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Robby didn’t go to therapy. He considered the idea for approximately five minutes. In that time, he envisioned sitting in an office ineffectively designed to put him at ease, in a chair positioned across from a stranger who wanted Robby to unburden himself. To find some absolution. The thought of even an initial conversation with a shrink made his chest constrict, and he had to inhale on a slow count of four and consciously work to ease the tightness under his ribs.
Jack was right, though; something had to give. More days than not, Robby felt like he was drowning. He could see the sunlight reflecting through the surface of the water, just out of reach, but a shackle kept him from breaking through. He was of no use to his patients this way.
So instead of therapy, Robby went home after a not-so-bad shift, showered, dressed in well-worn jeans and an unassuming black t-shirt, and forced himself to eat a frozen breakfast sandwich before grabbing his keys and heading out before he could overthink what he was doing.
The club was on the edge of Shadyside, and Robby entered through an unassuming door on a quiet side street. The lobby was small, and he could hear a low thrum of music coming from behind a closed door. An attractive brunette greeted him from behind a reception desk. A security guard stood to the left of the desk, between the receptionist and the interior door.
“Michael Robinavitch,” he said, when asked for his name. The receptionist typed into her computer before looking up at him again.
“It’s been some time,” she said without judgment. “Welcome back, Mr. Robinavitch.”
At least three years, if Robby remembered correctly, and he hadn’t played that time either, mostly curious how the club had recovered post-COVID but still feeling far too raw to safely put himself in someone else’s hands. He’d kept up with his annual dues for occasions like tonight, though, grateful the years-ago vetting still held.
“Colored bands are the same,” the receptionist said. “Dom, sub, or switch? And are you playing tonight, or watching?”
“Sub. Just watching,” he said, and took the orange wristband that was offered. He peeled back the tab and affixed the band around his wrist, the simple action comfortingly familiar.
He wanted to reacquaint himself with the scene before playing, but must have been looking at the band for longer than he realized because the receptionist remarked kindly, “If you change your mind at any time, just come back out and swap. Dungeon monitors all have yellow lanyards. A two-drink maximum is in place and will be marked on your wristband. If you need to change, you can use the locker rooms just inside,” she said, nodding her head toward the door. “None of the primary rules have changed since you were last here, but be sure to read and adhere to any posted signs.”
Robby nodded and thanked her, then walked to the closed door at the side of the lobby, waiting for the receptionist to indicate she’d triggered the lock, and stepped into a small hallway. Signs directed him to a women’s locker room on the right and a men’s on the left, with “ABSOLUTELY NO PLAY” written in red text under the arrows.
For a flash, Robby considered removing his shirt and storing it in a locker; he was curious to gauge the type of attention he drew now that he was older and softer. He wondered about the Doms who’d choose him, and if he’d be interested in choosing them back. He hoped he would. But that was for another day. Tonight was about reacclimation, a test run to decide if he was ready again for the escape the club and its members provided. Next time, if tonight went well, he’d learn whether or not sinking to his knees, focused on nothing but being good for his Dom, still provided the release he craved.
Robby entered the dungeon, shutting the door behind him, and took in his surroundings. Little had changed since he was last here. Chandeliers lit the wood-paneled lounge and dim lamps that sat on end tables, adjacent to leather couches and armchairs, scattered through the rectangular room. Along the back wall was a well-stocked bar with a row of occupied barstools; the club was busy for a Thursday night.
At first glance, the atmosphere was reminiscent of an old-fashioned smoking club, but upon a second look, the differences were glaring. The guests were in various states of dress, from three-piece suits to leather to no clothing at all. While members with green and blue bands—all Doms—sat on the plush sofas and chairs, many of the members with yellow wristbands—subs interested in playing—were seated on plush, vinyl floor cushions or kneeling at the feet of a Dom. Those were the members that Robby locked in on as he observed the dungeon. He looked at their faces, serene and at peace, cared for by their Doms, and his own need tugged at him. He fiddled with his wristband mindlessly, still intent on simply observing tonight, even as he felt tempted by the potential the club offered.
He walked over to the bar and ordered a bourbon, neat, letting the bartender mark his wristband, and turned when his attention was caught by two women entering the room together through a discreet door on his left. What wasn’t initially obvious about the Dungeon to the casual observer was the presence of rooms accessible through additional doors on the far walls. A door on the left led to a hallway lined with private playrooms for couples and small groups. Any sex more explicit than oral play happened in those rooms—all with viewing windows and optional privacy curtains, depending on what the participants preferred. Through the door on the right was a room with several small, raised stages, which allowed for more public shows and demonstrations.
The more elaborate shows had never been Robby’s speed, but he enjoyed watching and, at times, being watched in the private rooms.
Robby sipped his drink slowly, letting the ambiance wash over him, his eyes lingering on particularly content-looking subs, noting the Doms they were with in case they were open to new partners.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
Robby turned his head to his right, toward the voice, where a man—handsome, maybe a little younger than Robby and wearing a blue wristband—gave him an inviting smile.
“Just watching,” Robby said, raising his arm to show his orange band, hoping club etiquette hadn’t changed in his time away. One of the things he appreciated about this place was respect for boundaries.
“Absolutely,” the man said, raising his hand in apology. “Just saw a new face and wanted to say hello.” Then he grinned and added, “Might give me a leg up if you ever change that out for yellow.”
Taking a sip of his drink, his face heating slightly at the interest, Robby studied the man, considering his options. As the guy patiently waited him out, Robby decided that a conversation couldn’t hurt. Three years away was a long time; he felt rusty.
“Mike,” he said finally, extending his hand.
“Greg.” His handshake was firm, but he didn’t linger, which was a check in the plus column for Greg. “Was I right that you’re new around here?”
“Not exactly,” Robby said. “I was a regular eight or ten years ago, but it’s been a while.”
“What brought you back?” Greg asked. He sounded genuinely curious, which was reasonable given the setting, and again, waited while Robby considered how he wanted to answer.
I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin and need someone to cut through the noise felt far too candid for comfort, but he didn’t want to brush the guy off, so he settled for, “I can’t get this anywhere else, and I started to miss it.”
“Is it too forward to ask what you’re specifically looking for?” Greg asked, turning his body to face Robby more fully. “Just in case we see each other again,” he added.
“Not too forward,” Robby said. “Not worth your time or mine if we’re not compatible.” He turned toward Greg in kind and ran through his list. “I don’t like humiliation, degradation—nothing cruel at least—or significant pain, and CBT is entirely off the table. I require condoms. I like kneeling, stress positions, having something in my mouth, orgasm control. Even if they’re difficult, tasks and direction should be achievable. And I want to be told I’m doing a good job.”
Even after years away, articulating what he wanted came naturally; the words were almost automatic at this point. Robby had learned the pitfalls of being anything but completely honest, and he’d been in the scene for far too long to allow discomfort to inhibit his desires or push his limits.
Greg’s interest, as Robby spoke, was evident, but he maintained his distance, just close enough to hear what Robby was saying without encroaching on Robby’s space. When Robby finished, Greg leaned an inch or two closer and said conspiratorially, “This is why I like to play with adults, not the twenty-somethings in baby’s first bondage gear. We know what we want.”
