factor is on high.” He turned to Michael. “We got back from Master You’s studio about an hour ago. Brian said to tell you to join him as soon as you got in. So off with you.”
Michael waved to Ash as his friend reminded him of their “watery date” later, and then headed down the hall to his and Brian’s room. He found Brian curled up on the bed, magazine spread out but unread beside the sleeping man. It was a sight that was endearing and enticing all at once.
Going with the impulse, Michael put the camera and souvenir bag of goodies he’d gotten at the toy museum down quietly. He kicked off his shoes, and then slowly crept up onto the bed. Brian didn’t stir at first, only shifted in his sleep when Michael got close enough to touch. Once Brian had settled on his back with his legs open, Michael moved between them and smiled. Looking up from under dark lashes, he pressed his mouth against the soft mound at Brian’s groin and breathed warm air over the worn denim that separated him from his objective.
It wasn’t long before Michael’s nuzzling grew more insistent, Brian’s flesh hardened as he inhaled – waking on a moan. “Mikey?”
“Hello,” Michael whispered, then turned his face back against him. He hadn’t gotten to have his taste of Brian that morning, more’s the pity. He reached for Brian’s zip and gave it a slow, oh so slow, pull. He was buried nose deep in dark coarse curls by the time Brian was fully aware.
“Fuck. Keep doing that.” Brian groaned as Michael did, running that talented tongue everywhere. Then came the soft, malleable wet warmth of Michael's mouth as it was shaped and worked over Brian's hard cock. It left him getting too close too soon, damn it. “Stop. Wait.” Fuck, he was good at that. “Come up here.”
Michael reluctantly drew away from the taste of him, covering Brian’s hard-on with his hand as he slid up to lie against him. “I got you all wet,” he whispered, causing Brian to catch his mouth in a kiss that was hungry and long.
Wrestling Michael around as the kiss ended, Brian rose up above him – capturing him as he pressed Michael’s wrists to the bed. When Michael tried to arch up against him, thrusting his hips into the cradle of Brian’s spread thighs, Brian shook his head. “No. Be still, Michael.” Dom voice, thick and hot. “I’ve been thinking of us fucking all day, but not like this.”
Frustrated and needful, Michael groaned out, “How then?”
Tightening his grip, Brian reminded him with a word, “Michael,” that there had been something missing in his reply.
Pushing into Brian’s hold, Michael fisted his hands. His breath shortened as his body responded to being held down, as it usually did. “Sir, please. Tell me how.”
Brian leaned in, his eyes burning over Michael. But it wasn’t enough – making Michael squirm. Brian wanted more. “Take off your clothes.”
Released from Brian’s restraint, Michael sat up and did just that as economically as he could under the heat of his lover’s gaze.
“Off the bed, over there.” Brian said, giving his own jeans and socks a shove before following with a pillow in hand.
There being the leather chaise lounge that took up one corner of their large room. He positioned Michael, seated but leaning back against the backrest, supported by the pillow behind. Michael’s legs were spread astride with his feet on the floor. “Stay, don’t move.” A quick turn back to the bed to find something he’d hidden earlier, and Brian was back – silk rope in hand. “I’ve had this picture in my head all morning. All through that demo, and back here waiting – knowing what I wanted to do to you.”
Michael closed his eyes, the words echoing in his head and through his blood. He was already breathing hard before Brian’s next touch. And when he opened his eyes, it was with full acceptance of Brian’s will.
Michael’s expression had Brian grinning, before the smile faded into a look of determination. And intent. He knelt on one side of the chaise and took one of the three lengths, tying Michael’s ankle to the support nearest. Then he did it again on the other side, immobilizing Michael’s ability to move his legs almost completely. Brian crawled up with him and pushed Michael against the leather behind, catching him at just the right angle so that Brian was straddling Michael’s thighs on his knees. Towering over him, Brian roughly jerked Michael’s wrists together, and set about securing them with the last length of rope. The knots firm, but the material as smooth to the touch as the first time he’d held Ash’s sleep rope in his hand.
Master You had definitely shown him a thing or two about knots, not that he was endeavoring to do to Michael what You had done with his surprisingly female assistant. But having Michael like this, submitting to being tied – bound to take whatever Brian chose to give. Or do. Fuck, it was hot. “Raise your arms, over your head.”
Michael frowned, but did as told. He couldn’t figure out Brian’s next move. Then he couldn’t think at all, past how amazing Brian was when he set about driving Michael mad. And oh god, but the man knew more things about turning his lover into sexual mush than any other Michael had been with. Even little things, unique in his experience – such as the quick lashing flick, then flat lick of Brian’s tongue along the underside of his arms, elbows down, over and over, again and again. Such as the way Brian did the same thing to his inner thighs, but didn’t even get close to Michael’s hard-on. Leaving him on the verge of whimpering, so blasted hard, but unable to do anything but accept. And ask for more. “Please, sir. Touch me.”
“You’re so hard, Mikey. And you taste,” Brian dipped his head, running his tongue over the head of Michael’s sex.
“Uhnn,” Michael moaned, his breath catching as Brian rose up fast and pressed into his mouth. The kiss one meant to consume, one that certainly overwhelmed. They only parted for lack of air, and then Brian told him to lower his arms.
“Go on, drop them over my head. Round my back.” He grinned. “Trap me inside.”
Michael moved his bound hands over Brian’s head, bringing them down until he had Brian in his arms. He leaned up, pressing close as Brian reached out and gripped the leather behind him. “What are you up to?”
“Shhh.” Brian kissed him, rubbing his hard-on against Michael’s abs. “Close your eyes, until I say.” And Michael did, biting his wet bottom lip in a way that had Brian leaning in to brush it free. “Don’t bite too hard, Mikey. That’s my job.” His words referenced by doing just that, nipping at the base of Michael’s throat.
“Fuck,” Michael breathed out, pushing his neck closer, only to have Brian move back. There was movement, but Michael couldn’t figure out what Brian was about with his eyes shut. So he whispered, “What are you going to do?”
No answer, just more shifting of Brian over his lap with the pressure of his hard cock moving against Michael’s skin. But then it was Brian’s hand on Michael, slick and warm – stroking him until Michael thought he was being intentionally tipped towards the edge. Until….
“You want to know what’s happening, Mikey. What I’m going to do?”
Michael could only gasp. “Yes!”
Brian rose up on his knees, switched his grip and then answered the question on his slow, intense way down. “This, aww. Uhnnn.”
Oh god, oh . . . god. Michael’s eyes flew open, staring with surprise into the dark hunger of Brian’s face. The two of them seized in the moment as Brian took them into new territory, even as he made to take them both over the finish line of their latest venture. One hard inch at a time. Until he’d hit the base of Michael’s sex, and stilled with a deep groan as Michael squeezed his arms around Brian’s hips and held on tight so the man above him, around him, couldn’t move.
“Fuck, the way this feels.” Michael pressed his face against Brian’s chest, and shook his head. “The way you *feel* – from inside.”
Brian dropped his head back, laughing dryly with his next breath. “Ahh.” The sound was involuntary as he tested the waters, clenching his cheeks as his body adjusted. Topping, he was used to. But this, it was something he’d done little of in the last few years. But ever since the other night, and every time since – his curiosity had been peaked. Now, feeling Michael up his ass bare – while still having control of it from the top… Oh, shit – he had to move. Had to feel it to the fullest. Because so far, “We’re sooo not gonna last.”
Michael burst out laughing, but it quickly turned into a groan as Brian started moving. Up and down, fucking himself on Michael. Rubbing against him. The rhythm getting faster and fast as he worked them sweat-wet and grunt happy. Brian reached between them, trying to hold himself up with one hand on the chaise as he palmed and jerked his dick with the other. So close he was painting Michael with pre-cum, panting for his next breath with Michael clutching tighter and tighter, as best he could with his hands bound.
And then with a wince of pleasure so sharp it was part pain, Brian hit the line and slammed on through. Cursing, laughing – Michael echoing him just half a second behind, shuddering hard as he shot, fast and blindingly inside Brian’s body. A mess between them, and mess inside.
“God, that was…. You’re just,” Michael rambled, but then stopped. Too blissed out to think.
Breathing hard and strength sapped, Brian nodded mutely as he rested with his face against Michael’s forehead. He shifted his hips, hissing softly – enjoying the ache, enjoying the feel. Knowing that the act, *without* – had been worth it. Considering who was inside. “It was. I am. And aren’t you just.”
- - -
"You, mister, are lost in thought."
Michael looked over his shoulder, “More like enjoying the view.”
“Well, that’s understandable. I do have one hell of a profile.” Brian smirked, grabbing Michael closer when his lover gave him a shove. “Look who’s getting all pushy-sub.” He pressed his mouth close to Michael’s ear, growling playfully. “Give a man a piece of ass, and he starts getting airs.”
“Airs? Man, we’ve been in England less than two weeks, and you’re already speaking the lingo.” Michael turned and circled Brian’s waist with his arms, enjoying the warmth of him as a shield against the bracing cold evening breeze. The wind, the sound of the boat moving through the water, the murmur of the other passengers and the music playing on the sound system inside – they all blended together into the soundtrack of their night.
For Michael, it was one of those moments. He felt so happy, so carefree. And so in love with the man who loved him.
He reached up to kiss Brian, letting the touch linger as he rubbed his chin along Brian’s – knowing what the soft scratch of his facial hair did to the man. “You were so amazing. The way you felt, around me. Being inside you, it felt so good, I… I can’t find the words.” Michael breathed out, “Do I feel like that for you?”
Brian pressed his forehead to Michael’s, threading his hands in his lover’s hair. “Fuck, yes.” He wrapped his arms around Michael, tight and strong. “Every time.”
Michael turned his face, angling it against Brian’s throat so he could inhale his scent. “Love you.”
A chuckle, and then Brian gave him a lift off his feet for all of a moment, and set a laughing Michael down again. “You better, all things and – as Ash would say – 'bare willies' considered.” This time when Michael tried to give him a shove, Brian pulled his hands around behind Michael’s back. “Now now, Mikey. All this rough housing in public and you’ll be shocking the other tourists.”
“Like they’re looking at us when they’ve got all of London lit up in the dark to look at.” Michael said, giving Brian’s hold on his hands a test. Nope, no going anywhere until Brian wanted. “You make me miss the good bits and we’ll have to take this ride all over again,” he teased.
Brian snorted, tightening his grip for just a moment before he leaned in and kissed Michael softly. Then he gave him a turn so they were both facing the glittering view. Spectacular really. Seeing the buildings and monuments illuminated at night, and then their reflections off the water. Brian was enjoying himself, enjoying Michael’s enthusiasm and the times his lover couldn’t help put point to something and be thrilled by its beauty. As so often was the case, his enjoyment heightened by Michael’s own.
After awhile, Brian glanced over and saw that Ashton was still manning the video camera after dutifully having volunteered to try and film the sights. Declan stood at his side, with his arm wrapped around Ash’s waist. Considering that the darker man was laughing, there’d be no telling what kind of running commentary the Englishman was doing as he kept filming. But Brian would give good odds that it would be an *interesting* one.
“Bri?” Michael hesitated, and then ventured on when Brian gave him a kiss on his neck just above his collar to show he was listening. “This has been the best trip I’ve had. Ever.”
Brian hummed. Then asked on impulse, curious despite himself, “What about Paris?”
“No. This one – best by a mile. Being here, with you. It’s something I don’t want to *ever* forget.”
“Not likely. You’ve got a memory a thousand miles long.”
Michael stayed silent for a long while, looking out over the water until they were nearing the dock. Then he turned, “I want to do something. Have something done. And I don’t want you to talk me out of it.”
Brian could tell just by the sound of Michael’s voice that he was being serious, no teasing. “Okay. What?”
Taking a deep breath, Michael said. “I want to make an appointment. With Hugh.” When Brian frowned and started to say something, Michael pushed on at a faster pace – reciting the list he'd come up with in his head of ways to defend his decision. “It’s not a whim. I understand what it means. I’m not playing copycat. And I want this, even if….”
When Michael hesitated mid-sentence, Brian asked, “Even if what, Mikey?”
