wip
Hoping this isn't noobed up too badly...
General warnings in no particular order: bdsm, angst. horny teenager antics (in flashbacks). Unedited, so any errors are my own. In general, probably not particularly work-safe, unless your job is very lenient on m/m fiction.
Nothing really explicit in this chapter, but rated for adult content anyhow.
summary: (This guy walks into a bondage parlor... No, seriously.) Not intended to be long, and I will try to update with no more than two days between each chapter. I promise I will try as hard as I can.
Links to the first two chapters:
1. The Interview
2. The Session
3. Hangover.
Awareness came upon him slowly, light creeping into the room around the blind. His bed was under the window, and the light fell on the edges of his bed. He stretched slowly, feeling most of his joints pop and relax. He felt more at peace with himself than he had in a long time. He scratched an itch on his scalp, his fingers moving slow, reminding him of Robin's touch the night before.
Despite wanting to just keep the memory of the gentle touch in mind, the rest of the night slammed into his thoughts. He had actually confessed to stealing from his neighbor, and burning his property. Not to mention actually saying what he had done with it before the burning. The fact that he had been a dumb kid didn't change the fact that he knew it was wrong, then, and now. Hot shame flushed through his body, ruining the pleasant moments of waking up.
He couldn't possibly see Robin again. Not only did Robin know what he had done - which was something he never admitted to anyone, including the three girlfriends he had managed to maintain something like a relationship with over the last five years. But Robin also knew what he had done it to, what had run through his mind. That he was, deep down, a twisted freak. No, he couldn't see Robin again. But now he had to call and tell him.
How would that go? He dragged himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom, took care of immediate troubles, and then dragged on his bathrobe. Coffee would help him figure this mess out.
Over a cup of black coffee, he planned out the difficult possibilities to the conversation. He'd have to call, tell Robin he wouldn't be coming in anymore, that much was obvious. But if he had to then justify it? What would he say? 'I can't come in to get abused, you know too much about me,' didn't seem right. 'I can't do it because I might want it again-' but he quickly quashed that thought and slammed the rest of his coffee.
Maybe he could just not show up at the parlor ever again.
Then, what if he ran into Robin on the street? Would they say anything to each other? Or would the moment pass with an uncomfortable exchange of glances and a defiant look away, a steadfast refusal to meet the other's eye. Like the few men he had run into after, sober and sated, suddenly faced with feeling eternally dirty about paying for a quick blowjob. The last one was the last time, he was certain. It was out of his system and over with. So there was no way he was going back to see Robin. He ignored the flush in the pit of his stomach at the memory of Robin's eyes flashing dangerously at him, the way his knees had felt weak. The way his cock twitched then, now, a growing, painful ache. It was still early in the morning. That must be it.
He had to call, and say he was done.
The card was in his pocket. He pulled it out, started to dial the building, hung up, and took a reassuring breath. He'd call Robin directly, or he hoped that was the direct number, and tell him he couldn't come back, and that would be that.
His fingers slipped when he started dialing, and he had to hang up again and start over. But finally, the other end was ringing
"Hello?" The voice sounded cheerful, not as deep as Robin's voice. Did morning make that much of a difference?
"Um. Robin?"
The hesitation on the other end made him start to panic. Maybe it was a wrong number, and they would think he was just calling for a woman, and they'd say 'You have the wrong number, sorry,' and he'd apologize, and-
"Robin?" The voice spat the name out like it was burnt food. Then the man lightened his tone. "Oh, hold on."
Distantly, he heard a deeper voice muttering away from the phone "What have I told you about answering my work phone? Christ." Then, into the mouthpiece, "This is Robin-"
But he was already tearing the phone away from his ear, hanging it up.
One minute passed by, two minutes. He stared at the phone on his table, dull and quiet. He shouldn't have hung up, he should have just stayed on, and said what he needed to say, but no, he couldn't stay on the phone, he was obviously interrupting something.
He couldn't talk to Robin. If that was even his name. Not after that.
The phone lit up and flashed and danced merrily on the table. He sighed, and let it ring. After a few rings, it did not stop, as he had expected it to. It kept ringing. He winced at himself, took a deep breath, picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Jack?" Of course it was Robin. Wherever he was now, the background was quieter than it had been. "It's Robin."
"Ah. Um. Hi?"
Robin chuckled gently. "Hello. How are you feeling this morning?" The warm tone of his voice was soothing. He felt guilty for what he had called about. Why did the man have to call back?
"I'm okay, I guess. Look, I. I don't think I'll be back."
He actually heard Robin's frown, and his voice was laced with concern. "I'm very sorry to hear that. Might I ask why?"