Robby raised his glass to Greg’s sentiment, relieved to meet someone who saw age as an asset.
“I want to be upfront,” Greg added, “that I’m not looking for anything at the club to extend beyond here. I keep my outside life separate.”
“Then we’re well matched,” Robby said. He’d never been into lifestyle submission and, while he’d casually dated some of his Doms in the past, these days Robby came to a club like this specifically for the expectation of privacy and anonymity. While he knew that some members were seeking more permanent partnerships, Robby was firmly in the camp of no last names, no numbers exchanged, and no acknowledgement if you bumped into someone outside the confines of the club. A Dom would have to be extraordinarily special for Robby to alter those parameters.
Robby finished his drink, ready to explore the rest of the club. He genuinely hoped he and Greg would bump into each other again, though, so when he took the opportunity for a friendly exit and shook Greg’s hand, he let their palms linger.
Crossing the room to the door on the left, Robby slipped inside. This hallway was darker than the main lounge. Doorways lined the walls, with dim white, red, and green lights illuminated above them to indicate whether a play room was available, occupied, or in use but open for additional participants. Some of the rooms had the privacy curtains closed; those that didn’t tended to have a few people gathered in front of the large window.
Being in the scene for as long as he had, Robby knew what interested him and what didn’t. He didn’t have gender preferences, but shied away from extreme pain play—even as an observer—and tended to prefer one-on-one scenes versus groups. He walked through the hall slowly, peering into rooms but moving on quickly, until one couple caught his eye.
The woman was naked, facing the window and kneeling on the ground, her forearms bound behind her back, where the rope then stretched down to wrap around her ankles, holding her in a stress position. Her mouth was lax, and two of her Dom’s fingers pressed down on her tongue. Transfixed, Robby watched the measured rise and fall of her chest as she worked to hold her body still, and the satisfied glassy look in her eyes, which were wholly focused on her Dom’s face. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was truly envious.
The Dom had his back to the window, but he was in soft-looking dark-wash jeans and black work boots. He was shirtless, save for a leather harness that had a single, thick black strap across his back and two more straps that came up and over his freckled shoulders. Robby watched him move his free hand to the sub’s head, where he gripped her hair at the base of her skull, tipping her head back without dislodging his fingers; the Dom’s movements seemed controlled and thoughtful, even from this angle. Even without audio, Robby was sure the Dom was encouraging his sub, praising her for maintaining her position so well, and Robby’s body thrummed with need.
“You can see why he’s so in-demand,” a woman said, sliding up next to him, jolting Robby from his reverie.
“What?” Robby asked, somewhat mindlessly, not wanting to take his eyes off the scene in front of him.
“Jack,” she answered, nodding toward the window in Robby’s view. “He’s one of the most in-demand Doms here.”
Robby turned his full attention back to the room, shaking his head minutely at a creeping awareness as he took another look at the Dom’s build, his salt-and-pepper curls. The freckles dotting his fair skin. It wasn’t possible—
Then the Dom shifted his position, and Robby let out a shocked noise that attracted the attention of the others in his vicinity. The Dom in the play room—with his perfect composure and steady command—was Jack. Jack Abbot, with whom Robby had worked side-by-side for years, and spent the better part of their shared days off. Jack Fucking Abbot, who Robby thought he knew inside and out, but apparently knew fuck all about. Because there Jack was, his thick, competent fingers in the mouth of a woman who looked at him like he was the second coming, and until ten seconds ago, Robby had been wishing he was in her place.
Robby watched him—fucking Jack—for five more seconds, until Jack drew the back of his hand down the side of his sub’s face so damn gently that Robby couldn’t watch anymore. He walked down the hall, back into the main room, straight through to the club exit, and out into the cool Pittsburgh air without looking back.
***
Robby scrubbed his hand through his hair, already exhausted even though he was just thirty minutes into his shift. He’d slept horribly, his mind trying to parse the Jack he saw at the club with the man he considered one of his closest friends. Sure, Jack knew how to jump into command and control mode in the ED, but so did Robby. He’d learned a long time ago not to let public personas inform his expectations about someone’s sexual proclivities. Some of the best Doms he’d been with were mild and unassuming outside of the bedroom, and, just on his build alone, Robby had received many surprised glances at his own desires for submission. But this was Jack, and Robby couldn’t help feeling like he should have sensed this side of him.
Jack obviously hadn’t worked the night shift prior, but he was scheduled that coming night, and Robby spent the entire day pent up, waiting for handoff. When Jack walked into The Pitt, it was with the same easy gait as always, offering the same comfortable clap on the back Robby had come to expect. Nothing about Jack seemed any different than it had the morning prior or the days, weeks, and years that preceded it.
“Get up to anything good in the past thirty-six?” Robby asked casually as they wrapped up, in the same nonchalant way he would have asked if the knowledge of precisely what Jack had been up to hadn’t rocked him for the past twenty hours.
“Same ol’,” Jack shrugged, then smirked at Robby. “Hard to keep myself entertained when you’re working on my days off.”
In the past, that line would have curled through Robby's chest, warming him in the specific way that only Jack’s affection did. Now, though, as he left The Pitt for the night, all he felt was unfamiliar bitterness at Jack’s lie, even as he knew that if the tables were turned and Jack was asking about Robby’s downtime, he’d never admit he’d been at the very same club.
The thing was, Robby’s shame ran deep—about lives he didn’t save, his string of failed relationships—but not about sex and not about submission, the two of which were often, but not always, linked. In his twenties, he’d had a slightly older girlfriend who clocked him just weeks into their relationship. Later, she told him it was the combination of how hard he worked to follow her direction in bed and his body’s reaction when she praised him after. She’d helped him explore, discover his tastes, and made him believe that his draw toward submission was no different than someone who preferred one sex position over another. The lesson stuck long after they broke up, even through some less desirable Doms. Robby was a master at self-flagellation, but not about how he liked to have sex. Often, in fact, submitting to the right Dom was the only thing that muted the noise and doubts in his head.
But the situation was different with Jack. As well as Robby thought he and Jack knew each other, as much as they’d been through together, their dating lives—their sex lives—stayed on the periphery of their friendship. They might mention a partner offhand, but Robby had met Jack after Jack’s wife died, and even if their schedules allowed, neither was the type to double date.
If he were honest with himself, Robby could acknowledge that he liked the bubble he and Jack existed in together. Their friendship was for them alone, no interlopers. And if Robby was very honest with himself, which happened less frequently, he could admit two more things. The first was that he didn’t like thinking about Jack’s partners; the idea of Jack on a date or in bed with someone made a feeling far too close to jealousy drop like lead in his abdomen. The second was a niggling fear that, even if Robby accepted that being put on his knees was the fastest way for him to find peace, Jack might think differently about Robby if he knew.