Caught, the answer hanging there between them – Michael took a different tact. “No matter what, I want this. This moment – this trip, the two of us as we are – inked on my skin. Forever.”
Talk about the power of words. “Shit, Michael.” Brian pulled him in, hugging him around the neck. The feeling, the rush of what Michael meant. Fuck – *always* the exception, touching buttons inside him that no one else could even get near. Still… “You don't want to rush this. You have to *think* as well as feel this one out.”
Pressed against Brian, Michael nodded. He felt such strength when he was here, in Brian’s arms. Inner-strength. And now, there was this new certainty added into the mix. No matter what, he would have this. Something time could not take or change. “I have. I know. And I am doing this. I want it to be a part of the experience.” He lifted his face, kissing Brian before he asked, “Will you come with me?”
Brian smoothed the palm of his hand over Michael’s jaw as he looked at him. He already knew his answer, but it didn’t stop him from delaying. “Do you know what you’re getting?”
Michael smiled, shy and happy. “Yes.” He leaned up and pressed the answer against Brian’s ear with a kiss and warm words.
Two words. And no, it wasn't a name. But it was a promise. One they both shared. Brian’s words come back with a permanence that would truly be skin deep.
Brian closed his eyes as he felt himself reacting to them. From the heart, from the head – a high so good, he didn’t have the means to deny either of them. Not that he’d wanted to. When he looked at Michael, he smiled. “One request. Let me choose where, and I’ll go.”
God. Even the thought of how *intimate* – let alone how erotic the idea was of letting Brian decide where he would be tattooed – it had him almost speechless. Michael gave quick nod. His body reacting enough, pressed against Brian’s as he was, for it to be obvious just how turned on he was by the thought, which only added to the ramble of his reply. “Yes, yeah. Okay.”
Brian grinned. “Deal.” He gave Michael another kiss, then looked up as he heard Ashton calling out that they’d better shift tail for de-boarding. He raised a hand, letting Dec and his wayward slave know they were coming. Speaking to Michael, he chuckled, “Better wait to tell Ash until later, or else he’s liable to bounce himself off the boat and end up in the Thames.”
“Behave.” Michael laughed, though not even for a moment doubting that it was probably true.
- - -
To say it was a bizarre experience to be walking through the residence of one of England's most famous, albeit fictional, detectives while at his back, Michael was hearing all the ins and outs of Tattoos 101 – well, bizarre was an understatement. “Would you two give it a rest? I’m trying to concentrate.”
Michael glanced over at Ashton, eyebrows raised. The laugh he was trying to hold in got that much closer to bursting free when the other man pretended to lock his lips with a twist and put an imaginary key into the pocket of his jeans. Michael leaned in and whispered, “Keep doing that and we’ll probably end up on the other side of a hairbrush spank-fest.” He had a feeling it was an implement that Declan would have on hand, being a traditionalist. And considering the way Brian was closely eying the personal effects laid out on the bureau of the bedroom they were standing in, he might be feeling one on his backside someday in future too.
“Promises, Misha. Promises.”
The pair of them had been on a tear all morning following Michael’s little announcement about wanting to see Hugh. Ashton had hit the door running, giving Michael a squeeze before making a beeline for the phone to see about setting the appointment. Declan had clapped him on the back, smiling that smile of his – both enigmatic and knowing. He’d asked if Michael was sure, but his tone showed that he already seemed to know that Michael had made up his mind. Then he’d said his congratulations before having to head out for a day of business appointments he’d been putting off since they’d arrived.
Hugh had been happy to hear from them, making not a few jokes at Ash’s expense. “Walking billboard to the talents of a great artist,” that he was. He’d set the visit up for the day after though, “Always give a fella some breathing room, me. Makes it mean even more if you actually show up.” A promise from Michael and Brian to come early so they could all share a meal, and decide on semantics had led to the detailed ramble from Ash and Michael that had followed them into the black cab and all the way over to what had been one of the highest priorities on Brian’s short must-see list for London.
The Sherlock Holmes Museum.
Yes, welcome to 221b Baker Street – all three floors an exact reproduction of the residence described in the stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, with no detail spared from floor to ceiling. From the cluttered Victorian jumble that was Holmes' study, to the character's bedroom and those of Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper, and Dr. Watson on the second floor. Personal effects, decoration and design – it was an avid reader's playground.
The presentation was everything that Brian had hoped it would be as he slowly walked from room to room, upstairs and then down again for the better part of an hour. The funny thing was that it didn't even occur to him that he was being as much of a fan boy about all things Sherlock as Michael was for his comics and Ashton was for Star Trek.
Not that it escaped Michael's attention as he fondly watched Brian experiencing the detective’s domain with all the narrow focus and searching eyes of a geek at a comic book convention – a look that Brian had had to suffer through countless times through the years, on Michael. Seen from the outside, it was particularly endearing.
Brian Kinney – super fan.
One who readily stepped up, and sat down for a photograph to be taken of himself in Sherlock's armchair. Ashton's amusement was barely contained as he encouraged Michael to sit in the man's lap for another. The pair left the on-looking tourists from Japan in the room looking rather perplexed when Brian did just that.
If ever there had been a "hero" in Brian's world, one he'd valued since childhood, then Sherlock Holmes was it. Flawed, but brilliant, as the detective was, Sherlock became the perfect fit for a boy looking to escape. A fact he hadn't shared with many, and mostly with Michael.
The stories had sparked his imagination and helped him find a place to safely lose himself when he needed to hide away from the troubled environment of his own home. There was no telling how many times he'd read them over the years, so much so that he had them practically memorized. To the degree that he found different scenes and bits of dialogue were running through his head as he walked through the house, a soft smile on his face and in his eyes.
They all ended up in the gift shop, of course. It was a staple of every attraction they’d visited so far. Brian bought a Calabash pipe, a looking glass, one of Holmes’ deerstalker hats – and in a moment of mushiness – he bought two large dressed Sherlock teddy bears. One for Gus, which he didn’t think would survive until his son’s next birthday unless Lindsay had a hand in it, and one for Michael, to add to the London bears collection he was planning to showcase in the display case of Red Cape Comics.
He didn’t even bat an eye when Michael bought a caricature magnet of Sherlock to add to the others that now graced his once spotless, now cluttered stainless-steel finished refrigerator doors. But he did have a laugh on their way out when Michael leaned up to kiss him, before shoving a small bag in his hand and hurrying out the door to catch up with Ash. The contents of which Brian discovered were a pair of Sherlock Holmes silhouette cufflinks. He snorted fondly, pocketing them securely as he joined the other two men. He gave Michael a fast tickle, and catching him quickly when he tried to squirm away. “You are so pathetic.”
Michael just smiled at him. “And *you* are very welcome.”
Since it was still too early for lunch, they continued on with the detective theme by making a stop at the “Murder One” bookshop on Charing Cross Road. It’d been recommended as a must-see for anyone who loved detective stories, specializing in Sherlock Holmes material from all over the world. All of which conspired to increase their load as Brian added another bag filled with rare paperbacks and the like to his stash.
When Michael's stomach started growling, Ash pointed to the clock overhead. "It's gone half past one. All aboard for the stuffing-our-faces express."
Brian stared at him for a moment, then turned to Michael. "I can *not* believe a gay man just said that with a straight face. Particularly this one."
Ashton just laughed and made for the door with one parting comment. Calling back, "Well, you know the old saying. ‘There’s nowt so queer as folk’.”
Pause. Then Brian shook his head, and set to walking the same way, a grinning Michael by his side.
Lunch was a series of tall tales, warm English ale and pub grub at – yes, the Sherlock Holmes Public House and Restaurant. It was a small pub near Charing Cross Station at the turn of Northumberland Street. Seated, they were surrounded by a charming mix of Brits and other tourists, with accruements on view like Sherlock’s violin and morbidly enough – the detective’s morphine syringes. Morbid, yes – but it appealed to Brian’s dark humor. The three of them settled in, eating and drinking beer as they fell into a game of who could make the worst double-entendre at the expense of English culture. It was a hard-won race, but in the end Ashton crossed the finish line with a particularly dirty turn at “bangers and mash” that had Michael coughing as he laughed so hard that beer came out of his nose.
The afternoon before them, they made their slightly tipsy way to Shaftesbury Avenue; to what was decidedly Michael and Ash’s version of hog heaven.
Forbidden Planet – London’s megastore for all things science fiction, fantasy and cult. It was self-professed to be the world’s largest and best-known entertainment retailer for all three genres. They weren’t two seconds inside before Michael and Ash disappeared from view in a mad dash that was more squee than aww.
Brian ended up wandering the aisles, passing by his lover and their friend every now and again – hardly noticed. Both men were boys-at-heart, kings of their own world, and Brian merely the looker-on as they gorged their pleasures.
Ironic how tables can turn on the head of a pin.
- - -
Their evening started with a call from Declan to Ash. “Toynbee Hall Exit, Aldgate East Underground Station. Seven o’clock, got it.” The Englishman’s voice was full of laughter barely held back as he pocketed his mobile, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Right. We sooo need to drop these bags off before then.”
“What’s happening at seven?”
Ash answered Michael with a wink. “We’re going for a walk.”
Michael glanced at Brian then back. “In the dark?”
“Oh, definitely.”
Brian asked, curious, “What’s Declan got planned?”
“Gotta see a guy about a man called Jack.”
Not just any man, of course.
Turned out that the “walk” that Declan had arranged for them to join was a rather infamous one, the oldest and most renowned Jack the Ripper Walking Tour on tap – literally a walk in the world that was Victorian London, circa 1888. The Whitechapel murders brought back to life in vivid detail, told on the streets and in the alleyways where the actual events took place. Complete with vintage photographs, and macabre antidotes that only added to the eeriness of the atmosphere.
It was a scary tale, morbid and fascinating. Michael was riveted, Brian impressed. Declan and Ash had heard it before, but they enjoyed seeing it like new through the eyes of their friends.
Almost two hours through the warren of roads and places, and the tour was over. The small crowd dispersed, and the four of them stood round as Ashton clapped his hands together and rubbed. “So, anyone else up for a curry?”
Declan laughed and Michael groaned. “You can *eat* after all that?”
Brian answered first. “Says the half-Italian with a stomach like a bottomless pit.”
Dec snorted, “Coming from a cast-iron Irishman, is that really a question you don’t know the answer to?”
Bringing them back the original question, Ash asked, “Take-away or restaurant?”
Takeaway won out at a vote of four-none. They’d all been on the go so much that day that a relaxing evening back at Dec and Ash’s home was the more appealing choice.
After they’d eaten, the men settled in the living room, making use of the large black leather sofas as they listen to music and talked. Declan got up and set about making a fire. The lights were lowered so the flames were the dominant source of illumination in the room, except for the soft glow coming through the closed off screen wall to the dining room. Brian sorted through their CD’s, choosing something smooth and sultry. Something slow, which pleased Ashton well enough for him to get up and bow to Declan, asking him to dance with a smile.
Declan accepted, drawing Ash close. “You’re in a mood, all happy and cute.”
“Oh, there you go. Flattery.” Ash laid his head against Dec’s shoulder as they swayed to the music. A murmured, “Eleven years, and I still got it,” causing Declan to laugh, and nod.
“Absolutely.”
Michael looked up as Brian came to him, making room as Brian stretched out behind him on the couch as the two of them cuddled up, watching their friends. Lulled and relaxed, he pulled Brian’s arm around him.
“What are you thinking, Mikey?”
“That they’re beautiful.”
Brian looked at Michael, seeing in him all the phases of their years as friends and now lovers, from the teen with eyes so large, shy and adoring to the man who laughed and smiled from within as well as from without, so loyal and strong through all of life’s trials – and often Brian’s selfishness. “Take a peek into the looking glass, Alice. I know I quite like what you’ll see.”
Michael turned his head. “Silver tongue seducer, that's you.”
“It’s a talent.” Brian pressed a kiss to Michael’s neck as he turned back to watch at their hosts, and then whispered, “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Hmm,” Michael answered, distracted by other things.
Or rather, other views. Like the one presented before them as Declan and Ash moved on from dancing to something all together more intimate.
