USQaf Fic: "Embraced..." - by Xof - Br/M - Part 1 of 15
Okay - deep breath. It's time to start posting a certain sequel that I do hope all of you enjoy.
Consider it your full month of December prezzie!!! :)
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)
Archive: ATP, Always, yes.
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.
TBC...
Hugs
xof
Consider it your full month of December prezzie!!! :)
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)
Archive: ATP, Always, yes.
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.
TBC...
Hugs
xof