Chapter Text
If Edward’s presence was enough to amass a crowd on a normal night, tonight he must really be putting on a show. Edward had chosen a paddle and the St. Andrews cross and nearly everyone in the club had stopped to watch. Normally, the amount of eyes on them made Izzy uncomfortable, he didn't feel a need to perform like Ed does. Tonight however, he’s fully in his head, unsure of where he is or how many times he’s been hit. He couldn’t care less if people were watching right now, too focused on how each hit from the paddle is on the wrong side of too painful.
Ed had chosen a thick, walnut paddle and was swinging it like he would a bat. Each hit landed with an admittedly satisfying deep ‘thud’. Ed was distracted though. He kept straying from Izzy’s ass and thighs. A hit to the back of his knees would have dropped him had he not been tied too tightly to the cross, and a hit that clipped across his spine and ribs had forced a nasty sound from his lungs. He’s been having trouble with a few of his ribs recently, old breaks that refuse to heal properly with how rough they play, but Izzy wasn’t sure if he heard a new crack this time. He was too focused on keeping track of where Ed’s body moved. His husband was clever, shifting so that he could block his movements from most of the crowd as he accidentally slammed another hit to the same spot. Izzy kept his mouth shut this time to stifle the noise, not wanting to receive more punishment for his missteps. No ugly noises. That’s the rule when they’re at the club.
That was too many hits ago to count. Ed is known for his endurance. He holds long, strenuous, sessions that are as much of a test of his audience's ability to keep watch as it is a test of him keeping them mesmerized. Izzy is the least impressive member in their entire act, tasked only to sit there and take it like the greedy slut he is. His most intensive task is making sure he remembers to take too much ibuprofen and avoiding eating anything green so he bruises more easily. If Izzy leaves the club able to sit properly, people could question Ed’s ability to be a good dom. Ed won’t allow that. He selfishly wishes for just a moment he could telepathically tell Ed to stop the scene, before chastising himself internally. That would need to be added to the list.
That selfish part of Izzy wishes Ed would leave his passion and community. He misses the… less exciting sex from their youth, sappy and gentle enough to be called “love making”. Ed had asked to try spanking one day out of the blue. It was something he saw in a porn that really got him going. This was relatively early on… right about when Ed’s eyes started to wander and his fingers started to twitch towards other, prettier people. Izzy was willing to do anything to keep his attention, so of course he was down to try something as simple as a few swats to the bum to keep their sex life fresh. Obsession brain took over though, and soon their spare bedroom was being turned into a playroom and they were spending every weekend going to clubs and dungeons. Ed was obsessed with becoming the best dom he could be (at least in other people's eyes) and Izzy was along for the ride. He tells himself it’s fun, never knowing what might happen or when… but… sometimes…
Ed is ramping up his pace, sticking to the same spot over and over as his grand finale. He’s getting more animated in his snarled insults, at one point Izzy is pretty sure he even spit at him. The degradation was an important part of their performance - no one likes Izzy so they all got off on hearing him get put in his place. Normally, the insults from Ed’s mouth hurt more than the actual paddle, but nothing is registering now. Izzy is sure he’s moaning in reply, although he isn’t sure if it sounds like he’s having fun. He’s too focused on each breath in. Something isn’t right with his chest. If that rib isn’t broken, it’s close. Showing weakness to Ed is never a great idea, but if it still hurts in a few days, Izzy’ll have to ask him to look at it and decide if he should go to the doctor. It’s been bothering him for months, though, and each new scene just irritates it further.
Izzy isn’t sure when the scene ended but he is suddenly alone. Ed usually does a little bow, speaks briefly to those who were closest to the stage so Izzy can regain his composure and not embarrass them both when he turns around and lets everyone see how emotional he always is. He hates these moments the most. When the hits had stopped coming, the ache set in and made a home deep in his bones. It’s like the moment he sits down after walking all day and feels how bad his feet hurt, multiplied to infinity. The chafing makes itself present this time, too. Ed, as much of a genius as he is, can never get the knots to the right tightness, always tying them too tight. It doesn’t help that Izzy thrashed around and made it all worse. They almost switched to padded cuffs after a rope around his ankle was too tight for too long and his toes had started going black by the time he had been untied, but Ed likes that Izzy’s ankles and wrists seem to have a perpetual ring of bruising and torn skin around them. And besides, Ed’s claiming marks are easily hidden by long sleeves and crew socks so it was basically a non issue.
Izzy is starting to shiver by the time Ed comes back to let him off the cross. Ed’s movements are professional and efficient as he unties each knot, giving a rough, perfunctory, rub to each joint to help the blood flow. Izzy loves Ed’s hands. There isn’t a way Ed could touch him that he wouldn't like, inside or out. Now, though, the touches are fleeting. Unfeeling. Ed feels like a business partner, not a lover. A quick glance down confirms that Ed isn’t even hard. Izzy needs to fix that. Ed won’t be happy if he doesn’t get off at all.
“Ed-” Izzy cuts himself off, coughing painfully to clear his throat, swishing his tongue around his mouth to find any moisture. The lights are too bright behind Ed’s head, carving his scowl in dark lines like a tenebrism painting. He suddenly feels less bold. “Ed, uh… Did you like… it?”