The pair were knelt before the fire, lit by its flames as they kissed. As they touched. Slow, easy – without haste. Declan guided Ash to turn around, back to front but still on his knees as his Irishman began to undress him. Jumper first, then undershirt – leaving him bare from the waist up. Just skin and ink.
Declan ran his hands up Ash's arms, pushing his fingers into the man's hair – soothing at first and then pulling, holding his head back as his slave gasped. Caught and held firm with just that one handed grip, Ashton kept his hands at his sides, balled up into fists as he moaned at the way Declan played with the rings that adored his lover's chest with his free hand. Tugs, twists and hard flicks until Ash was practically vibrating visibly with the sensations, breath a ragged thing.
A kiss was pressed to the back of Ash's neck, and another to the center of his tattoo before Declan let go and told him to stand. "Take these off," he murmured, looking up at the line of Ashton's body from his place on the floor. And there he stayed as Ash took off his jeans and socks, turning as Declan's hands guided him around.
There was something so erotic in that moment for Michael, as he bore witness to the Master on his knees and the slave standing tall above. The dichotomy of their positions tinged the atmosphere with some kind of "otherness" that had Michael completely engaged.
So much so that he started when Brian called back his awareness by slipping a hand between Michael's thighs, molding his palm to the hard-on trapped inside his jeans. Teeth and tongue played over his ear and down his neck until Michael couldn't keep back a moan, couldn't keep still as Brian pressed against him from behind, clearly as aroused as Michael by what they both were seeing.
Fingers, long and sure, unfastened Michael's jeans as Brian bit at the back of his neck above his collar. Then again just below after Brian made a frustrated sound and yanked Michael's pullover off. When Michael reached back to hold Brian's head to him for more – Brian licked over the small marks he'd left as he rolled Michael half onto his stomach and gave the smaller man's jeans a jerk down over his hips.
Michael pressed his mouth against the back of his hand, muffling the hungry sounds caused by the force of Brian's strength. The manhandling, and pressure of Brian against his back – fuck, but it called to Michael's blood until it roared in his ears chorused with the rapid beating of his heart. Naked, jeans trapped around his ankles with Brian almost fully clothed behind him, he gasped when he felt the heat and length of Brian's cock against his ass. A sure sign that Brian was as hungry for more as he was.
A sound from across the room, needful and pleading, had Michael looking back even as he felt Brian pushing slicked fingers along the crease of his ass. Caught in the duality of what he felt and what he saw, Michael stared as Declan worked Ash closer, and harder. Irish lips tasting the length of his slave, sucking at him with fierce intent as his lips and chin were coated with the early stages of English cream. Stared and panted as Brian pulled at his hips, and licked along his spine as his hot cock mapped its progress between Michael's cheeks – grazing over his hole again and again, but never in.
"Touch yourself." Brian told him, struggling to hold back himself as he too watched their hosts. His eyes went back and forth between Michael's flushed face, and the scene that had helped cause the look of stark desire found there. He let Michael shift a bit so he could reach under and do as Brian said, but then Brian was over him again, mapped along his body from shoulders to knees. “Hard and fast, Michael? Or slow and long?”
It was there, an answer on his lips – about to gush out of him in a rush. But it didn’t come, as he saw Declan pull away and order Ash down on his hands and knees. Hand at the back of Ash’s neck, Declan rose up behind him on his knees, opening his trousers one handed. Intent so very clear. Ash saying, “Yes,” and “Please,” as Declan moved against him, and then inside of him with a fierceness that had his slave arching his back and panting. Eyes blazing with pleasure, hot and burning as they found Michael’s. As Michael’s silence became his consent for Brian to choose the way, to take him as he would. As he willed it, which was now, then both – hard and long.
Brian thrust into him, fully from tip to base in one move. It caused a flash of fire to shoot through Michael’s nerves, over his body – burning just under the skin. He moaned and grunted in the wake of it, pushing back as Brian moved him bodily back and forth, driving Michael onto his cock again and again. Until Michael’s world was sensation, his only conscious connection to anything other than himself and Brian’s will was the sight of the same on Ashton’s face. Seeing himself there, just as Ashton must on Michael’s face. The two men being taken as they in turn took it all, and loved every passing second as the tension built, as the room filled with sounds of sex and men. As they were driven to the edge that was as sharp as it was strong.
Declan wincing, groaning harshly as Ash snapped back against him, coming just as his Master came – their faces slack and blind as climax enclosed them. Brian grunting, a laugh breaking through as he pushed himself and Michael through towards both their endings. Michael shaking as his body tried to house the storm within, then shook even harder as it crested and he came.
The two couples were in tangles, collapsed together on separate spots in the same room. Catching their breath, and trying to come down to planet Earth – as first Michael and then Ash began laughing. No reason, just one started and the other caught on almost immediately. Declan raised his head tiredly and met Brian’s questioning gaze with a shrug. The two men breaking into smiles themselves as their lovers continued giggling, happy and free – each inciting the other’s hilarity as they gave themselves up to being joyful, their dominants not far behind.
The long day ending with an echo of gregarious ease.
The moment one to remember, when time meant nothing and just *being* was all.
- - -
“I swear, it’s true! 1857 – the Grand Duke of Tuscany figures one day, ‘I know JUST the gift to give the Queen of England.’ What is it? What could possibly be *perfect* enough for so conservative a grand lady? A cast model of one of the most famous and *naked* men in all the world! There he was rising tall over her head – Michelangelo’s David, with dangles and bit in full view. She was shocked, heart all a flutter – standing there like she would have been, all short, trussed up, fully covered from throat to toes and buttoned up to within an inch of her life. Can you imagine?” Ash laughed, his face full of excitement as he spoke to his circle of three listeners in a stage whisper where they all stood under the shadow of said 19 foot towering David in room 46b of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
“Political crisis in the making! Have to keep it, must display it because one mustn’t be considered rude. But oh, mustn’t cause innocent eyes to widen or mouths to drop. What’s to be done? Two words – who wants to guess?” Then he answered just as quick, before the others could give it a go. “Fig leaf! Plaster cast, over a foot and a half high and hung strategically with two hooks on days when the royal eyes were going to be paying a peek.” Ashton turned and looked up the length of the statue, a smile lighting his face. “And all to protect Her Majesty’s sense of modesty – a woman who married her first cousin, and was the mother of nine children all together. Four of which were boys.” He turned back. “One of my professors told us the story, complete with illustrations of the Queen surrounded by babies wearing fig leaf nappies.”
Declan fondly reminded Ash, “She’d only had seven by then, and was pregnant with the eighth. I’m thinking she was just off men in general at the time.”
Brian snorted, glancing at Michael who was biting back a laugh himself.
Michael had to admit that he was enjoying the Museum experience a lot more on this trip than he had on his trip to France. His visits to the Louvre with his ex, David, had proven more like scholastic fieldtrips – long on details, and lacking the style and fun that Ashton brought to the experience naturally. Paris versus London was proving to be no contest at all, given the company, the circumstances and the change in lovers.
Brian wandered away as Ash pointed out the aforementioned famous fig leaf, which was now housed separately in a protective case close by – browsing a little amongst the other casts they had in the same gallery. The Casts Court – two room, almost three stories high, a glass ceiling and vibrantly colored décor. Dozens and dozens of famous pieces, from Roman columns to medieval tomb casts. All very Victorian. And very cluttered, like walking through a rich person’s attic with the ceiling removed on a sunny day.
Or a rainy one, as their morning was proving. Drops hitting the glass above their heads…
They’d been wandering rather aimlessly through the V&A for the last couple hours, no real direction planned, Sometimes circling round or backtracking through galleries depending on what captured their interest and what didn’t. As if seven miles of gallery space covering all aspects of culture, design, fashion, furniture and art could leave a visitor wanting in at least *some* area. From the exotic Asian galleries that reminded Brian and Michael of Declan’s Chez Rai, complete with armor and kimonos, to the streamline styled furniture of the Art Deco period that appealed to Brian’s taste – there was fun for all.
“Brian.” Declan nodded at Ash and Michael’s retreating backs. “We’re almost done here. Just have to give a goodbye to Ashton’s three girls and then we can grab some lunch.”
“Three who?”
“Come and see.”
They followed in the exuberant wake of Ashton’s guidance until they came to a standstill in front of the statue to which Dec had been referring.
Declan did the introductions. “This one is called ‘The Three Graces’ – daughters of Jupiter, companions to the Muses. Thalia, who represents youth and beauty. Euphrosyne, mirth. And Aglaia, elegance.” The description sounded recited, but only because he’d had years of getting acquainted with this rival for Ash’s attention. Ashton who was looking up at the piece with a smile, so focused on it that it was as if the rest of the world had gone away. “It’s the most celebrated sculpture here, and his favorite of the lot.”
“I can see why,” Michael said, finding them beautiful. Ivory white, marble smooth – the three women were nude. Embracing and touching in soft ways that conveyed fond comforts tinged with enough eroticism to be daring. Holding each other in and with love, full affection and yes – grace. “They look like if you touched them they’d come to life.”
“Who’s the sculptor?” Brian asked, thinking it was something he’d share with Lindsay. She’d have been standing there as mesmerized by them as Ash was. Perhaps for different reasons, since Ashton *knew* firsthand how much still and effort went into making sculptures like the “girls.”
“Antonio Canova.” Ash blinked, and then answered – his attention finally turning back their way.
“He lives!” Michael teased. Looking at Brian, he said, “You think we should see if they have a print for Lindz and Melanie?”
Brian nodded. “Great minds, Mikey. Great minds.” He asked Ash, “All done? Then off we go.”
They had a gift shop to find, and more money to burn.
- - - - - - -
Part 13
- - - - - - -
Michael’s teasing suggestion that they take Brian to the Science Museum so his lover could get his inner geek on was over-ruled by his Dom. Who made it clear that any further “over-sharing” of details from his science project greatest hits from high school would end with Brian borrowing some of Declan’s more interesting paddles when they got home.
“Best be glad I’m not your sub, or that would have only been a green light for me opening more of my mouth,” Ash teased.
Declan laughed as Brian and Michael turned to share a look, paused for effect and then said in unison – “He’s so cute!” The pair of them turning one of Ashton’s favorite terms right back on him, before they also broke out laughing.
“Well, I am!” Was Ash’s only defense.
Michael asked, "So where are we going?"
Ash shared a look with Declan, a smile growing on his face to mirror the one on Dec's own. "Knightsbridge, yeah? It's only about five minutes away."
Declan nodded, "Two words, gentlemen. Harvey Nichols."
Ashton was already waving down a cab when Michael asked, "What's Harvey Nichols?"
"Trendy, upscale shopping – that's what," Ash answered.
Brian grinned as Michael gave them all a comical, "Does anyone else smell smoke?" A popular comment that they'd started repeating whenever Brian got in the vicinity of a clothing store.
"No, but if your stomach growls any louder you're gonna be pinging Deb's Italian mother radar from all the way across the pond," Brian snarked as they all piled into a cab.
Considering it was a rainy wet day, Declan suggested they go ahead and eat at Harvey Nichols. "They've got a Wagamama there. Japanese noodle and rice dishes that'll curl your toes, it'll help warm us up before we start looking around."
They were almost to the end of their meal when Dec's mobile started going off. He glanced at the screen and quickly made to answer, placing a quick double knock of his knuckles on the table to get Ash's attention as he spoke to the caller. "Good news?" He wasn't into greetings, just like Brian. "Perfect, really. Thank you for this. Yes. Okay. I'll make sure. Three o'clock." He wasn't much for goodbyes, either.
Off the phone hardly a moment, and he was dialing out. "It's a yes. You still don't mind," Declan asked the person on the other line, grinning at the answer he got. "Just add it to the list; I should owe you a hundred favors by now all things considered."
Ash asked for the phone and told the listener, “Hey you, no bullying my man. Or I’ll have ya… ” He paused listening, then snorted. “That's right, have a go."
Declan asked, “What’s he saying?”
“That I’m about as dominant and ferocious as a bear cub. Wanker.”
Taking the phone back before Ash added anything else, Declan said, "Momma bear, more like. Which could mean you'll end up with his bite mark on your arse." He listened a moment, then rang off on a peel of laughter that had him coughing. When Dec could speak, he explained, "He said that would just prove his point that you've wanted him for years, and to apologize because while he's flattered, he's as straight as an oar. Hard or soft, moist or dry."