Unfortunately, Robby’s mind was now rife with images—memories—of Jack looking like a Dom straight out of his fantasies, confident and at ease, taking perfect care of his partner. A part of him thought, as he stood in a scalding post-shift shower, that Jack could understand Robby’s needs, or at least, not judge Robby for them. He imagined testing the waters with a joke, one that only someone in the lifestyle would get, but to what end? The idea of Jack talking to Robby about his subs, even vaguely, was untenable. Besides, Jack must have been keeping this part of himself so private for a reason. Robby’s only choice, if he could even call it that, was to try to use his extraordinary talent for compartmentalization and tuck away this new knowledge where it wouldn’t interfere with their friendship.
***
The day of Pittfest notwithstanding, Robby was very good at taking inconvenient memories or emotions and tucking them deep in his psyche where they wouldn’t cause him trouble. Moving past what he’d seen at the club was a challenge, but eventually Robby was able to shake off the image of Jack with his sub and interact as if the foundation of their friendship hadn’t been so dramatically shaken. Being with Jack had always put Robby at ease, and that still held, helped in fact, whether they were eating takeout and watching a Pens game or debating diagnostic and management approaches for acute pulmonary embolism in the ED. Robby was a little more considered when asking Jack about his plans, but other than that, Robby could almost pretend the night at the club hadn’t happened. He was confident enough in his return to normalcy that he decided to visit the club two weeks later, this time on a night he knew Jack was busy working.
The same receptionist greeted him, and tonight, with pleasant anticipatory butterflies in his stomach, Robby asked for a yellow wristband. Again, he wore loose-fitting jeans—ones that left him with reasonable mobility—and a thin, dark t-shirt. He bypassed the lockers on his way into the club, deciding he was more comfortable staying fully dressed until he had reason for that to change.
Like his last visit, he visited the bar and ordered a drink, then sat on a barstool facing the lounge. The scene was much the same as it had been two weeks ago—casual interplay between Doms and subs, telltale signs of partners who were at ease with each other, as well as those who looked to be easing into something new together. Robby met eyes with a few members, nodding his head in friendly acknowledgment, but stayed by the bar. If someone were interested in Robby, they’d find their way to him.
His patience paid off when, twenty minutes after Robby’s arrival, he saw Greg step through the main door to the lounge. Robby watched Greg take in the room and notice him, his butterflies returning when Greg made his way straight to the bar.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” Greg extended his hand to Robby for a friendly handshake. “I was a little worried I’d been too forward and chased you away, but,” he said with a quirk of his lips, gaze dropping to the yellow band on Robby’s wrist, “it looks like that’s not the case.”
“You weren’t too forward, and I’d have told you if you were,” Robby said.
“In that case,” Greg smiled easily, “hopefully it’s also not too forward to come right out and say that I’d really like to take care of you tonight.” Greg’s voice was low and inviting, and Robby’s whole body warmed at Greg’s invitation, instinctively edging toward a place where he could turn over the reins and simply be.
“You’re comfortable with my interests and limits?” Robby asked as a precaution before he got ahead of himself.
“Very,” Greg confirmed. “At the risk of seeming too eager, I’ve been thinking about how I’d get started with you if I had the chance.”
Robby felt his face flush, and he took a sip of his drink to hide the pleasure he felt at knowing Greg had considered the details of sceneing with him. Then, placing his glass on the bar, nodded, confirming, “I’d like that.”
Greg put a hand on Robby’s lower back and guided him to the door that led to the private rooms, walking Robby through his proposed scene. His plan was simple, it took Robby’s preferences into account, and would let them test the waters of compatibility.
“Open or shut?” Greg asked after entering a room, nodding at the curtains.
While there were times he actively wanted to be watched, Robby opted for privacy. He could always sense when there were eyes on him, which forced him to concentrate more deeply, and he wasn’t interested in that additional pressure tonight.
After he shut the curtains, Greg placed a kneeling pillow in the center of the room and rummaged through some drawers for the additional supplies he’d need. “Safeword?” Greg asked while he lay an assortment of marble-sized metal balls on a tray.
“Jasmine,” Robby shared. “You?” “Peacock,” Greg said, and turned back to Robby. “That should do it. Nice and easy.” He moved closer to Robby and smoothed his palm down Robby’s bicep. “You ready?”
Robby nodded and let out a long, cleansing exhale.
“Take off your shirt, and put it on the bench in the corner. Then kneel on the pillow for me,” Greg directed.
Robby stripped off his shirt and folded it carefully, aware of Greg’s eyes on him as he did. Immediately, he felt more exposed, and he let the feeling wash over him and then drift away, as he sank to his knees slowly and clasped his hands loosely behind his back. The remaining tension in his shoulders dissipated as he settled into the familiar position, the pillow under his knees plush enough to cushion his joints while still allowing the sensation of the floor below to ground him. He waited, breathing in and out slowly, eyes tracking a spot on the wall in front of him, for Greg to provide further direction.
The room was well soundproofed from the outside, but bits of ambient noise from their room reached him—the consistent rush from the central air vent in the ceiling, the sound of Greg shifting from outside Robby’s line of sight, even the faint whistle of Robby’s own long exhales. Robby took note of the sounds and then dismissed them, just as he did the pressure on his knees. The air was cool, but not uncomfortably so. He mentally acknowledged the chill and then let the awareness pass, allowing him to focus only on being still.
He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before Greg stepped in front of him. Robby kept his gaze ahead, resisting the urge to close his eyes when Greg carded a hand through his hair, down to rest on the back of his neck. Greg’s hand was wide and hot on Robby’s skin, just resting, rather than holding. “Go ahead,” Greg said. “You can close your eyes.”
Robby’s eyes slipped shut.
“I want you to reach your arms out in front of you, palms up. Let your pinkies touch my legs.”
Robby did as he was told, unclasping his hands and raising them until the tips of his pinkies met the rough denim of Greg’s jeans. Greg took Robby’s hands in his and drew his arms wider, so Robby’s arms were positioned in front of him in a narrow V.
“Perfect,” Greg soothed, and scratched his fingernails against Robby’s scalp, sending a pleasant tingle down Robby’s spine. “You’re going to stay like this for ten minutes. Every ninety seconds, I’m going to add a small, round weight to your palms. Your only job for the next ten minutes is to stay still, just like this, without dropping your arms or any of the weights. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Robby said, his voice already sounding distant through the hazy fog starting to cloud his mind.
Robby’s attention settled on his breathing, slow counts in and out, as he held his arms out. Ten minutes didn’t sound like a long time to a novice, but Robby knew it wouldn’t be long before the position strained his anterior deltoids. Greg kept his hand on Robby’s neck, his thumb soothing over the delicate skin, but remained silent, even when he stepped away.
Moments later, Greg placed a small weight on each of Robby’s palms. The metal was cool, though it warmed quickly, and round. He’d estimate each weight was an ounce, which didn’t feel like much at the moment, but already Robby was feeling an ache in his shoulders that he knew would intensify with time. He stayed in place, making a minute adjustment to accommodate the weight, a rush of satisfaction curling through him when Greg returned his hand to Robby’s neck and murmured, “So good for me, Mike.” Greg’s other hand dropped to Robby’s shoulder. “I knew you would be.”
Robby sighed on his exhale and cleared his mind of anything but Greg’s hands on his body and the mingled sounds of their breaths. When Greg stepped away to add a second weight, Robby felt the absence but didn’t move, trusting Greg to touch him again once the weights were in place.