His rush of words blurted out, but he felt lightheaded, distant from them. "I just don't think it would be a good idea. I can't... It's just not a good idea. Sorry," and he was. He was sorry it had even come to this, that he had ever troubled anyone with the twisted fantasy that just wouldn't leave his mind.
"Do you want to talk about it?" The man sounded genuinely interested. "I might be able to help."
He wanted to just be done with this conversation. But hanging up on someone who was being genuinely polite rankled him. He bit his lip- he didn't really want to be done talking to Robin, he just wanted to not be having this conversation with him. He really just wanted to try and cram his sick desires back into his head, and bury them deep down, and never have them spring up to bother him again. He had done it before.
"Jack?" He sounded concerned, the bastard. Why did he have to be so nice about this? He was supposed to call, tell him off, and be done with the whole confusing business forever.
"I'm here. I just... I don't think I want to talk about it."
"Well, okay." Was that actual concern? They barely knew each other. "Let me just say this much. I know what you're going through, believe me, I really do. I know how hard it is to go through each day, wanting something you can't even let yourself think about, feeling like you're the lowest person on the planet for actually wanting it in the first place. You try not to think about it, maybe you bury it under something else." Robin sighed, swallowed quietly, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur.
"I had a friend who did that. He shoved everything he wanted down as far as it would go. He tried so hard to keep it locked up... It came out eventually. None of us knew it had been that bad. He accidentally killed himself, because it finally got too strong for him to hold in.
"I do what I do now because of my friend. It's the least I could do, to help other people so they don't die the same way he did, alone and ashamed and scared." Robin paused, sniffled quietly.
He felt shaken at the story. This wasn't something he was told just to convince him to come back. This was an honest baring of the soul. "God, I'm sorry."
"Will you promise me that if it ever gets that bad, if you ever feel that bad about anything, that you'll come see me immediately? Even if it's in the middle of the night. Just call. Keep calling. I'll be there for you, I swear."
"Yeah, Robin. I promise." He meant it. The sadness in Robin's voice was unmistakable. He wished he could offer a comforting hand.
"Thank you. I hope to see you again soon, even if it's just for a drink. Call me whenever you like, all right?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. He pulled the phone away from his ear, watched the call timer stop when he hung up.
--
Thoughts, questions, comments? I probably won't respond individually again, since I did not care for feeling like I was targeting particular readers. Sorry about that. Comments screened, as per the usual, so feel free to go crazy.
Thank you for reading! ^_^
General warnings in no particular order: bdsm, angst. horny teenager antics (in flashbacks). Unedited, so any errors are my own. In general, probably not particularly work-safe, unless your job is very lenient on m/m fiction.
Nothing really explicit in this chapter, but rated for adult content anyhow.
summary: (This guy walks into a bondage parlor... No, seriously.) Not intended to be long, and I will try to update with no more than two days between each chapter. I promise I will try as hard as I can.
Links to the first two chapters:
1. The Interview
2. The Session
3. Hangover.
Awareness came upon him slowly, light creeping into the room around the blind. His bed was under the window, and the light fell on the edges of his bed. He stretched slowly, feeling most of his joints pop and relax. He felt more at peace with himself than he had in a long time. He scratched an itch on his scalp, his fingers moving slow, reminding him of Robin's touch the night before.
Despite wanting to just keep the memory of the gentle touch in mind, the rest of the night slammed into his thoughts. He had actually confessed to stealing from his neighbor, and burning his property. Not to mention actually saying what he had done with it before the burning. The fact that he had been a dumb kid didn't change the fact that he knew it was wrong, then, and now. Hot shame flushed through his body, ruining the pleasant moments of waking up.
He couldn't possibly see Robin again. Not only did Robin know what he had done - which was something he never admitted to anyone, including the three girlfriends he had managed to maintain something like a relationship with over the last five years. But Robin also knew what he had done it to, what had run through his mind. That he was, deep down, a twisted freak. No, he couldn't see Robin again. But now he had to call and tell him.
How would that go? He dragged himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom, took care of immediate troubles, and then dragged on his bathrobe. Coffee would help him figure this mess out.
Over a cup of black coffee, he planned out the difficult possibilities to the conversation. He'd have to call, tell Robin he wouldn't be coming in anymore, that much was obvious. But if he had to then justify it? What would he say? 'I can't come in to get abused, you know too much about me,' didn't seem right. 'I can't do it because I might want it again-' but he quickly quashed that thought and slammed the rest of his coffee.
Maybe he could just not show up at the parlor ever again.