"There, you see. Total wanker. And delusional to boot," Ashton replied, his words fondly reprimanding.
Brian raised his hand, "I know we've suddenly been turned into the peanut gallery, but what the hell are you two talking about?"
Dec glanced at Ash, the two of them confirmed to be in cahoots with a look, and then turned to answer. "Change of plans. Hugh's rescheduling for tomorrow morning."
Michael nodded. "That's okay."
Brian paused. "From what I heard, you seem to have something to do with that. What are you two up to?"
Ash started to answer, but Declan held up his hand. Then he leaned in as if to share a secret, only to say, "You'll have to be patient. There's some things we need to buy upstairs, but that'll be your only clue until we arrive at three o'clock. It’s to be a secret until then. You game to find out?"
"Can we get a hint?" Michael asked, already wondering what they might be getting themselves into. Considering it was a Declan designed surprise, it could be anything. As long as it brought pleasure to his friends.
Declan bit his lip briefly before deciding his answer. "Not one word, it'll only serve to heighten the anticipation." At Michael's disappointed look, he grinned. "You'll love it."
Ash agreed. Not so secretly amused as he teased, "Besides, what's a little kidnapping between friends?"
- - -
“Fucking nylon, Mikey,” Brian groused. “I’m in London, in a cab on the way to only they know where, having just left one of the more upscale department stores in the world – and I’m wearing fucking nylon. Why?”
Michael just shook his head, biting back a smile. The look on Brian’s face when they’d been shown what Declan insisted that they needed to wear for their surprise destination had been comical – one not to forget. Not that his lover’s plaintive moaning now wasn’t just as funny. Brian had gone from an hour of shopping bliss, to abject horror when Declan had tossed him the outfit he now wore. “You’re not going to die from it; besides, we’re all wearing it.” Tracksuit bottoms, that covered them from ankle to waist – Brian’s navy blue to Michael’s black. Ash in dark brown, and Dec also in black. Sleeveless tees and plain trainers on their feet – they looked like they were going to the gym.
That is if the gym were seemingly in the middle of nowhere, over twenty minutes from the store and well over the river.
Wherever they were going, it was obvious with just a look that Ashton was getting more and more excited as the minutes passed. He seemed to vibrate with it, held in check barely by the pressure of Declan’s hand firmly on his knee. And a warning… “Darkling.” It was clear Dec meant for Ash to rein it in. Which he managed to do until the cab stopped and he burst through the door before any of the others.
The three of them held back as Brian asked, “So, where are we – tracksuits and all?”
“Some place I discovered when I was trying to help a former patient of mine who needed a little wish-fulfillment to round out his last few sessions. The perfect place to free your inner-child, and fly. I took Ash not long after; it’s been an experience he’s wanted to relive ever since.”
Ash poked his head in, “Come on! It’s show time! Give over talking and shift, yeah.”
Declan grinned, even as he shook his head at his slave’s pushy enthusiasm. “Best do, boys. Or Hugh won’t be the only one bearing Momma Bear bites on his arse.”
Brian snarked, “I’m thinking more rat terrier, nipping at our heels.”
Ash just turned to him, squinted his eyes and said, “Woof.”
Michael laughed, “Speaking of your inner child.”
“Exactly, case in point,” Declan agreed. “Now, step to – they’re waiting on us and the clock started ticking about three minutes ago.” They all piled out of the cab, shopping bags in hand from the V&A and Harvey Nichols – the clothing they’d started the day in, tucked inside.
“Shit it’s cold,” Brian griped. They were all walking fast now, making a break for the warmth that hopefully awaited them inside.
“At least the rain stopped,” Michael said, then stopped himself. Walking that is, which caused Brian to almost tread over him as he stood staring at a sign that announced their place of destination. He looked at Declan, waving at them to come in – that mischievous smile on his face.
“They say life’s a circus, so I figured why not concede the point?” Declan called out. “At least for the next three hours.”
Then he was gone, through the doors and away – leaving Brian and Michael staring at the words on the sign by the entrance, “The Circus Space,” as realization dawned.
“No way!” Michael said, looking from the sign to Brian and back again. “Nooo way, really?”
Brian swallowed, still staring. Then he cracked, a disbelieving laugh bursting through as he said, “He’s lost his mind.”
Not that it mattered when already Michael was grabbing Brian’s hand, and making for the door with all the energy of a rocket fired out of a canon.
As if the subject of what they’d done of their London vacation wasn’t already bizarre enough, chocked full of stories they could share from dust until dawn.
Now, on top of it all – there was this.
Brian and Mikey’s Excellent Adventure – Under The Big Top.
- - -
Okay, so you couldn’t really call a brick building a “Big Top” – it just didn’t make it on the tent scale. But still….
Turned out that “The Circus Space” – housed in an old electricity generating plant, was both a school and performance venue for all things circus. Aerialists, clowns, tumblers and all kinds of other specialties there for the learning. Albeit with a waiting list several months long. Unless, like Declan, you had foreknowledge of their whole and/or half day courses. Or more specifically, their hen and stag party openings. Also a popular offering, done on Saturdays. But since it was neither a stag party, nor a Saturday – Declan had been working his magic again.
Charismatic, sharp-minded and well off. Deadly combination, that. Though when ribbed by Brian about how he’d managed to set all of it up, Declan just put it down to his wicked good looks. With a wink and a smile.
Though considering the looks he was getting from their instructors, male and female, he may have been telling the truth.
“Okay, gentlemen. We’ve got five skills on tap, from juggling to the trapeze, but first we stretch. May seem preliminary, but it’s a must. You *will* be feeling this come tomorrow, so we’d like to keep down the discomfort, and it’ll help aid against the risk of injury. So let’s to it.” This from their principle coach.
During the warm up, Michael couldn’t keep from snickering as Brian whispered about clown makeup and red wigs – making analogies to Deb’s grooming habits that left Michael shushing him while trying not to make too much noise. He failed miserably, considering the height of the ceiling and the resonance of sound in the large room.
Though Ashton managed it well enough when he went to Michael and whispered, “When subs have cause to want to spank their dominants, news at eleven.”
Michael’s playful shove had them getting a disapproving look from Declan, who walked up to Ash and said, “If you want your arse slapped, I’ll oblige back at home. But for now, reign in it.”
When he crossed back into position, Ash leaned towards Michael again. “God, I love him.”
“Don’t you two know not to talk when the topic of fondling balls is on the table?” Brian grinned, nodding to the juggling spheres being wheeled over on a cart. This was a skill he’d taught himself early on, out of boredom. Easy.
And fun, as the time passed and he watched Michael’s frustration grow then shift to joy as he managed to keep the balls in the air for longer than he did on the floor. The other three men clapped and whistled when he did which only served to distract him enough for him to fumble the rhythm and glare at them. “No fair, you’ve all done this before.”
“Just think of it like masturbation, practice makes perfect,” Brian teased.
The instructor broke in, “Practice gets you close to perfect, but with juggling it takes more than just hand-eye coordination. There’s a sense, like you’re anticipating each catch and toss. It goes beyond what the eyes can see. It gets to be about what you know. Or think you do.” She pulled out a sleep mask. “Since this bit is so familiar to you three, let’s put your senses to the test.” She grinned. “Michael, you get to sit this one out. Considered it a reward for a job well done.”
The next few minutes were farcical at best, all three men in turn trying to juggle blind. The only one who managed for more than a bit was Declan, but even then his balls rolled and it was left to them to chase the spheres down and pick them up. Michael sat, watching and laughing at the view. Cheering when each man finished, teasing them with calls of “Bravo” and “Encore” until Brian pounced, pushing him flat, and started tickling.
The instructor managed to draw their attention back when she asked them to move over to the mats. “We’re going to be spending time on the trapeze, later. On both the static and flying rigs. But before then, let’s give something a little closer to the ground a try.”
Closer, yes. On it, no.
“Oh fuck, I remember this. Doesn’t half hurt, does it?” Ash said, nodding to the tight wire set up. “Still, it’s a laugh.”
“Says a man who knows that the experience can be worth a little bite,” Declan replied.
Brian spoke softly to Michael. “Hear that? Maybe Hugh was right. Maybe Dec is a vampire.” He winked at Michael, then leaned in and nipped at the soft skin at the base of his throat. Skin so soft, usually hidden by the collar that Michael wore – but had had to take off because it was the rules of the Circus Space. No jewelry allowed. Brian smiled when Michael’s breath caught, so he said, “Later. I’ll mark you later. Tonight.”
Michael swallowed at the thought, then nodded as he gave Brian’s arm a squeeze. Always nice to have something to look forward to….
The wire was set at a foot above the ground, bright blue mats sandwiched on all sides. Something so benign, now so ominous. Michael started second guessing his ability from the start, but then just chalked it up to fun rather than a test of self. Their teacher gave them a demonstration of her skills, walking the wire with ease – even kneeling on it without losing her balance. Then it was their turn to lose their shoes and put on the specialty suede soled slippers.
Ash went first, and ended up falling on his ass at least twice before he made it from one end to the other. His face was flushed with exertion, some frustration and a lot of happiness to have seen it through. He even gave a small bow when he jumped off the platform. “Thank you, thank you – please, hold your applause. There’s no need.”
Declan snorted. “Smart arse.” Despite the name-calling, he was smiling when he took to the platform himself. And damn if he didn’t manage it in one go. Slowly, granted – keeping his focus strong and his balance sure. Taking his time, and catching himself when he might have wavered. It wasn’t smooth or graceful, but it did the trick. And then he was done.
“Third timer,” Brian groused, knowing that he’d have more luck trying to pirouette on the head of a pin as make that trip without having to jump off multiple times. He’d been known for his moves on the field while playing soccer in college, but this – it was a sure road to failure. And he hated to fail. “Mikey, you’re up.”
So why not delay the inevitable. And pass the buck.
“Shit,” Michael muttered, stepping up. He listened to the teacher’s instructions, and gave a tentative step out. “Double shit.” Owe, Ash hadn’t been kidding. Putting your full weight on a thin wire hurt. He wobbled, arms out, then tilted and had to step off quick to save himself from a fall. He gave the instructor an embarrassed smile, but her encouragement never wavered and he was soon up again.
A snail's pace got him a few feet out on the wire, before he actually did fall. Not that he let it stop him. Getting past the first bit made him determined to do it all. So trial and error, and about six more attempts saw him successfully at the end. He stepped off, wincing at the sensitive ache of his abused feet – but he didn't stop smiling. His accomplishment got him a kiss from Brian, and a hug from Ashton that nearly set him off the ground.
Even Declan gave him a pat on the back. "Perseverance is one of your gifts, Michael."
"Fortunately for us both," Brian said, thinking that if Michael hadn't persevered through all of Brian's bullshit, they'd have never made it until today.
Last to go, it actually took Brian the longest to manage. Much to his consternation. He'd get his bearings, think he was able to manage another foot forward and then wham – off he'd come. "Fucking hell," he snapped. But he was nothing if not obstinate, and he'd be damned if he was going to be the only one who didn't do it. So he stuck to it with teeth clenched and muscles taut.
He had to admit that the end, when it came, was all the more sweet for having had to push himself past his anger. Not that the satisfaction prevented him from grumbling. "I could think of more pleasurable ways to test my physical endurance, you know."
Ash smirked, “So can I, Mr. Grouch. Like this next bit.” The Englishman asked their instructor, “Is it time?”
When she nodded, Declan grinned and clapped his hands together. “Time to fly.”
Michael looked at Ashton when the man laughed abruptly, as if at something he’d been thinking in his own head. “What?”
“Zephyr and Rage flying through the air with the greatest of ease,” Ash shared. “It’s too perfect, yeah?”
Brian just commented, “And me without my Lycra tights.”
Michael teased, “I guess your nylon will have to do.”
Static trapeze was first up. It was surprising for Michael how much like climbing on a jungle gym it seemed. If it the jungle gym were over five feet off the ground and supported by ropes.