As the minutes ticked on and more weights were added, the pain in his deltoids extended to his rotator cuffs and then his biceps. Robby’s muscles began to quiver, but Greg continued to tell him how well he was doing, how good he was, and Robby pressed on.
He hadn’t been counting weights as they were added—Greg hadn’t asked him to, and disregarding the number allowed him to better stay in the moment—but he could feel a sheen of sweat cooling on his forehead, and his breathing was becoming more labored as the seconds ticked on.
Greg placed another ball in each of Robby’s hands, and Robby grunted with the effort to keep his arms extended. But despite his muscles screaming at him, Robby felt a bone-deep contentment at meeting Greg’s challenge. His body ached, but his mind was clear.
“Good boy,” Greg soothed, dragging his knuckles down the side of Robby’s face, and suddenly, Robby was overcome by the image of Jack, doing the same to the woman he’d had on her knees. In his mind’s eye, he saw Jack’s hand tenderly stroking her face, the look of devotion in her eyes, and it was only Robby’s experience and sheer will that kept the stack of balls from crashing to the floor.
His concentration was broken, though, and he had to fight through the remaining few minutes until, finally, Greg said gently, “I'm going to take the weights from your hands, and you can lower your arms, but keep your eyes closed.”
Robby let out a rough sigh of relief when he dropped his arms. He was going to feel this in his shoulders and arms tomorrow, but some ibuprofen and ice later would ease the discomfort enough that he’d only be left with a gratifying reminder of his accomplishment.
He felt Greg move behind him, and then Greg’s hands were on Robby’s shoulders, fingers digging into the sore tissue. “You were perfect, Mike,” Greg praised. “So focused for me. You’re everything I’d hoped you’d be.”
Greg’s words washed over Robby, soothing him as thoroughly as Greg’s massage. I was good, Robby thought, and leaned back against Greg’s body, letting Greg take his weight. Greg continued his massage until Robby felt completely boneless, then instructed Robby to open his eyes and helped him stand and walk to a comfortable chair on the side of the room where a bottle of water was waiting. Greg had dimmed the lights at some point, so Robby’s eyes were able to adapt slowly while he sipped his water.
From an adjacent chair, Greg asked, “Is there anything else you typically want or need after a scene?”
“Not for a scene like this,” Robby said, his voice surprisingly rough. He took another long drink before continuing. “If we were doing anything more extensive, I might prefer juice to the water, maybe a snack, but this was good. Thank you.”
“I hope it’s not too soon to ask, but I’d love to meet up with you again. Maybe we can plan a night?”
Robby’s mind flashed to Jack again. Until tonight, he’d been able to stay focused on his friendship with Jack, rather than the sight of Jack’s commanding presence with his sub, and his chest tightened with want. But there was no point tilting at windmills when there was someone right in front of him who checked all of the boxes on Robby’s list. Someone who wanted to give him what he was seeking.
“I’d love that,” Robby answered.
***
“You good, brother?” Jack asked Robby, pulling him into Central 13 when the heavy lifting of handoff was complete.
“Yes?” Robby asked, unsure why there was even a question. The shift had been relatively uneventful, and Robby had met Greg at the club last night, so he’d spent the day relaxed enough that even Dana noticed, lightly punching him on the shoulder as she walked by, with a private, low-pitched, “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up, Cap.”
Jack shrugged. “Something’s different. You’re…” Jack looked Robby up and down, assessing him like he might a patient with a diagnosis that confounded him. “You’re relaxed.”
Robby laughed. “Mark it on the calendar. Jack Abbot is worried about me because I’m too relaxed.”
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Jack sighed. “I’m just saying it’s unusual. You finally take that referral?”
“This was a fishing expedition?” Robby asked, grinning. “No, I didn’t, and I don’t know that I’m going to, but as you can see,” he said, gesturing at his body, “I’m on the better side of Pittfest. All good.”
“Spill,” Jack said, conspiratorially. “You’ve been holding out on me. You meet someone? Join a gym?”
For a split second, Robby imagined confessing the truth. Telling Jack that, twice a week for the past few weeks, he’s met up with Doms at the same club Jack visits. Mostly Greg, but not always. That he spends time on his knees, or bound, and the release he finds is exhilarating. That he hasn’t felt this good about himself in a very long time.
But he’d also feel compelled to add, “And it’s more than good enough, but I still can’t help wishing it was your hands tying the rope and your voice telling me I’m being so good for you.”
What makes Robby’s predicament—his longing—even worse is that he’d made the mistake of asking around about Jack. He’d gotten to casually know a few members, and even with his mind screaming abort, he couldn’t help but inquire under the pretense of his own search for new Doms to scene with. The accolades were universal.
“Best rigger here. He can completely immobilize me without leaving a mark, and I’m never sore the next day unless I ask for it.”
“His hands. My god.”
The comment that Robby couldn’t let go of, though, came from a sub in his mid-30s who’d played with Jack a few times over the past few months and who looked like he could almost slip under from simply describing his experiences with Jack.
“It’s how he looks at you,” the man had said. “When he looks you in the eyes, it’s like there’s no one else in the room. He’s entirely focused on you and giving you what you need. Fucking good stuff. You should scene with him if you can.”
Robby knew exactly what this guy was talking about because he’d felt the same allure of Jack’s attention over the years. When Jack locked in you, everything else around you disappeared—it was just you and Jack.
He’d seen the effect Jack had on patients, other doctors, and Robby himself wasn’t immune, but this talent was simply a trait innate to Jack that Robby hadn’t contemplated deeply until now. Now, Robby was transferring what he knew about Jack as a friend and colleague to Jack as a Dom, and the ideas his mind conjured left him thrumming with want. Fruitless want, because he and Jack were never going there.
So instead of a confession, Robby laughed again and slapped Jack’s shoulder as he walked toward the curtain, saying, “A little mystery is good for you, Jack.”
***
Robby met up with Greg again. They chatted for a bit over their first drink, sharing more about their respective BDSM experience rather than anything encroaching on their outside lives, and then Greg led Robby to one of the couches in the lounge. Until now, all of their scenes had been in the private rooms, though Robby had opted to leave the curtain open a few times. This evening, Greg had suggested something more public, but simple in its execution. They’d discussed the idea before they’d parted last week, and Robby’s skin had been buzzing in anticipation for the past two days.
Greg was seated on a couch, with Robby positioned in front of one of Greg’s bent legs, eyes closed, kneeling on a pillow. Robby was shirtless, but in his jeans, and his hands were clasped together behind his back. Greg’s leg was angled so that Robby could rut against the top of his shin; as large as he was, Robby had to contort his body a bit to get the necessary friction, but that adjustment was part of the challenge and Robby had sighed in relief when he was able to align his body in a way that allowed for the needed pressure on his cock.
Thick fingers tangled in Robby’s hair, alternating stroking and tugging, providing an additional grounding point as he rolled his hips against Greg’s body. Above him, Greg offered soothing encouragement as Robby slowly brought himself to full hardness and began to chase his release.