“Clean this up.” Ed dismisses him, stalking off to go chat with the few people still lingering around the platform. Izzy uses the cross to kneel down and pick up the discarded ropes, a grimace warping his features as he listens to Ed laugh and chat with the group. He hardly ever makes Ed smile anymore, let alone laugh. He makes a mental note to add that to the list tonight. It feels like he is taking too long, fingers struggling to curl and grip.
He’s lightheaded when he stands, swaying in place as the world shifts around him. Strong hands settle on his biceps, steadying him. Wrong hands. Not Edward’s hands. He drops the ropes and whips his head too fast up to look wide eyed at the stranger holding onto him. In a panic, Izzy risks a glance over to the back of Ed’s head to check if he was seeing- fuck! Wanting to hide it was another infraction for the list! Ed would know anyways, and then Izzy would be in for it when they got home. He just wants to go home and do his nightly duties so he can go to bed. The after scene sadness is already creeping in, settling like a vice around his heart. He’s greedy, knows he is greedy when it comes to Ed’s attention. He always gets mopey and pathetic when the scene ends, and he’s no longer the center of Ed’s attention- It’s because he’s selfish and greedy and wanted- no! Needed to be touched all the time- Such a slut that he would let a stranger wrap his wrong wrong not Edward hands around his body- He would let himself cheat so openly with touch- Fuck another man was touching him!
"Woah- woah, Izzy? You good?" The man’s fingertips are burning his skin black- touched by another man- Edward will kill him- Edward- he needs to apologize, beg for forgiveness over and over until they both can pretend he deserves it-
"I'll take it from here, mate." Edward. "That was an intense one, he just needs a moment. Come on, babe." Izzy's breath hitches at the endearment. Edward's hand curls where the other man's hand had seared his skin. Edwards fingers wrap perfectly over the stain, squeezing hard so that his bruises can kindly replace Izzy's betrayal. "Let's get you somewhere private... To calm down."
Izzy's mind doesn’t let him process the walk over, grounded only to the pain of Ed's grip and the tightness of his ribs shrinking down over his rabbit fast heart. He hears the door to the private room close, flinches as the lights are flipped onto full brightness, and comes back to himself as his body crumples where it is thrown against the couch.
"'m sorry-" He wheezes out.
Ed is pacing the length of the small room like a predator, hair falling in his face like a crazed lion. He had lost his scrunchie some time during the scene. Izzy really should try and find it before they go. He hadn’t seen it while he was picking up the ropes, but that doesn’t mean it isn't still on the platform. Fuck. He still has to finish cleaning up their mess. He hadn’t even finished picking up their bits and bobs let alone hit any of the areas with chemicals. Izzy can’t risk their reputation, Ed’s reputation, as respectable members of the scene. They can’t become those assholes who never clean up after themselves.
"What the fuck was that, Izzy?" All kind, loving, pretenses are gone as Edward speaks. He's not looking at Izzy, instead inspecting the cord of the lamp in the corner. Izzy gasps out a garbled sound in an attempt to respond but can’t pin any words down over the rush of blood in his ears and the end of the world sirens blaring in his heart.
"Did I not give you enough out there? You still feel the need to wander?" Izzy’s confused. He’s never wandered before. Ed wandered quite a bit actually. Ed was the wanderer.
"No-" Izzy chokes out, falling from the couch he was unceremoniously deposited on, and trying to find the function to crawl to Edward’s feet to beg. He needs Ed to know he will never wander. He has never even thought of letting someone else touch him intimately, unless Ed asked them to.
"No?!?" Edward snarls, turning on the pathetic form in front of him. "Am I not enough? Never fuckin enough for you!" His hands clench around the middle section of cord he’s holding, plug end dangling by his calf, shaking furiously in time with his anger. He had ripped it from the wall. Even without the extra light, the room is too bright. Spots and flashes dance in his vision, an angry bokeh against a furious Ed background.
"I mean- yes- wait you are en- or- I- I'm sorry!" It’s more sobbing than words. Izzy's top half feels too heavy to keep crawling, bowing under his stress against the filthy carpet. He doesn’t know what Edward wants. Nothing makes sense.
The first hit of the plug against his back feels like absolution. Weak arms scrabble to cover his head and neck, with the next blow striking almost the exact same spot, a menacing crack sizzling in the over hot air as the plastic casing makes impact across the side of his ribs. Izzy lets his chest collapse fully into the scratchy carpet, the ever present scabs on his knees reopening as he jolts with the third impact, this time to his left shoulder, the cord leaving a stinging line and the plug hitting him square in the spine. Ed is too angry to focus on his already blackened ass despite his position. Izzy’s pretty sure he’s angry enough he would be hitting him in the face had they not still been in the club but there’s no explaining that when they’re supposed to be calming down in an aftercare room.
Izzy can’t keep track of the strikes, brain already fogged with pain and submission from their session on stage. He’s distantly glad Ed isn’t making him count them. The cord leaves searing stripes on his back, but he can’t focus on that compared to the pain of the plug as it whips against his sore body. It’s a relief when the blackness starts to overtake his vision. He knows Ed won’t stop if he passes out, but it will be easier to take. God, he’s so weak, wanting an escape from Ed’s justice. He should be able to take his rightful punishment, and be grateful for Ed’s correction. He deserves this.