They were joined by other staff members, who helped demonstrate the rigging. A few tricks and feats of frankly impressive skill later, it was the boys’ turn to give it a go. To decidedly slower progress that more than half the time had them all laughing their asses off. There were dual trapezes set-ups side by side, so they ended up going at it as couples. First Declan and Ash because Michael told them he wanted to watch how they went through the paces.
Not surprisingly, they did rather well. They had the flexibility and prior experience to help them along of course. Not to mention Ash’s throw-himself-in-whole-heartedness that always proved an atmosphere booster. Declan ended up hanging upside down from the knees, face red with laughter as his lover kept making jokes about getting bits of himself tangled up in ropes at inappropriate moments – and then discussing the merits of whether that was due to nature or nurture.
By the time they got down, Declan had to make a dash for the loo at the risk of wetting himself. Brian was already planning never to let him live it down. “Do they make leather diapers?”
“Oy, watch it.” Ash grinned. “He’s just susceptible to my charms. Now leg it, yanks.”
Michael gave him a quick salute, “Yes, sir.” Then got chased to the rigs with Brian not an inch behind.
Being off the ground while being coached on the static trapeze was a unique feeling, one that Brian and Michael quite enjoyed. It was work, strenuous and sweaty – but it was such fun. Each move accomplished and each new position achieved was a high. By the time they were done, it was as if the time had flown by. Way too quickly.
Adrenaline kicking in, Michael was almost giddy when they were led to the rigging for the flying trapeze. Talk about surreal – being in London, and now this? It was like he was in a waking dream. But as they stood there, being fitted with waist harnesses, he knew his reality in this moment was better than any fantasy.
Brian ruffled Michael’s hair. “You couldn’t stop smiling now if you tried.”
Michael reached up and kissed him, feeling Brian's lips curve as they parted. “You, too.”
“Hello, earth to the stragglers. We’ve got some defying of gravity to do, chop chop.” Ash called as the center’s staff signaled they were ready to begin.
Brian glanced at Declan with eyebrow raised, to which the man wryly replied, "Oh don't doubt I'm keeping a tally. I'll just add that to the rest."
"At this rate, I should be able to sit comfortably when I'm 85," Ashton told Michael to the side.
Michael cleared his throat as he fought not to laugh, nodding towards the instructors who were waiting patiently, all with telling smiles on their faces having overheard the exchange.
Declan responded by telling Ash, "You know you're now going fourth, correct?"
His slave failed to look much subdued, despite the news. "As you will, Master Man. So shall it be."
Another brief display from the staff members which left them all clapping, and then it was their turn to go up. One by one, each man had safety leads hooked into their harnesses as they climbed up on the platform – Michael first, Brian second, Declan third and yes, a pouting Ashton fourth. They were shown how to grasp the swinging bar, instructed on how to position their bodies and then told to hold tight and fly.
An hour later, Michael was sore, hoarse from yelling and so happy he could have floated out of the room. They'd been shouting, laughing and swinging in the air with about as much style and grace as a bull doing Swan Lake. Not that the lack of either made a difference to any of them. They were too caught up in being in the moment to care as the rush raced through their blood and set their hearts to pounding furious and fast.
“God, I could go again and again,” Ash said wistfully as they were thanking their instructors after completing their warm-down.
Declan smiled at him, waiting for the call he was making to connect. He spoke softly, “It’s after six, time for all good instructors and their students to depart.” When he got an answer on his mobile, he moved away so he could talk privately.
Brian laid back on one of the mats and groaned. His body was burning like it did from the gym when he took it up a few notches, but even through the ache of it – he grinned. He’d had a great time, both in doing it himself and in watching Michael’s pleasure as well.
This afternoon would definitely be one to live on in the memory, for all of them. Especially since the staff had taken photos of them all acting like kids, no scratch that – like monkeys in a zoo. Branch swingers, captured on film for their family and friends to see. Lord, Brian might never live it down. Course since he was still high on it all, he just concluded – ‘Fuck ‘em.’ If he could stick his head through cardboard for a picture as a superhero at Michael’s side – much to the amusement of anyone who knew him that saw it, he could live down a few high-flying ribs from the others.
Michael knelt down, pushing Brian’s hair back off his forehead so he could kiss the damp skin. “You’ve got a look on your face. What are you thinking?”
Brian cracked up. “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”
“Oh god.” Michael shook his head, hearing Ashton’s amusement from behind them. It was hard to miss the loudly snickering Englishman who started musing on what Brian would look like in a loincloth. Eyes merry, Michael replied, “That mean you’re gonna sweep me away to your tree house and have your wicked way with me?”
Brian nodded, holding up his arm so Michael could give him a hand up as they both stood. He pulled him close, hugging his waist. “You can bet that’s a definite promise, Janie.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Are still firmly attached, yes.”
Michael nudged him, “Stop.”
“Make me,” Brian teased.
Whatever Michael's response to that would have been was lost when Declan interrupted, his call done. "Cab's on its way. Figured we'd stop in to shower and change, then go out to eat?"
Brian agreed and Michael said, "We'd better start thinking about the luggage situation. There's no way we've got enough room now."
Ash frowned. "Shit, that's right. One more day." He sounded a bit sad, knowing that their trip was almost at an end. Friday would come and go too soon, with Saturday's flight home looming.
His was a feeling they all shared.
Ever practical, Declan said, "That's easy enough. Ash and I will go carryon again, but we've got luggage here we're not using. Just fill those up and we'll check them in before the flight. Doubles your packing space."
Brian agreed, "Sounds like a plan, thanks."
"Not a problem.” Declan scrubbed his hand through his currently unruly hair. “I think I’ve got a long and very hot shower calling my name.”
“That’s right, admit it. You and those showerheads are having an affair,” Ashton called back, already headed towards the exit with bags in hand.
A laugh burst out of Declan, as he shook his head, telling Brian and Michael, “Hardly that, but if he keeps joking – I might have to start considering a sudsy three-way.”
Michael hid a private smile, thinking about Brian’s affinity for shower sex. A glance at Brian, and he knew the man was thinking about it too. Which only made them want to get back to their room more.
He’d be willing to bet dinner was soon to be delayed.
- - -
"Have you decided where it'll go?" Michael smiled, still half asleep with his stomach rumbling for breakfast, as he lay naked on the bed watching Brian getting dressed absently. His lover's eyes were mapping their way along Michael's skin, in deep thought.
"Yes," Brian said, but didn't elaborate. Instead he climbed back onto the bed and prowled up until he had Michael caged under him as he remained above on his hands and knees.
Grinning, Michael spread his legs and drew up his knees until his feet were flat on the bed – effectively framing Brian's body while giving him a hell of a view. "You're not going to tell me?"
Brian looked down between them, then back up with a wicked light in his eyes. "Persuasive, but no. It's not time yet."
Michael slid his arms under Brian's shirt, leaning up to hug him as he said, "Better be sure. I know I am."
Kissing him, Brian then leaned back and ran his fingers down Michael's body until they disappeared between his legs. He drew in a deep breath when Michael moaned as Brian pressed the tip of a finger just right, pushing inside his lover's warm body. A body that had been made moist only a few hours before when Brian had come apart within. "Oh, I'm sure."
With the sensations traveling up his spine, Michael followed the wave and curled up until he was holding onto Brian’s shoulders, kissing him until they had to part for breath. He shifted up onto his knees as Brian released his hold and stood swiftly, “Wait, come here.”
“Nope, we’ve things to do. Places to be and marks to be made,” Brian called out from the bathroom where he was already washing his hands, and setting about brushing his teeth. He looked in the mirror, grinning around the brush at Michael’s grumbling. Rinsing, he said, “And I thought Gus was grumpy in the morning, shit.” He stuck his head out, “Michael, haul butt so we can eat.” He was almost back in the bathroom when he remembered, “I put out something for you to wear, back of the chaise.” Nothing much, just a comfortable cashmere wool sweater in light, almost silvery gray and a pair of charcoal trousers.
Nothing too restrictive that would bind him once the day’s deed was done. The pair picked with their plans in mind.
Brian didn’t impose his will on Michael’s clothing choices every day. Just every third, or so – just to keep Michael from guessing ahead of time. Wouldn’t do to have his sub finding him predictable, would it? Plus he got a kick out of Michael’s reaction, which was usually a mix of arousal at being dressed for Brian’s pleasure and awkwardness at dressing out of his comfort zone. All and all, it was one of their more intimate tangles of scene and reality.
Not that he made a big production when it came to the choices. Sometimes Brian just did small things to play with Michael’s libido like choosing his underwear, but letting Michael wear whatever he liked otherwise. What seemed to hit the loudest chord were days when he’d have Michael wear underwear that Brian had worn the day before – always a definite boost to Michael’s awareness during the day when they were apart.
Though on other mornings, it could be a mundane was picking Michael’s shoes to as precise as choosing every article of clothing he wore from sunglasses to shoelaces.
Then time in between when Brian left him to his own devices, mostly t-shirts and jeans. Though he was noticing that there were days like that when Michael ended up choosing something Brian had given him, anyway. Not that Michael didn’t get a little back of his own on mornings when it was sub’s treat and he got to choose what Brian would wear for the day.
Little tricks, and small things – but oh, how they could enliven them with just that extra touch more.
- - -
“You did not.”
“We did. Not so long back, and you wouldn’t believe how many people showed up. Fifteen hundred of us or more, all inked, hitting the V&A in one day to be photographed for their digital archive of tattoos. From the smallest drunken-courage star, to full body tats that had to take years to have done. It was a visual field day.” Ash told his avid audience, the lot of them – Declan, Ash, Brian, Michael and Hugh, all sitting round a table inside a crowded café with the remnants of a full English breakfast before them.
Declan added, “It was the museum’s first ‘Day of Record’ – which they’ve continued since, each year with a different theme.”
“You can even see some of them online,” Ashton said. “Not ours, mind. Which is a pity.”
“Just makes ‘em more personal that way,” Hugh replied, clearly amused by his friend’s disappointment. “No gawkers giving ‘em a glance without knowing what they mean, yeah.”
“That’s the thing isn’t it,” Michael asked, after a moment. He'd been listening avidly, but had kept quiet himself because he was thinking about what he was about to do. About how important he felt it was to have it done. “The meaning, the memory, the promise they represent – that’s what gives them the significance that makes them more than just ink and skin.”
“Absolutely. Like a story without end. They’re extremely personal, more so in a way than almost any other thing you can do to yourself,” Ash agreed, circling first one of his wrists and then the other with his fingers.
Brian signaled for the check, then turned and asked Hugh, “Soooo, how many do you have?’
Hugh broke out grinning, giving a tisking noise before answering, “Enough, boyo. I’ve enough.”
“For Annie’s eyes only, he says,” Declan told them. “Our Hugh’s a man with secrets.”
“The cheek, I tell ya. Prying into matters between a husband and wife. Annie’ll have ya if you keep at it.”
“Now, see. That’s a warning best heeded. She’s a woman of fire, your Annie.”
Hugh replied, “Don’t I know it. I could still smell the smoke from my black book for two days after she burned it. On our third date.” His laugh was full bodied and fond, the kind that turned heads and had strangers smiling at the sound.
Brian finished settling the bill, then asked, “We all set?”
Declan nodded. “Yeah, we’re done.”
Brian looked to Michael. “Second thoughts?” He was giving Michael time, checking again as he’d done a few times since his lover had told him he’d wanted it done.
In answer, Michael just stood and pressed a kiss to Brian’s cheek, his lips curving into a smile that he maintained as he walked with a determined step towards the door.
All hands in with no doubts to deter.
- - - - - - -
Part 14
- - - - - - -
"Do *not* tell me you just suggested the man get his tattoo done in 'Wingdings' script." Declan admonished Hugh, as the larger man sat at his computer while Brian and Michael were watching him play with elements for the final design. The man had software that would make some of Ryder's art department turn envy-green.
Amused, Hugh just gave his friend a shrug and didn't say anything else until Ash's laughter broke through his control and he let it loose. "It'd be one hell of a topic for conversation, you have to admit."
Brian popped Hugh on the head and then hugged his arms around Michael. "Ignore them."