“Just like that,” Greg murmured. “Take what you need until you come for me.”
Robby let out a plaintive whine and ground his cock more firmly into Greg’s shin. He’d been in this position for a while now, and his orgasm felt just out of reach; his jeans muted the sensation, and his back ached from how he had to hold himself without the use of his hands, but his cock was throbbing, and he wanted to show Greg that he could do this.
“You’re perfect, Mike. Everyone’s watching you, wishing you were theirs.”
Robby’s entire body heated at the thought of what he looked like humping Greg’s leg. He was sure his face was flushed from arousal and exertion, maybe even more so now as he contemplated the eyes on him.
“Lucas and Bree,” Greg said, naming some of the better-known Doms. “Jack can’t look away from you, either.”
Robby’s eyes shot open at Jack’s name. He looked around the room, trying to hone in on faces while his eyes adjusted to the light, and stilled when, there, just to the left of the door, was Jack. Jack, instead of volunteering at a VA program tonight like he should have been, was standing thirty feet from Robby, shirtless with that fucking leather harness on, his sharp eyes boring into Robby with an expression Robby couldn’t parse. Mainly because the minute Robby’s body caught up with his brain, Robby was gasping and coming in his pants, his orgasm barreling through him, knocking him off balance, the pleasure muted through the shock of his sudden release.
He reached out to steady himself on the couch, panting and confused, aware of the multitude of eyes on him but only focused on Jack. Above him, Greg was saying something in that soothing voice of his, but Robby couldn’t understand any of it over the rushing in his head. He’d been so careful; Jack wasn’t supposed to be here.
Pushing himself to stand, his legs shaky, Robby tried to get his bearings. He had to leave. He could hear the concern in Greg’s voice as Robby walked away, but he didn’t stop moving. He walked through the lounge and past Jack, not daring to look at Jack’s face as he went past out of fear of what he’d see, and out of the lounge. He made a mindless stop at the lockers to grab his shirt, phone, and keys, then stepped outside, grateful for the chill in the air.
Robby walked for a few blocks before pausing to open a ride app. He saw he had two new texts from Jack, which he ignored, but he did call the club and ask them to pass along his phone number to Greg, who was bound to be concerned about the way Robby ran off. He owed Greg a confirmation that he was okay, and probably an explanation. Once that was done, he verified his ride was three minutes away and turned off his phone.
The drive home was only fifteen minutes long at this hour, and Robby was in a haze throughout. He tried to focus on his breathing and ignore the fear and dread that were gripping his chest. Logically, Robby knew that Jack wouldn’t judge him for his desire to submit—Jack wouldn’t have such a solid reputation if his dominance came with judgment—but Robby couldn’t shake his persistent fear that how Jack felt about strangers in a BDSM club wasn’t necessarily indicative of how he’d approach Robby’s submission. And regardless, Robby couldn’t go back to the club after tonight. Even if his friendship with Jack recovered from what Jack had seen, the risk of seeing Jack there again meant Robby wouldn’t be able to relax fully, which defeated the point entirely.
At home, Robby went through the motions of getting ready for bed. His underwear and pants were disgusting—he’d planned to shower in the locker rooms after the scene, before that plan was blown up— so he took a quick shower, popped a sleeping pill, and got right into bed, double-checking the alarm on his bedside clock because he couldn’t stomach the thought of turning his phone back on. Thanks to the sleeping pill, a remnant in his medicine cabinet from just after Pittfest, sleep took Robby quickly. He hoped he wouldn’t dream.
***
The next morning, Robby kept his phone off on his walk to work. He wasn’t an idiot—he was sure Jack was worried—but when Jack inevitably inquired, he would get word that Robby arrived at work on time.
His shift was blessedly busy in a way that kept Robby persistently active but without any major traumas to contend with. As the hours ticked by and shift change neared, Robby grew tense but reminded himself that certain conversations could never happen at The Pitt. He steeled himself for Jack’s arrival, but was still caught off guard when he looked up at 6:40 PM and saw Jack striding in through the doors.
If Robby didn’t know better, he wouldn’t guess that anything was off with Jack, but Robby did know better, and more importantly, he knew Jack; Robby could see the rigidity in his gait and the caution on his face as he approached Robby.
“Tried to reach you earlier,” Jack said with faux neutrality.
Robby met Jack’s eyes and shrugged. “Busy here today. Never bothered to turn my phone on.”
“Uh-huh,” Jack said, reasonably disbelieving. He put his bag down and moved close enough to Robby that they could speak without being overheard. “You know we’ve gotta talk about last night.”
Robby shrugged again, noncommittally, and looked up at the board. “What we’ve gotta do is handoff. It’s been a long day.”
Jack sighed, looking resigned, and Robby couldn’t help the relief that flooded him. He knew there’d be a reckoning, but he simply wasn’t ready. With extraordinary efficiency, Robby walked Jack through everything he needed to know and made a quick exit.
The next three days passed the same way. Robby was all business when he arrived at work, and equally focused when Jack returned in the evening. He made no room for personal conversations, often inviting other doctors to walk alongside them and brushing Jack off the one time Jack asked to speak to Robby alone.
At home, he set his phone to Do Not Disturb, allowing only calls from the hospital to come through, and tried to busy himself during his downtime with punishing runs and long overdue repairs on the guest bath, neither as distracting as he needed them to be. For a minute, Robby considered returning to the club and finding a Dom who could get him out of his head, but then his mind supplied the image of Jack—watching Robby on his knees, lost in the pleasure of rutting against a near-stranger’s leg—and he felt like he’d been doused with cold water. He then had a stilted but necessary conversation with Greg, who was extraordinarily gracious when Robby explained that Greg had been incredible, but Robby needed a break.
Robby knew he was short-tempered at work, and he knew the tension with Jack needed resolution, but he felt completely unequipped to actively propel himself toward a solution.
Jack solved the problem for him on day four, when Robby returned home after his shift to find Jack sitting on the floor in the hallway outside his condo. Robby stopped in his tracks when he exited the elevator and saw Jack there, trying to decide if he could enter his home without letting Jack in behind him.
“How’d you get in? The front doors are locked,” Robby said dumbly, mainly as a way to stall for time.
“Tailgated,” Jack said, levering himself off the floor, gripping the door jamb to help him stand. “Either your neighbors recognize me or they don’t give a shit who comes in.”
Robby walked to his door and keyed the lock without looking over at Jack. He considered shutting the door behind him before Jack could follow, but even he wasn’t that big of an asshole.
“You want your crutches?” Robby asked when he’d locked the door behind them. Normally, Jack would already be rummaging in the fridge for a beer or in the closet for the crutches he kept at Robby’s place, but today Jack stood in the entryway looking a little lost. Robby could absolutely relate.
“Think I’ll keep the leg on for now,” Jack said without additional explanation, and Robby briefly wondered if the decision was to allow for a speedy getaway, if needed. But Jack was the one who showed up here tonight after Robby had shut him out for days; he probably deserved some grace.
“How are we doing this?” Robby asked tightly, feeling entirely out of his depth. “You want a beer?”