Then, what if he ran into Robin on the street? Would they say anything to each other? Or would the moment pass with an uncomfortable exchange of glances and a defiant look away, a steadfast refusal to meet the other's eye. Like the few men he had run into after, sober and sated, suddenly faced with feeling eternally dirty about paying for a quick blowjob. The last one was the last time, he was certain. It was out of his system and over with. So there was no way he was going back to see Robin. He ignored the flush in the pit of his stomach at the memory of Robin's eyes flashing dangerously at him, the way his knees had felt weak. The way his cock twitched then, now, a growing, painful ache. It was still early in the morning. That must be it.
He had to call, and say he was done.
The card was in his pocket. He pulled it out, started to dial the building, hung up, and took a reassuring breath. He'd call Robin directly, or he hoped that was the direct number, and tell him he couldn't come back, and that would be that.
His fingers slipped when he started dialing, and he had to hang up again and start over. But finally, the other end was ringing
"Hello?" The voice sounded cheerful, not as deep as Robin's voice. Did morning make that much of a difference?
"Um. Robin?"
The hesitation on the other end made him start to panic. Maybe it was a wrong number, and they would think he was just calling for a woman, and they'd say 'You have the wrong number, sorry,' and he'd apologize, and-
"Robin?" The voice spat the name out like it was burnt food. Then the man lightened his tone. "Oh, hold on."
Distantly, he heard a deeper voice muttering away from the phone "What have I told you about answering my work phone? Christ." Then, into the mouthpiece, "This is Robin-"
But he was already tearing the phone away from his ear, hanging it up.
One minute passed by, two minutes. He stared at the phone on his table, dull and quiet. He shouldn't have hung up, he should have just stayed on, and said what he needed to say, but no, he couldn't stay on the phone, he was obviously interrupting something.
He couldn't talk to Robin. If that was even his name. Not after that.
The phone lit up and flashed and danced merrily on the table. He sighed, and let it ring. After a few rings, it did not stop, as he had expected it to. It kept ringing. He winced at himself, took a deep breath, picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Jack?" Of course it was Robin. Wherever he was now, the background was quieter than it had been. "It's Robin."
"Ah. Um. Hi?"
Robin chuckled gently. "Hello. How are you feeling this morning?" The warm tone of his voice was soothing. He felt guilty for what he had called about. Why did the man have to call back?
"I'm okay, I guess. Look, I. I don't think I'll be back."
He actually heard Robin's frown, and his voice was laced with concern. "I'm very sorry to hear that. Might I ask why?"
His rush of words blurted out, but he felt lightheaded, distant from them. "I just don't think it would be a good idea. I can't... It's just not a good idea. Sorry," and he was. He was sorry it had even come to this, that he had ever troubled anyone with the twisted fantasy that just wouldn't leave his mind.
"Do you want to talk about it?" The man sounded genuinely interested. "I might be able to help."
He wanted to just be done with this conversation. But hanging up on someone who was being genuinely polite rankled him. He bit his lip- he didn't really want to be done talking to Robin, he just wanted to not be having this conversation with him. He really just wanted to try and cram his sick desires back into his head, and bury them deep down, and never have them spring up to bother him again. He had done it before.
"Jack?" He sounded concerned, the bastard. Why did he have to be so nice about this? He was supposed to call, tell him off, and be done with the whole confusing business forever.
"I'm here. I just... I don't think I want to talk about it."
"Well, okay." Was that actual concern? They barely knew each other. "Let me just say this much. I know what you're going through, believe me, I really do. I know how hard it is to go through each day, wanting something you can't even let yourself think about, feeling like you're the lowest person on the planet for actually wanting it in the first place. You try not to think about it, maybe you bury it under something else." Robin sighed, swallowed quietly, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur.
"I had a friend who did that. He shoved everything he wanted down as far as it would go. He tried so hard to keep it locked up... It came out eventually. None of us knew it had been that bad. He accidentally killed himself, because it finally got too strong for him to hold in.
"I do what I do now because of my friend. It's the least I could do, to help other people so they don't die the same way he did, alone and ashamed and scared." Robin paused, sniffled quietly.
He felt shaken at the story. This wasn't something he was told just to convince him to come back. This was an honest baring of the soul. "God, I'm sorry."
"Will you promise me that if it ever gets that bad, if you ever feel that bad about anything, that you'll come see me immediately? Even if it's in the middle of the night. Just call. Keep calling. I'll be there for you, I swear."
"Yeah, Robin. I promise." He meant it. The sadness in Robin's voice was unmistakable. He wished he could offer a comforting hand.
"Thank you. I hope to see you again soon, even if it's just for a drink. Call me whenever you like, all right?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. He pulled the phone away from his ear, watched the call timer stop when he hung up.
--
Thoughts, questions, comments? I probably won't respond individually again, since I did not care for feeling like I was targeting particular readers. Sorry about that. Comments screened, as per the usual, so feel free to go crazy.
Thank you for reading! ^_^