Not embarrassed, much – Michael nodded as he pressed back against his lover. "Yes, sir." He didn’t mind the teasing; it was actually helping to distract him from his small fit of nerves. It wasn’t that he was second-guessing his choice. It was that he didn’t know how he’d respond to the pain. He’d only asked Ashton a half dozen times how it would feel. Or rather how bad it might get. His friend had sought to reassure him that it was tolerable. And then over, with a sense of passage achieved. As rites often where…
Hugh had talked with Brian beforehand about where the tattoo was to be placed, so all that was left was for Michael to approve the final look and then it was time for the reveal.
“So we have before,” Hugh said, opening a file that showcased a three-dimensional outline of a male body from the shoulders to mid-thigh. He nudged Ash when the man whistled, then told Michael, “Okay, deep breath. This will be after.” A click of his mouse and the program came to life, the tattoo design moving, twisting across the screen until it came to be mapped over the man’s body. Slipping into place, it stopped for a moment before the image zoomed in closer as the body rotated so the mark could be seen from all angles. The presentation ended with the form facing forward, the still frame locked on full-screen so the design dominated the monitor.
So caught up in looking, Michael didn’t say anything at first. Then his mouth curved up, and a bright smile lit his face. “That’s perfect,” he said, as his hand passed over that same spot on his own body. The mark, the words, the certainty in “Always Will” to be writ on his skin, curved from the top of his hip down, angled along his pelvic bone to end just before the bend of his thigh. “Always” on top, with “Will” straight down, sharing the “W” in “Always” – the double L’s cuddled together, one cradled in the lap of the other. As if they were two lovers lying cupped together on their sides.
“You like?” Brian knew the answer to the question before he was even done asking it when Michael grabbed his hand and pressed them both where the tattoo would go.
“Completely,” Michael answered, turning to kiss him – the two getting distracted enough that they only drew apart when Hugh cleared his throat.
“I’d have left you to it,” the other man winked, “but if we don’t get these tats started sometime today, you’ll end up missing your flight out come the morrow.”
Brian groaned, just as Michael frowned and asked, “These tats?”
“Shite,” the artist cursed, both for having said too much and because Ashton took that moment to not so playfully kick him in the shin. “Sorry, man. Owe.”
“Well, that lasted all of not long.” Brian shook his head, and then gave Michael a squeeze. “Surprise.”
“What? You too? When did, really?”
“Official decision? The other night on the boat after you told me what you had planned. Before then, it was just an idea that made sense once we came here with Ash." Brian nodded towards Hugh. "I was going to bring it up later when we got home. But I decided to make it a two-fer with this wanker's consent, after you told me what you had planned.”
"Hey, name-calling and needles don't mix," Hugh grumbled, though with little heat considering how he'd flubbed up Brian's surprise.
"Lo, listen to the man talking like a native." Ash teased, causing Declan to snap his fingers in a way that was distinctive and familiar. A signal to behave, and hush. One that Ash immediately responded to.
Having been watching Michael rather than playing into the fun, Declan caught Brian's attention and nodded for him to look.
Brian saw that Michael was standing there, in the round of his arms, with eyes shining. The emotions therein enough to having him drawing Michael aside, turning him around as he asked, "Hey, Mikey. You okay?"
Feeling too full to speak, Michael nodded. Then he leaned up to hug Brian. "Are you sure about this? I mean... ” Michael didn't even know what to say; he'd never even thought it would be an option for Brian. How could the man improve on perfection, right? And now this, knowing that Brian intended to carry the mark of their promise just like Michael.
"Like you said, I want this. Besides, you know me. I don't do regrets."
Michael laughed nervously, “This would be a hell of a first time, if you ever start.”
Brian ruffled Michael’s hair, batting his hands away when he tried to fix it. “Don’t. I like it all bed-rumpled and mussed.” He leaned in, brushing his lips across the warmth of Michael’s forehead. “Wanna see where it’s going to go?” Feeling the other man nod, Brian turned to Hugh. “Show him.”
“As the man commands,” was Hugh reply. Another click of his mouse and the scene changed onscreen, this time showing the smooth firm line of the nude figure’s back. The words floated along and then slid into place. The same script and letter size as Michael’s. The same words. The difference in design being that they were lined up straight, each letter on top of the next evenly spaced and vertically centered from neck to waist. “Always Will” – mapped along his spine in a way that drew the eye, and made one want to trace and touch the length of it.
“Wow.” It was a whisper, slipping out as Michael moved closer to see. He looked back at Brian, and then back at the screen again. “Oh man, that’s so…. Wow.”
Declan nodded, amused by Michael's reaction. “Nonsensical and gobsmacked. Yes, we have a winner.”
- - -
"How're you doing?" Brian asked over the incessant buzz-hum-whine of the ink gun as it moved over the stenciled skin to the right of Michael's lower abdomen. They'd been at it half an hour, and Michael had had his eyes closed and a death grip on either Brian's hand or the table ever since.
Michael grimaced a little when Hugh wiped the excess ink away, and then reapplied the needles. He'd been startled when they'd begun; thinking maybe it wasn't going to be so bad, but then as time wore on, the pain grew more noticeable because of the duration of it. The repetition had him feeling raggedy. Hugh had said that every person responded differently to the process. For some, the pain was just a mild discomfort. For others, it was enough to make them cry throughout.
For Michael, it wasn't the worst pain he'd felt. He's had asthma attacks as a kid when it had felt like all the oxygen had left his lungs, and sharp knife flares of agony had shot through his entire body. Those were the worst he'd experienced. What made the ink gun unique was the constant stop, start, stop and start with pricks and stings that varied depending on the sensitivity of the area over which it traveled.
"I'm alright. It's just," Michael paused, looking over at Brian who was watching closely. "It's wearing, you know. I think my nerve-endings hate me *and* Hugh right now. How's it looking?" He was determined not to peek at it until it was done.
Brian smiled, “Like the man might know what he’d doing.” He had to laugh looking over across the room at Ashton, when the Englishman called out, “Good on him!”
Declan gave his slave’s hair a tug, “Hush, or it’s the corner for you until we leave. This is their time.”
Slapping a hand over his mouth, Ash looked up at him from where he lay on a nearby sofa with his head in Declan’s lap and muttered an apology through his fingers, “Sorry, Master.”
Brian caught the fairly fond look of long suffering that passed the Dom’s face. Amused by their friends’ interplay, he leaned in and told Michael quietly, “Ash caused him to be on his toes so often, Declan may as well be a ballerina.”
Hugh, who drew back the ink gun as he laughed loudly, caught the comment. “Oh man, tutu’s and toe shoes. Now that’s an image I’ll not be rid of for years.”
Even Michael had to smile, though it left his face when Hugh went back to work. Brian caught his shaky exhale as his lover’s grip tightening for a moment before Michael eased back into thinking past the discomfort. Trying to help distract him, Brian rubbed his free hand over the other mark on Michael’s body – the remnant of a promise fulfilled. The bite bruise was just below the line of Michael’s collar, at the bend of his shoulder. Not too big, but it did draw the eye – and his fellow sub’s notice when Ash had given him a secretive shared smile upon seeing it when Michael had taken off his sweater earlier.
Michael turned his head, rubbing his chin over the back of Brian’s fingers as he opened his eyes and looked at Brian’s face. Seeing the pride there, the admiration and the love.
So much history in a pair of eyes…
“It looks amazing, Mikey. Outline’s done. He’s working on the shading within the letters,” Brian told him after a long pause. The design had letters that appeared almost three-dimensional; with an added shine effect that was more a trick of shadowing – leveling out degrees of darkness from pale to jet-black. It was going to look fantastic once it was done, Brian knew. Thinking about how he’d enjoy seeing the top of it peaking out of Michael’s underwear or jeans, picturing the look of it completed underneath.
As it was, Brian had already had some fun trying to tease Michael who had had to drop his trousers and lie back on the table in just his underwear. Underwear that had had to be pulled down so that his right hip was bare so Hugh could get to work. Brian’s flirting had ended with the first gasp that escaped from Michael’s lips once the ink gun touched home.
“Need a break?” Hugh asked, as he wiped at the excess ink again. When Michael shook his head, the artist continued. “Just let me know, yeah?”
A good while and two breaks later, Michael was done. Standing with mirror in hand as he looked down at himself and then back at his reflection, over and over. He was a jumble of excitement, surprise, relief and buzzing with euphoric energy. “Bri, look at it. It’s, fuck. Hugh, you’re incredible.”
“Praise and a job well done, they feed the soul,” the man joked.
Brian hugged Michael from his left, tracing alone the unmarked skin around the tattoo. When Michael looked at him, face lit with a big giddy smile, Brian pressed their foreheads together and told him, “Beautiful.” The man, the mark – and the moment.
Hugh saw to cleaning Michael up, bandaging him and giving him the same aftercare rundown that he’d done following Ash’s tattoo session. Adding that Michael needed to pay extra care that he didn’t wear anything with too tight a waistband until the tattoo had healed. “Think big and roomy,” he’d snarked.
Michael replied, “Sounds like maternity wear.”
“More like granny panties,” Brian quipped, getting smacked on the arm by his lover in retaliation.
When it came time for Brian to be inked, his humor left him quick enough. Gun buzzing, the first touch had Brian tensing and cursing. “Fuck. Ah, okay. Shit.” But once he caught his breath, he forced himself to relax and stayed quiet. They’d switched the music from Michael’s favorites to Brian’s Jazz; and he listened to it, trying to block out the noise that accompanied the discomfort and bite of Hugh’s work.
Michael stayed close, running his hand over Brian’s arms now and again as he worried his lip, concerned over how Brian was doing. He smiled when Brian caught his hand and threaded their fingers together, the pair of them sharing a look for a long while before Brian told him he was fine.
“It’s all good, Mikey. Feels like hell, but I’m okay.”
His “okay” left him after the first hour, as did any patience he may have managed. Brian shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying not to count the seconds or ask Hugh if he would ever be fucking done. He was already pissed off from being told during their last break that he couldn’t have a drink because alcohol acted as a blood thinner, which meant he’d bleed more when they started back. Not that he did much to begin with, according to Hugh. “I’m an artist, with no aspirations to be a blood letter. Thanks very much.”
By the end, he was so focused within with his eyes still closed, that he didn’t hear Hugh shutting off the machine. It was Michael, leaning in to call his name that had Brian back in the room. “Brian, you’re done.”
“Thank fuck,” he groused, shifting up to stand. He didn’t ask how it looked, just took the mirror Michael gave him and followed him to the bathroom so he could see the reflection of his back. He was smiling in under a second. It was striking, strong and just as well done as Michael’s. Brian flexed his shoulders, skin still aching but it didn’t matter. Seeing it done, a part of him from neck to waist, gave Brian a sense of satisfaction and pride he could have only guest at before now.
“What do you think?” Michael asked, his gaze never straying from Brian’s back – so enamored with the view that he was staring at his lover like he was a new jewel in a jewelry case.
Turning this way and that, Brian looked over his shoulders into the mirror. “Oh the joys of being made a pincushion and paying for the privilege,” he snarked playfully, before adding, “I’d say it looks fucking worth it.” Privately, he was most thankful that it did look as good as it did. It would have been such a bitch to have something half-assed by a stranger back home. For him and for Michael.
Hugh was again to be commended.
Michael stepped closer and ran his fingers softly over Brian’s back, avoiding the newly inked skin as he admired the work. “God, that’s hot.” He looked up in surprised as Brian suddenly turned, and kissed him. His taller lover leaning in as he held Michael still with a hand on his neck, taking a taste of what Michael eagerly wanted to give.
It was a moment of untold length later, which was broken when a booming voice sounded through the doorway. “You've got two gents out here who want to take a peek at your backside, Kinney. That's according to Ash. Not me, mind. But I’ve got to bandage your back, so haul tush. Tock tick. Which means now.”
Groaning, Michael started to laugh when Brian whispered, “I’d place odds that as soon as his Annie steps in a room, that man goes all teddy bear charm and honeybee sweet.”
The image alone would have been priceless, Michael thought. He gave Brian a careful squeeze. “Let’s get you mummified. Then maybe we can find something to fill my bottomless pit of a stomach, pretty please.” Said stomach choosing that moment to play Greek chorus as it growled. Loudly.