“I’d rather have a clear head,” Jack said, making no effort to move from his spot by the front door. Where Robby used to feel more at ease with Jack than anyone he knew, discomfort hung heavy between them. He wasn’t sure they’d ever regain the ease they used to have with one another, but even though the thought of the impending conversation made his stomach roll, now that Jack was here, appearing as unmoored as Robby felt, he had to try.
“Let’s sit,” Robby said and walked to his living room.
Jack followed, but before Robby could sit on his couch, Jack shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants and said, “I’d rather stand if it’s all the same to you.”
Robby nodded and turned back toward Jack, unsure of where to start. When the silence had gone on long enough that the tension felt almost unbearable, Jack said, “There’s a lot I’m trying to wrap my head around, but at the top of the list is why you didn’t look nearly as surprised to see me as I was to see you. Caught off guard, sure. But not even close to as shocked as I was.”
The question was unexpected, excluded from the list of explanations Robby had anticipated providing. He considered outright lying, but Jack deserved the truth, especially where his own activities were concerned.
“I saw you there once,” Robby said, and Jack nodded, as if he had been expecting that response. “About a month and a half ago,” he added, before Jack could question him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.
“What happens there stays there. You know that.”
“That answer’s a fucking cop-out, and you know that,” Jack volleyed back, visibly frustrated. He appeared to deflate. “Do you not trust me?”
“Of course, I trust you. More than anyone,” Robby said, insistent. His answer was the truth, but he knew how it must seem to Jack. On the other hand: “It’s not like you told me you’re some sought-after Dom, either.”
“That’s true. I didn’t,” Jack agreed, “But I can’t imagine a scenario where I saw you there and let that stay a secret between us.”
“I couldn’t, Robby thought, but simply stared at Jack, imploring him to move on.
Robby’s desperation must have registered because Jack changed direction with his questioning. “How long have you been subbing?”
“Decades.” Answering that question was easier for Robby. At this point, he had very little to hide about his experience. “I took a break during COVID and after Adamson, but after Pittfest, I thought it would be good for me.”
Jack huffed out an incredulous laugh. “BDSM isn’t a substitute for therapy, Robby.”
“You noticed it helped, even if you didn’t know what ‘it' was,” Robby challenged. “Your turn. How long have you been domming?”
“We’re coming back to the therapy conversation at some point,” Jack said, sounding unimpressed, “but since my 20s, on and off. I’ve been at that club for about six months.”
Robby desperately wanted to ask Jack about the members who sub for him—why he picked them, what made a sub compatible for Jack—but he knew it wasn’t his business, so he bit his tongue.
“Look,” Robby said, kneading the muscles in the back of his neck to ease the tension that had been growing since he saw Jack sitting outside his condo, “you do your thing at the club. I’ll find somewhere else to go or—or I’ll take a break from subbing entirely. I don’t know. But I gotta be honest, I can’t be there if you are.” Robby couldn’t think of any other solution besides coordinating days, which seemed unnecessarily cumbersome, or asking Jack not to go to the club at all, which wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Jack’s fault that Robby was so hung up on him.
Hurt flashed across Jack’s face, there and gone in a second before Robby could process Jack’s reaction. “No, you were right,” Jack said. “You are more relaxed these days, and I’m glad you have that release. Seems, um,” Jack shifted his weight and looked over Robby’s shoulder. “Seems like you found good Doms to sub for.”
Talking about this with Jack had Robby’s insides twisted, but he could at least let Jack know he was in good hands if Jack was going to be the one to step aside. “Yeah. Uh, Greg and a few—”
“Robby, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know who they are.” Jack sounded pained, which made no sense, unless there were subs he was reluctant to leave behind.
“Maybe we can alternate nights or something like that,” Robby suggested. Perhaps coordination could work if they both committed to sticking to their days.
“No,” Jack said adamantly. He dropped his head and sighed, then looked up and met Robby’s eyes. “Listen, this isn’t fair to put on you, but if I don’t say it, we’re going to go around in circles and get nowhere.”
“Okay,” Robby said slowly, trying to prepare himself for whatever came next.
Jack took a deep breath. “Here’s the deal. I can not run the risk of showing up at the club and seeing you with another Dom again. I just can’t.”
Robby turned Jack’s declaration over in his mind. ‘Another Dom’ made no sense. “You’re not my Dom, Jack.”
“I know,” Jack said, then let out a short, derisive laugh. “That’s the problem. And it’s mine to handle, not yours, but I can’t put myself in a position where I might see you on your knees for someone else. It’ll fuck me up more than the other night already did.”
Robby stared, wide-eyed; Jack couldn’t mean what it sounded like he was saying.
“I know you don’t want me to see you that way—submitting. And that’s your right. I get it, okay? But you looked—god, you looked so fucking perfect, Robby.”
“What?” Robby asked weakly. His head was swimming.
“Your arms behind your back, the look of concentration on your face. The way—the way you moved your body against his. I can’t stop replaying what you looked like and wishing I were in his place. I’m sorry. I know it’s fucked up and maybe I shouldn’t have even told you this, but it’s self-preservation, man.”
Jack looked defeated. He’d just bared himself to Robby, apparently thinking Robby would be angry or disgusted or some other ass backwards reaction, and was now standing in front of Robby, waiting for judgment.
In all of Robby’s stewing and fear, he’d never considered the possibility that Jack might want him in return, that having Jack was a remote possibility; He’d been too wrapped up in self-preservation of his own. He didn’t know what Jack saw registered on his face—shock perhaps—but Jack took a step back, hands raised, placating, “I know this was a lot to take in. If you need space—”
Robby moved without thinking, closing the three steps between them. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he looked at Jack and let his mask fall, let Jack see the need and the longing that Robby had been so afraid to show. Then, without a word, Robby sank slowly to his knees at Jack’s feet.
Above him, Robby watched Jack’s face morph from fear to confusion to what looked like hope. Jack made an aborted movement with this hand, toward Robby, and Robby reached out to draw Jack’s hand back to rest at the base of his skull. Robby knew himself, and saying what he needed to say to Jack would be far easier with that connection.
It was Jack who spoke first, though. “I’m about to sound like an idiot,” he said at a near whisper, “but I really need confirmation on what’s happening here in case there’s some out-of-left-field chance I’m misreading.”
Robby wet his lips, which had gone dry, and continued to look up at Jack as he said, “I saw you at the club, in a room with another sub, and all I could think was that I wanted to be yours.”
“Jesus,” Jack breathed and closed his eyes, his hand still firm on Robby’s neck. He swallowed thickly, and when he opened his eyes again, he looked determined. “What do you like? What do you need?”
Robby tried to think, but his mind was blank; he was overwhelmed by both the stress of the past few days and the shock of the past few minutes. The laundry list of interests and limits that he was used to saying by rote was completely unavailable to him, so he shared the one truth he was certain of in the moment. “I just—I just need you, Jack.”
Jack smiled down at him, looking so damn fond, and smoothed his hand through Robby’s hair. “You know we’ll have to talk more, but I think I can work with that for now.”