“That sounded frighteningly similar to ‘feed me’,” Brian grinned at Michael’s blush. It was a trait Michael hadn’t lost in all their months – no, years together.
Michael gave Brian’s arm a pull. “Anything you say, Seymour. Just lead way.”
- - -
After playing show and tell for Declan and Ash, they all bid Hugh goodbye with bear hugs and handshakes. But not without the artist ribbing Dec for being the one man out of the four of them *not* to have gotten inked. Albeit again.
He just gave Hugh that enigmatic smile of his and said, "That’s a bit of history that has yet to be written.”
They made a quick stop in for sandwiches on the way back to Chez Rai, just something light because they were in the awkward too late for lunch and too early for dinner part of the afternoon. Besides, Declan had already made plans for their evening. All he’d say was that they had a stop to make and then reservations set for after.
Michael whispered in Ashton’s ear, “A man of mystery, and a control freak to boot. Bless.”
The two subs shared a laugh as Ashton nodded, “I know!” His words hardly a complaint, the tone alone showcased just how marvelous he thought the idea was.
Back in their room after having a bite to eat, Brian crawled up on the bed and lay down on his stomach groaning. “My arms were already killing me from yesterday, now today with the needles – shit.” The grin on his face took the sting out of his griping. He looked over at Michael, who was standing across the room looking down at their luggage. They’d gotten a good start on the packing, but his lover, friend and sub was a worrier when it came to details and Brian didn’t want him to miss the fun of their last day by dwelling too much before it was even time for them to leave. “Come here, Mikey. Lie down with me.”
Settling on his back by Brian’s side, Michael closed his eyes. “Do you know what Dec’s got planned?”
Brian snuggled closer, resting his face against the soft brush of Michael’s dark hair with his eyes closed as well. “Yeah, but I’m not saying.” He chuckled at Michael’s answering grumble, the man fast to falling asleep. Not surprising considering the lack of sleep they’d had the night before when they’d gotten preoccupied by other activities. Strenuous and sensual in equal measures. “We’ve got an hour before we have to get up,” Brian said in a tired murmur.
Michael nodded slowly, past the point for speech.
Naptime it was.
- - -
The pop of a champagne cork, caught skillfully by a trained hand, signaled the start of their ride. The secret of their journey’s end having been revealed long before they’d actually stepped aboard their private capsule on the London Eye. Declan hadn’t been able to go with them the first time they’d ridden it, so he’d arranged to rectify that by hiring a capsule so they could experience the ride after dark. “London lights from a sky view.” It was his preferred way to go round.
Ashton was the first out of the cab, already giddy with getting to go up again. The attraction had been a favorite of his since it first opened, so day or night – he was always game.
By the time the capsule had raised them to the very top, the four of them were just starting on their second bottle. Michael stood close to the glass, with Brian at his back as they looked out at the beautiful view. The whole of the city was spread out beneath, sparkling in lights for as far as the eye could see. Buildings they never would have noticed by day, drawing the eye in a way that added to the overall glamour of London lit by night. “Trying to set it all in your memory, Mikey?”
Finishing off his second glass in probably far too fast a fashion, Michael turned to Brian. “Locked and loaded. Although, a couple more glasses of this and the rest of the night may become a blur.” He grinned when Brian passed over his own glass for him to finish, albeit with only two swallows left. They passed off their empties with their host server, and then Brian took Michael’s hand and guided him to join their friends who were standing side by side at the other end of the capsule.
Michael wondered how the pair could have left such a wonderful place, crossing the pond to take up residence in Pittsburgh, PA. But then with all he and Brian had learned about their past on this trip, he reasoned that a new start in a city without such harsh memories had been a good decision for them both. They were happy in their new home, and he was certainly glad to have them in his life. To have them be a part of his and Brian’s world.
Declan laughed at something Ash whispered in his ear, kissing him quiet before he nodded yes. “A toast it is.” He waited for them all to have their glasses filled, then said, "To Brian and Michael, may your journey be one of continuing new joys and discovery. And may the love that has been yours for half your lives, carry you both to the end of your days." He raised his glass, "To always."
Brian touched his glass to Michael’s, their eyes locked as each drank to the promise of that word and all that it meant for them both. Then he looked to their friends. “Well, at running the risk of ruining my imagine, and sounding like a man who makes a good bit of my living from the power of words,” Brian held up his glass and said, “’Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends’.” He grinned, adding, “To Dec and Ash.”
The toast complete – Declan shook his head, smiling back. “You devil, that was Yeats.”
Brian agreed, but then added, “More to the point, and with present company in mind, *that* was an Irishman.”
- - -
It wasn’t long thereafter that the four men huddled into a cab, pulling their coats closed against the wind that signaled with almost certainty that there would soon be rain. They settled in as they re-crossed the river on their way to dinner. It was back to Zaika, by popular choice and not a small amount of hinting by a certain Englishman. Ash said he figured it would be good karma, coming full circle back to the same sinfully good restaurant that they’d dined in the first night of their trip. Declan just gave him a look that said he knew it had more to do with Ash’s desire to stuff his face than their karmic well being.
Dinner was a slow, easy affair. None of them were in a rush to leave as they savored the food and enjoyed the atmosphere. They had a good time, ate enough to have Brian contemplating stepping up his workout routine for the next month and drank until all of them were happily buzzed. They left laughing at yet another in a long line of off-colored jokes courtesy of Ashton’s loosened tongue, and Declan’s wry replies.
Back in their room, Brian got Michael to bypass the opened and mostly filled luggage strewn on the floor and led him to the bathroom so they could deal with the preliminary after-care on their tattoos. “God, I’m glad to get that shit off,” Brian grumbled after Michael helped him remove the bandages that had covered the center of his back from neck to waist for the last few hours. “That tape’s a bitch.”
Michael chuckled, “The tape? Man, look at us.” He looked at himself in the mirror, the dark ink now mapped into his skin.
Brian hummed, looked back over his shoulder at his own reflection. “We did it, didn’t we?”
Grinning tiredly, Michael nodded. “We so did.”
A wink and a hug from Brian, and it was time to finish what they’d started. They followed Hugh’s instructions, cleaning each other’s tattoos gently with antibacterial soap, patting their skin dry and then adding ointment. By the time they were done, both of them were, as Ash would say, “knackered” – so it was straight to bed not long after.
They woke early the next morning thanks to a knocking wakeup call from Declan. “Breakfast in half an hour, we leave in two.”
Michael groaned as he shifted awake. They’d slept on their sides, Brian at his back so they wouldn’t press down on their tats. Sitting up, he looked down and blinked blurrily. “Owe.” They’d been right to say it would feel like a bad sunburn. Still, he felt happy just seeing it again.
“Shit,” Brian cursed, rolling onto his stomach. “I think my back has a hangover.”
Forcing themselves into motion, the pair got up and managed to make their way to breakfast. A quiet time considering all the men there were still half asleep and nursing sore heads or bodies. Or both. Then it was back to finish the packing.
Michael decided to wear his loose black workout pants, the only thing on hand from his wardrobe that was soft enough not to aggravate his sore skin/new ink. Underwear was a no, to Brian’s amusement. But before Michael could get dressed, Brian had one last surprise. “Wait, come here.”
He held Michael close, speaking softly with a teasing light in his eyes. "You remember on our flight here, that little game I had you play?"
Michael shifted nervously, remembering all too well. Talk about frustration! "Yeah." With a pointed look from Brian that said the game was on, he answered again. "Yes, sir."
The look of both anticipation and dread on Michael face amused Brian enough to give him a squeeze. "I have a different idea in mind for the trip home." He let Michael go and went to retrieve something from one of the bedside drawers. Turning so that Michael could see, Brian uncoiled a long thin length of silk rope and let it trail down to the floor as he pulled a section of it tight between his hands. "I think it's time we give the skills I learned during my little session with Master You another try, don't you? With some variations just for today."
Fifteen minutes later, and Michael was fighting himself not to move. Not to moan. Not to voice the affect Brian's variations were having on his body. No easy task, considering Brian seemed dead set on driving him nuts.
"Still, Michael. We’re almost done."
Michael couldn't help thinking if Brian kept it up, he'd been more than done – he'd be a limp mess. "I can't believe...” Just as quick as he started, Michael stopped. It wasn’t a good idea to talk out of turn; given the way it usually ended with him having to wait longer than if he hadn't said anything at all.
Brian glanced up from the latest of several knots he was tying, and looked at his sub with teasing menace. “Can’t believe what?”
Licking his lips, Michael looked down the length of his body and answered, “I can’t believe you actually want me to have all this on under my clothes. I’m gonna get strip searched for sure now. And then what will I say?”
“Spare a pair of scissors, officer?” Brian laughed, low and dirty. Then he sat back and appraised his handiwork. “Very nice.”
Michael tried for humor, “Are you sure that Master You doesn’t truss up turkeys in his spare time?” But Brian’s wandering hands, and expert touch – damn the man – were more than enough to shut that avenue down real quick. Hot, quick pulls, then slow soft strokes. And through it all Michael had to try to stay still, to accept – and above all, he had to try not to come. “I’m, ahh. I’m gonna… I need.” Almost, and then nothing – Brian’s hand gone. “Fuck,” Michael groaned. “You’re not gonna let me, are you? I’ll be flying with blue balls.”
“All part of the fun, Mikey.” Brian stood up, and turned him around so they were both looking in the mirror nearby. “For both of us.”
Black lines and loops, silky soft and thin, were crisscrossed up the length of Michael's arms from just under his leather cuffs to his shoulders, over his chest and then brought down at his back to loop and cross down his legs in diamond shapes. Harlequin style – it was reminiscent of the ribbons they'd played with on their last evening at Dec and Ash's home in Pittsburgh. The rope wasn't tight, as that would have defeated the purpose. It was tied with little give, but in such a way that when Michael moved, he could feel the soft brush and touch of the silk against his skin. It was oddly erotic, the mix of pleasure and the feel of being tied.
Brian had even managed to keep the pattern going, while leaving Michael's abdomen and hips free. Nothing to worry the site of his new tattoo. And with a care so that movement wouldn't be restricted on the plane.
Hugging Michael from behind, Brian shut his eyes and focused as he rubbed against his lover. "That feels...."
"Yeah, it does," Michael breathed out when Brian got lost in the sensation and went silent. Hands moved over him, palms skimming over silk and skin as they held the moment and didn't notice the time.
A sharp knock snapped them back as Ashton called through the door that the car would be downstairs in less than half an hour. Brian groaned as he pulled back from Michael's warmth. "Keep that thought," he said as he quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and eased his loosest sweater over his head, already thinking about how he'd have to sit on the plane so as not to press directly against his marked spine.
Pulling on his socks and shoes, Brian watched as Michael got dressed and then began to double check the luggage, their carryon bags, passports and their tickets. The look of worried concentration marking Michael's face had Brian calling for his attention, "Hey, Mikey."
Turning back to him, Michael caught the fond mischievous look on the other man's face. “Yeah?”
Brian smiled, repeating something Michael had said two weeks before. “London.” His emphasis of the word caused Michael to laugh.
“I know,” Michael said, finding it all still wondrous and still amazing.
It had been all they’d hoped for, and so very much more.
- - - - - - -
Part 15
- - - - - - -
“You got *more* stuff?” Michael asked as Brian came his way with bags on his wrists. Leave it to Brian to discover that Heathrow Airport was a mini shopping Mecca, full of even more of those perfect somethings that they apparently couldn’t leave London without. Not that Michael hadn’t taken the plunge himself as they were all waiting in the private club room for first class boarding; but his one bag had nothing on Brian’s half a dozen.
Declan glanced up from the magazine he was reading and got a look at the loot. He snorted. “Tourist.”
Giving them all a mock bow, Brian winked at Michael and nodded towards Declan, “Says the Pitts-living resident alien.”
“He’s got you there,” Ashton chuckled, playfully trying to give one of Brian’s bags a tug. When Brian pulled it out of reach, the man gave him a small groan. “But I love the sound of shopping bags.”
“Then go acquire some," Brian teased. "Given some luck and a little running around like a headless chicken, you might just be able to get your jones on before they call for boarding.”