Extending his hand, Jack helped pull Robby up and led him to the couch, where Jack sat down and tossed a pillow on the floor between his feet. While Robby waited for instructions, Jack released the valve on his prosthesis and put it to the side. He then removed his pants—leaving him only in his boxer briefs—slid off his compression sock, and checked over his stump until he seemed content. Once that was all complete, he turned his attention back to Robby and nodded at the pillow on the floor.
“On your knees, please, with your hands clasped behind you,” Jack said with steady command, and waited quietly as Robby, whose body was thrumming in anticipation, returned to his knees, this time between Jack’s spread legs.
Once Robby was in place, Jack shifted forward on the couch so he could return his hand to the back of Robby’s neck, his thumb gentling over Robby’s skin. “Nothing overtly sexual tonight, if that’s even something you want from me,” Jack said. “We’ve gotta talk first. But I’d really like to kiss you.”
“Fucking please,” Robby said, using his discipline to stay in place and wait for Jack to close the distance between them.
Tenderly, Jack brushed his lips across Robby’s, not pushing beyond the lightest of touches until Robby parted his own lips, making room for Jack to kiss him more deeply. Jack held Robby still and licked into his mouth, only pulling back when they were both panting and Robby had the fleeting thought that they’d need to have that talk sooner rather than later because Robby wanted to see everything Jack was capable of.
Jack’s face was flushed when Robby looked up at him again, and Robby could imagine he was faring no better. “We’ll keep this simple,” Jack said, running his fingers through his curls. “Your head on my thigh with your eyes closed, my fingers on your tongue. You’ll stay still for twenty minutes or until you tap out, whichever comes first. Does that work for you?”
That plan worked so fucking well for him. “Yes,” Robby said, the word catching in his throat, so he tried again. “Yes. Thank you.”
Jack pulled the bottom of his boxer briefs higher on his leg to ensure skin-to-skin contact, and Robby lay his head down, sighing in deep relief. He could already feel his breathing start to slow and previously unrecognized tension eased from his muscles.
“Open,” Jack said, tapping on Robby’s lips, slipping his index and middle fingers in Robby’s mouth once he did. Jack pressed down on Robby’s tongue, which rested lax in his mouth. Robby attempted to close his mouth once Jack was situated, but Jack made a noise to voice his dissent and said softly, “Keep your mouth open for me. It’s okay if you make a mess.”
Robby hummed in acknowledgment and let his eyes fall closed. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth at first in slow counts of four, and then, as he fell into a rhythm, he ceased counting entirely and let his mind drift. Jack’s thigh was solid and comfortable beneath Robby’s head, and he scratched at Robby’s scalp with blunt nails, the sensation sending pleasant shivers down Robby’s spine. Every few minutes, Jack would murmur his praise, telling Robby how well he was doing, how good he was. Jack’s voice was low and rumbling, and Robby let Jack’s words wrap around him like a blanket, settling warmly in his belly.
As the minutes ticked by, the anxiety Robby had felt for the past few days disappeared, and he sank into a blissful in-between space where he was aware of his surroundings but felt no need to be anywhere other than here, following Jack’s direction to simply be.
Eventually, Jack drew his fingers from Robby’s mouth, and the hand on Robby’s head started moving more purposefully. Robby exhaled slowly and took his time opening his eyes. When he did, he found himself face-to-face with Jack’s erection, straining against the fabric of Jack’s briefs.
Robby tilted his head so he could look up at Jack’s face and raised his eyebrows in question when their eyes met. The peace he felt was suddenly tinged with arousal at the knowledge that he’d gotten Jack that worked up just by kneeling at Jack’s feet, and he wondered if Jack would accept an offer from Robby to take care of his erection.
“Ignore that,” Jack said immediately with a dismissive wave of his hand, answering the question Robby hadn’t yet asked. “An orgasm isn’t my end goal.”
“Is that right?” Robby teased.
“Not always my goal, and not tonight, at least,” Jack acquiesced. He reached out his hand to Robby. “Let me help you up.”
Robby stood with a light tug from Jack and rolled his shoulders, then sat down on the couch next to Jack, who put his arm around Robby’s shoulder and pulled him in close.
“Do you need anything from me?” Jack asked.
“Just this connection,” Robby said simply. He didn’t need a ton of aftercare to begin with, and even less after such a simple scene. “You?” He asked in return.
“Same,” Jack said. “The past few days are a lot to take in, though.”
“Fucking tell me about it,” Robby nodded. “And I know we have a lot to talk through, but not tonight.”
“Hell no. I’m basking right now. I did not see this ending when I parked my ass outside your door an hour ago.”
“Bask away,” Robby laughed lightly. “You earned it.”
“We both did,” Jack said, and then shifted so he could look at Robby fully. “In all seriousness, you should know that I’m already feeling pretty possessive. Sleep on that for me, and we can add it to the list of shit we need to talk about, but I can’t imagine sharing you with anyone else.”
Satisfaction filled Robby’s chest, and he dropped his head to Jack’s shoulder. “I’m just fine with that,” he said, “but you’ll have to sleep on the fact that it works both ways.”
“Deal,” Jack said and pressed a kiss to the top of Robby’s head.
***
They had to wait almost a week for their schedules to align again, during which time they agreed to a firm hands-off policy; Jack and Robby knew well enough that opening the door to anything more would cascade quickly, and the stakes felt too high to allow for that.
Robby spent the intervening days vibrating with a mix of nerves and anticipation, both amplified when he finally arrived at Jack’s condo. Despite their years of experience with these types of conversations, he and Jack were stilted at first. Cautious in sharing the more vulnerable parts of themselves. Robby could look a stranger in the eyes and admit that, sometimes, he preferred to be told he couldn’t come. Or that he liked bruises from his Dom’s fingers, but only where they were hidden under his clothing.
Sharing with Jack was exposing in a way it wasn’t with other Doms, but Jack’s reaction to Robby’s confessions—hooded eyes and hitched breath—made Robby feel powerful, enough so to admit his fear that Jack might have a core need that was misaligned with Robby’s limits. When Robby voiced this concern, Jack shrugged and said, “Can’t imagine I have a single kink that’s worth more to me than you are,” and Robby’s nerves settled.
“What’s been on my mind,” Jack said carefully, after he and Robby had hashed through a compellingly compatible list of likes and dislikes, “is what else you want from this.” He waved his hands between them. “If anything,” he added with a shrug that seemed falsely casual. “I can just Dom for you when you need a scene, or when I need one, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little stupid over the idea of this thing between us being more than that.”
Robby grinned, damn grateful for Jack’s bravery and willingness to push them into the more vulnerable conversations. He slid closer to Jack on the couch and said, conspiratorially, “You should know that, sometimes, I’m only in the mood for vanilla missionary sex.”
Jack laughed. He took Robby’s hand and laced their fingers. “Fair enough. You should know that I snore.”
“Oh, I already know that, brother, and not just because you’ve crashed out on my couch so many times. Anyone who’s walked by an on-call room while you’re sleeping knows that.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s melodic!”
“You’d like to think so,” Robby teased, relieved that he and Jack could still be themselves, even with so much changing in the dynamic between them.
He squeezed Jack’s hand, scanning his face, overwhelmed by the depth of the affection he saw. “Yeah, Jack,” he said. “I want it all.”
Four months later
Robby clenched his fists, his nails too short and blunt to truly distract him, and focused on the ache in his deltoids to help stave off his orgasm. He was lying on his back, his arms stretched wide above his head, secured in softly padded leather cuffs that connected via taut straps to anchor points on Jack’s bed. Jack rubbed his palm over the wet head of Robby’s cock, using the precome Robby was steadily leaking to ease the movement of his hand, and Robby tightened his quads, grunting from the effort to avoid bucking his hips, to follow Jack’s direction to stay still and take what Jack gave him.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Jack said, so Robby forced his eyes open and looked up at Jack, whose expression was so fond Robby had to fight not to look away. “Good boy,” Jack praised and pressed two fingers, buried deep inside Robby’s body, against Robby’s prostate. Heat coiled tightly in his groin, and a release that he wasn’t permitted felt imminent.
“Please,” Robby begged.
“You want to come?” Jack asked casually and stroked Robby’s cock in a loose fist, far too shy of the pressure Robby craved.
“Please.” Robby didn’t know how long they’d been at this—Jack stroking Robby’s cock and teasing his balls, fingering him and massaging his prostate until desperate tears wet the corners of Robby’s eyes. He’d nearly come more times than he could keep track of and had transitioned from rational thought into a place of only sensation and obedience.
“Soon,” Jack promised, letting go of Robby’s cock to drag his thumb over Robby’s nipple, “but not yet.”
Sharp pleasure shot down Robby’s spine as Jack pinched and tugged, his moan swallowed up when Jack leaned down to claim his mouth in a sloppy kiss.
Jack pulled his fingers from Robby’s hole with a slow drag and repositioned himself, kneeling over Robby’s abdomen and avoiding skin contact so that Robby’s cock lay painfully neglected on his belly. “Plant your feet and bend your knees for me,” Jack directed, murmuring a soft, “That’s it,” when Robby complied.
“I’m gonna ride you, baby, and you’ll get to come after I’ve gotten what I need,” Jack said, cupping Robby’s face and brushing Robby’s lower lip with his thumb.
Robby was so close already, he couldn’t fathom lasting more than a minute inside Jack; He instinctively whined his displeasure, but Jack ignored Robby’s wordless plea and gripped Robby’s cock, positioning himself so the head was kissing Jack’s hole. Robby had been so out of it, lost in his arousal, that he hadn’t even realized Jack had prepped himself.
Holding himself still, Jack locked eyes with Robby and asked, “Are you going to be a good boy and let me use your cock?”
Fire swept through Robby’s body, and he rasped, “Yes, sir.” Yes, yes, yes, I’ll be good, use me, I’m yours, filled his mind, overriding his own need, as Jack sank down slowly, enveloping Robby in perfect, tight heat.
Robby drifted deeper into that hazy liminal space where he felt like he was almost watching from outside his body, the incoherent sounds he was making beyond his conscious control. Jack rode him expertly, his left hand on Robby’s knee for leverage, the other stripping his cock, which, until now, had gone untouched. Jack’s praise washed over Robby. “Perfect for me.” “All mine.” “No one could fuck me like my boy does.”
Time was fuzzy; Jack could have been riding him for a minute or an hour when Robby finally felt Jack’s body clenching around him like a vice, and hot come splashed on his skin. The sensation tripped a wire, and Robby was slammed back in his body, desperate for his release.
“I was good. Please, I was good,” Robby babbled, tugging at his restraints.
“You were so good, sweetheart,“ Jack said. “Such a good boy all night. Go ahead. Come for me.”
Robby moaned in relief and thrust his hips up, fucking into Jack wildly—into the sweet, tight, perfect heat—until his orgasm tore through him. He cried out as waves of pleasure wracked his body, distantly aware of Jack’s voice soothing him as he shuddered and settled, struggling to catch his breath.
As the aftershocks dissipated, Robby relaxed boneless and sated in the bed with his eyes closed, aware of Jack’s quiet movement around him. He felt Jack release the cuffs one at a time and groaned in appreciation when Jack massaged his hands and arms and shoulders, pressing a light kiss to Robby’s clavicle when he finished.
“Be right back,” Jack murmured. Robby grunted in acknowledgement but didn’t otherwise move. Jack always came back.
Jack returned with a warm washcloth and wiped Robby down from his sweaty brow, across his belly, and finally between Robby’s legs, immediately following with a heated towel before Robby could get cold.
A hand lifted the back of Robby’s head, and a straw was at his lips. “Sip.”
The juice was cold and sweet, exactly what Robby craved. He drank until his thirst was quenched and then pushed the cup away with a quiet, “I’m good.”
Jack must have been satisfied because he took the cup away, and moments later, was curling up in bed next to Robby, his hand resting on Robby’s chest.
“That was nice,” Robby said, opening his eyes and shifting to look at Jack.
“‘Nice’, says the king of understatement.” Jack laughed and kissed Robby’s shoulder.
“Well, I seem to be missing ninety percent of my brain function at the moment, so ‘nice’ will have to do,” Robby teased.
“Fair enough,” Jack smiled, then his gaze turned serious. “Do you have enough brain function for me to give you something that you might need to think about?”
Robby’s attention fully captured, he turned fully toward Jack, pushing himself on an elbow to rest his palm in his hand. “I’m listening,” he said neutrally, uncertain if he should be enthusiastic or wary.
Wordlessly, Jack leaned across the bed and pulled a box from the bedside table. The box was navy blue and approximately 4” x 4” and 2” deep. Jack fiddled with it as he started talking, a hint of nerves in his voice. “I know collars aren’t your thing, but I’ve been thinking about an alternative.” Jack looked up at Robby and quickly added, “Nothing 24/7. I know neither of us is into that. Just something you could wear when we scene here or at the club,” he swallowed audibly, “or whenever you want a reminder that you’re mine and I’m yours.”
His heart racing, Robby sat up and took the box from Jack, and lifting the lid, revealed a deep brown leather cuff. He removed the cuff from the box, fingering the supple leather while he tried to collect his thoughts and find a way to express everything he was feeling.
“If you don’t want it, it’s—”
“No,” Robby said adamantly. “It’s perfect.” He held it out to Jack. “Will you put it on me?”
Jack smiled almost shyly and took the cuff, undoing the clasp and holding it open to Robby. Inside the cuff were the embossed initials J.A. No one else would know they were there, but Jack’s initials would press against Robby’s skin whenever he wore the cuff. He smoothed his fingers over the letters and met Jack’s eyes.
“I know how lucky I am,” Robby said, holding out his wrist.
“That works both ways.” Jack wrapped the cuff around Robb’s wrists and closed the clasp, testing the fit, not releasing Robby’s arm even when he seemed content.
“You like seeing the cuff on me,” Robby mused, warmth suffusing his chest.
“Yeah, I do.” Jack traced along the edge of the leather. He laughed lightly. “I told you I’m possessive.”
“Well, that works for both of us, because I love being yours,” Robby smiled and pulled Jack down into a tender kiss.