Declan was already shaking his head to forestall Ashton's request when the boarding for their flight was announced. "Saved by the PA," he grinned.
A little creative rearranging as Brian distributed his finds between their carryon bags, and the four of them headed for check in. Seeing Michael put his small bag into his coat pocket, Brian nudged him. "Did you get the one I saw you looking at earlier?"
"I almost didn't, but yeah. I knew she'd love it." He'd only hesitated because it was the most expensive item he'd bought the entire trip. Well, expensive to him. He knew it hardly rated on Brian's scale as such, considering what the man would put down for even one shirt when the shopping bug took hold of his reason.
"No doubt." The gift was a petite handcrafted Russian nestling doll, skillfully painted and designed to contain dolls within dolls, each smaller and smaller in size with the last being almost impossibly little at less than five centimeters. Each doll as intricately decorated and beautiful as the first.
"Maybe it'll help keep her from killing us," Michael said.
"Over what? The tattoos? Or the lying about our flight plans?" Brian had pulled the Dom card when it came to their return tickets, scheduling them with Declan for a day earlier than they'd told everyone back home. The main reason being that he wanted some downtime with Michael back at the loft, where they could ease back into things and unpack without walking into a whirlwind of questions and welcome-back pushiness. Brian figured they could put all that off until Sunday morning breakfast at the diner when they walked in from of out the blue.
"Take your pick," Michael said, smiling as their friends laughed. "We'll be lucky to survive without brain damage."
Brian snorted. "We'll just butter her up with all the goodies and make a break for it when she isn't looking."
"My thoughts exactly!"
- - -
“Keep still,” Michael whispered, trying to keep his voice down so as not to draw attention to them from anyone in first class that wasn’t either asleep or otherwise preoccupied. The cabin was mostly dark, with windows closed or pulled low. Only three hours into their flight.
“Just do it,” Brian replied, with the small concession of a low, albeit taunting tone. He was turned sideways in his seat, facing the aisle with his sweater pushed up to bare his back while Michael dabbed ointment over his skin. No one was watching – except for a certain voyeuristic Englishman they knew sitting behind them, so Brian kept moving back from Michael’s touch – making him work for contact. Mischievous, true. Aggravating, yes. But he knew Michael was smiling; he could hear it in his lover’s voice.
“I’m gonna pinch you in a sec,” Michael warned.
“You do, and I’ll tickle you until you scream.” It was an empty threat considering where they were, but why let that stop him?
Michael just leaned in and placed a conciliatory kiss on the side of Brian’s neck, nuzzling close as he murmured, “I’ll be good, if you are.”
“Hmmm, Mikey. We both know I’m always *very* good.” Brian turned and kissed him before he could reply. “Am I done?”
Easing the sweater down, Michael nodded. When Brian turned back around and made grabby hands towards Michael’s waistband, he swatted them away. “I’ve got to pee, and you are not going take down my pants out here where everyone could see. I’ll just take care of it in the bathroom.”
“A gay man going into the gent’s with tube in hand, tisk tisk. Just make sure you and Mr. Hand don’t join the mile high club while you’re in there.” He had plans for all of Michael’s pent up energy as soon as they got back home.
Ashton’s voice came from behind them, speaking to Declan. “I’d compliment him on being able to pluck and play Misha’s strings like a violin, but all things considered… ” Laughter, a bit too loud perhaps. But over quickly when his Master clapped a hand over his mouth, and gave him a look that said all that was needed to keep him in line.
“Apologize,” Declan said. “Formerly. You know what for…”
Doing a good job of being contrite, Ash nodded. “For distracting Misha, and imposing on their scene,” he said, after Declan dropped his hand. He leaned in close to Brian and Michael’s seats. “Sorry. My mouth sometimes dashes ahead of my brain.”
Brian grinned. “You’re forgiven.”
“This time,” Michael said, giving Ash a look that had the Englishman winking at him in turn.
Declan relaxed back, tapping his wayward slave on the arm. “One hour silent penance, starting now.” Sometimes punishment was best and most effective in simplicity.
Standing up, Michael shifted as he stepped into the aisle. The silk moving over his skin, smooth yet binding, caused him to shiver. Damn, every time he got used to it enough to ignore the sensation, it came back full force when he was in motion. Just like Brian had wanted it to….
Still, he had better control than to give into the temptation of relieving some of his jazzed libido in an airplane cubicle. At least, he hoped so. Yeah, he could. Do it. Or rather, not do it. “I’ll behave. But just so you know, Mister Sir. Some days you are too inventive for my own good.”
- - -
The first stop after the airport was Dec and Ash’s townhouse. Everyone was a little blurry eyed and tired, both from the flight and the usual ordeal of customs, luggage and the ride back in. Their hired SUV purred while a dutiful driver looked forward, and not back at the men hugging their goodbyes on the cold sidewalk – their breath ghosting out from their lips as they talked. As they laughed and shared their thanks.
“My turn,” Ash smiled, hands held out for Michael. “Give us a mush, Misha luv.”
Hugging his friend, Michael gave him a good squeeze. He turned his head, catching Declan’s kind smile over Ash’s shoulder. Holding the man’s eyes, Michael said what he wanted them both to know. “Thank you. So much. You’ve made this trip one I won’t ever forget.”
“It’s been our pleasure,” Declan said, coming forward as Michael gave him a quick hug and Ashton did the same to Brian. “You both are welcome to come again, I hope you know.”
“Declan Rai, you’re a good man. Which is why I’m going to let the enormous sexual pun door you just opened, close.” Brian smirked, holding out his hand to Dec, giving the man a pull instead of a shake. The two hugged shoulder to shoulder with pats on the back, a gesture that was very Dom to Dom. Stepping back, Brian cleared his throat. “Thanks, for all of it.”
Declan nodded. Then smiled his wicked grin. “Always.”
“Hey, that’s our line,” Michael chuckled.
Ash looked up at their townhouse with wistful eyes. “Blimey, my fingers are practically itching to get back to it.”
“They probably have a cream for that,” Brian said dryly, faux whispering in Michael’s ear loudly enough to be heard by all.
“He means his studio,” Michael tisked, giving him a nudge.
Brian gave his earlobe a quick nip, then a kiss before telling him quietly, “He’s not the only one itching to have at something. I’ve a certain hot and horny man to unknot and then undo.” He was satisfied with Michael’s shiver, and ragged nod. The response, the need he knew he generated let loose his tongue – both for the truth of it, and for the power he knew the endearment held in his lover’s heart. “I mean to make you know you’re mine, baby. As soon as I get you home.” The words a rasp, shared low and hot between just them two.
To say Michael dashed back into their waiting ride with all the speed of a winning NASCAR racer would have been an understatement. Leaving two very amused Britons in his wake and an amorous Dom on his heels.
- - -
But for all their rush and the anticipation that simmered inside, just below their skin – getting back to hearth and home proved a tedious process of lugging of bags and pulling luggage. Into the building, up in the elevator and back into the loft. A sea of suitcases littering the ground all around them.
“Leave ‘em.” Brian’s voice was gruff, thick with more than just command as he grabbed Michael’s hand and pulled him through the room up onto the platform of their bedroom.
They weren’t there a second before Brian was jerking Michael’s sweater over his head, letting it join the pile of Michael’s coat and kicked off shoes on the floor. Running his hands up the length of Michael’s arms with a pleased sound, Brian enjoyed the feel and the look of the smooth silky lines that crisscrossed his lover’s limbs. “Still okay?”
Sensitized by the ropes, his lover’s touch, the look of hunger in Brian’s eyes and his own near desperate need – Michael nodded sharply and then asked for what he wanted most in that moment. “Fuck me, and that’s a yes.” He pulled Brian’s hand down, pressing it over his hard-on still trapped within his clothes. “Be inside me.”
Brian all but growled as those words sent a surge of heat through his body from his groin up his spine. Quick and not a little unsteady, he wrangled off Michael’s pants and his own clothes before pressing Michael back onto the bed as he crawled over him. Stroking his hands up Michael’s bound thighs, Brian settled between them as he gave one last thought to caution. “Scissors now, or later?”
Not caring to be set free when being caught was stoking all the right flames, Michael shook his head and reached for Brian – wanting him closer still. “I’m good. Just, please….”
There was little to no foreplay, because seriously – flash-forward after hours of sweating it out on the plane and hands *everywhere* on the ride over. What there was, was Brian coming home as he worked himself into Michael’s body as the pair of them groaned and grunted at the determined force of the effort. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and threw back his head as he reveled in the stretch and light burn, hands grasping as he clutched at Brian’s arms and circled the man’s strong thighs with his legs. Brian grimaced and then laughed. “Fuck, you feel amazing. Why didn’t we do this earlier?”
“Because, ahh. I wouldn’t let you fuck me in the airport john,” Michael gasped, his body flushed and his blood singing in his ears. He’d managed to persuade Brian to delay once they’d landed back in the states, but the price had been an order for him to make ready. Those moments in the stall, Brian on the other side of the door as Michael dropped his pants and slicked his fingers with lube. Then pressing them inside as he bit back a moan, Brian’s lusty low chuckle sounded through the room when he failed to keep silent. Damn but the man knew how to fuck, his head, his body – all of him, so good. “Bri, I…. oh fuck. Do, do more of that.”
“So demanding in bed, Mikey. Fantastic,” Brian grunted, putting his back into it more to both their advantage as they road towards their end. Sweat in their eyes, bodies wet and muscles straining, they fought for more and found it all.
And then the ragged rapid rush was soon upon them. First for Michael as he seized up and called out when the end slammed through him with power enough to splash his own skin from stomach to chin. Last for Brian, who gasped and cursed as he bucked and shot – his seed soaking the inside of Michael’s body as it grasped him in a vice that was so good it was sweet. With a groan they both echoed, Brian collapsed tiredly along Michael’s side.
So tired now that he could barely keep his eyes open, Michael rolled towards Brian and traced his hand down the other man’s back, avoiding direct contact with the tattoo even as he smiled sleepily, amazed to see it there even now. And so happy, too.
Brian turned his head, catching the smile on Michael’s face. He rolled over towards Michael as he asked, “I’m taking those pearly whites to mean that you’re alright?” He hadn’t given much quarter there at the last, and while rough had its thrills – harming Michael wasn’t an option.
A lazy stretch and a nudge that much closer, and Michael answered softly. “Same answer. I’m good.” He drew his hand down Brian’s chest and stomach, and then further down, resting it on Brian’s thigh just below his lover’s sex. “With you, every time.”
Grinning back, Brian said, “I should think so.” The pushed himself up slowly onto his knees. “Be right back.”
A trip to the bathroom and then he was walking through the loft, naked and beautiful as Michael watched him from their bed. Making a quick stop in the kitchen, Brian returned with bottled water and a pair of scissors. “Lie back.”
Michael laughed, nabbing the bottle and taking a swallow before passing it back. “And be still. Yeah, I’ve got it.” Lying down, he did as told – enjoying the careful progress Brian made as he cut the silk rope and freed Michael’s limbs.
There were pressure marks, but nothing serious – most only as bad as the ones a person gets if they wear clothes that are too tight. Brian rubbed at the lines, working his way down Michael’s arms and then his legs until his lover was losing the battle to stay conscious.
Michael murmured softly when he felt Brian dabbing ointment over his hip. He opened his eyes as Brian came to rest beside him, and took the tube so he could do the same for him.
By the time Michael was done, Brian was gone to the waking world. Asleep with his face practically buried in his pillow.
Knowing himself to be not very far behind, Michael glanced at the luggage that was scattered on the floor across the room. He gave a thought to all that needed doing – the unpacking, the sorting of laundry, dry-cleaning, the division of gifts and the calls he probably should be making to family and the store. So many details that would need taking care of….
But looking back at Brian, Michael knew it could all wait. He had something, make that *someone* who was more important. The rest was secondary.
And so he turned back, placing his head beside Brian’s on the same pillow as he snuggled close and let the warmth and scent of them both as they were – mixed and bound by choice, infuse his senses and lead him into peace.
The pair at home, safe and whole. Embraced now, as they always would be.
Stronger together than ever they had been apart.
Always.
Finis
(October 23, 2007)
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