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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 4
- - - - - - -
“Mom, mom – Ma! Will you let me get a word in?” His exasperation ringing clear, Michael gave Brian a pop on the leg as he began snickering in the background while trying to wrestle Michael into a tangle of arms and legs; no matter that he was on the phone with his mother. Frustrated by his mother’s endless barrage, which had been going almost non-stop for half an hour since Michael had told her about their trip, and caught up in trying to squirm away from Brian’s reaching hands that wandered ever closer to places a man didn’t want to be touched while speaking to said mother, Michael held the phone out and glared at Brian as he mouthed, ‘You’re supposed to be helping, asshole.’
Having been in a good – make that flat out great – mood all morning despite the early hour of their wakeup call for Gus’ visit, Brian had been relishing his bad boy naughty mode and acting out at every opportunity. Teasing Michael, conspiring with Gus, the man had enjoyed his day, his lover and his child. Lost boys, all.
They’d barely said goodbye to Gus, Lindz and Melanie as their day turned into night, when the phone had rung and Michael had been trapped into a conversation that seemed as never-ending as Brian’s sexual stamina, one being much more beneficial to Michael's state of mind than the other.
Making a grab for the phone, Brian covered the mouthpiece as Michael asked what he was doing. “Helping.” He held the phone a few inches from his ear, listening to a stream of Novotny nattering before he interrupted Debbie. “Yes, Mother. No, Mother. Why don't you make a list, Mother?" His face scrunching up in laughter at Deb's reaction to the sudden change in speaker, and his ever more present use of mother as both endearment and teasing barb. His amusement grew as he was treated to what must have been a repeat of Debbie's wisdom for the wayward traveler. "Deb, as engaging as I'm sure this conversation would prove to be, I have other plans for Michael's time. And mine. Tah." Click.
Seeing Michael's rueful look – because it wasn't most men who had the balls to hang-up on Debbie Novotny – Brian asked, "What?" His faux innocent expression quickly slipped into a grin. "I'll make good on our trip. One stop at Harrods and Deb'll have to let me back in the family at least until Christmas. You'll see." Privately, he was looking forward to “doling out the dosh,” as Ash would say. When it came to money and the Novotny's, gifts were met with a minimum of resistance mixed with un-jaded enjoyment. It was only when gifts crossed the line into 'help' or perceived 'charity' that the line was drawn, stubbornly and with obstinacy. “What do you think Deb would like? I’m thinking a wool sweater, fire engine red.”
Michael shook his head, “Wool, huh? That'd be appropriate, Mr. Black Sheep.”
Giving Michael a heave, Brian rolled him until he had him pressed to the plush white shag rug – the phone a memory, lost under the sofa. "I seem to remember that someone once called me his very own big bad wolf, or have you changed your mind?"
Arching up, shifting under Brian's weight – Michael breathed out, "Not a chance." He rose, catching Brian's mouth in a kiss and pressing his tongue inside to lick across Brian's teeth. Murmuring as the kiss ended, Michael said, "Such big teeth you have." At Brian's snort, he leaned his head back, baring his throat so pale against the black leather of his collar. A whisper, "Bite me." A beat, "Please."
Taking in the picture of Michael as he was, eager, asking – Brian inhaled slowly and then lowered his mouth to rest against Michael skin. He traced his lips from just below Michael's ear, then down to the bend of shoulder and neck. A lick to mark his way, and then he pressed down, teeth sliding, pulling, drawing against flesh. And he held firm, stopping as Michael bucked and moaned – but didn't let go. Held and sucked, feeling skin against his tongue as he strove to leave his mark. Bright, dark, temporary – but his. Him, writ on Michael's skin.
They'd only played at this, in this way – rarely – when the mood, or moment struck. When Michael wanted to have it, all of it – the slight claiming pain, the pleasure, being helpless, held – set and pressed on him. Knowing he'd see and feel the effects for days afterwards.
It wasn't just a hickey; it was much more than just a bruise. It was Brian; present, there, a part of him until the next time. Like now.
Brian held Michael down as he jerked, as he tried to move into Brian's bite. He was the control in this; he had to be because he knew from other times that Michael was lost in it. The act itself, the experience – it clouded his mind, yet cleared his senses until all Michael knew was the feel, and the feeling. It was up to Brian to know when was when, to find the control to stop before he broke the skin, or took him beyond the stopping point where there was no pleasure left.
Pulling back, Brian held his hand over the mark – rubbing his palm over the slick and absorbing the heat. "You'll be wearing a bit if this on the plane."
Michael blinked, his rapid breath calming as he lay wrapped in the warmth of Brian's arms – the words registering as he absorbed Brian's touch. "Definitely a wolf."
Chuckling, Brian rolled them about until he was sprawled over the rug with Michael resting against him. A satisfied sound came from him as he felt Michael moving against his thigh. "Hmm, you're hard."
"Yes." It was agreement, though plaintively given.
"It's not time yet."
"When?"
Stretching out, mouth curved in a grin, Brian answered, "When I say."
Michael groaned. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Oh, yeah." He slid his hand down Michael's back, pushing it under the sweats to smooth his palm over the curve of Michael's behind. The touch had Michael shifting again, trying to bite back a sound as Brian's fingers came to rest over the base of the small plug he'd had inside since lunch. "I've had a ball, thinking of you with this up your ass." He'd been watching Michael's face and his body react to its presence from the time he'd crowded Michael into the bathroom and slipped it into him – loving how Michael's eyes had widened when he'd been ordered not to take it out, or get off on it until Brian gave him permission. Through an afternoon of play, through the goodbyes with the girls and the phone call thereafter from Deb, Michael had been under Brian's watchful eyes, and his wandering hands – flustered and aroused.
But not allowed to do anything about it.
Rocking his fingers against it, Brian listened to Michael's curse and felt him shiver as the plug pressed just where it needed to have Michael pushing back onto it. "Brian, I... Shit, that feels good."
Taking Michael's hand, Brian pulled it between his legs so that his lover could feel how he was reacting to it as well. “Definitely.”
Michael rubbed his face against Brian's chest, smiling even as he moaned at the feel of Brian, hot and hard in his jeans. Unable to resist, he murmured, "Talk about something big and bad." His grin grew as Brian laughed. He looked up, seeing the mischievous expression in Brian's eyes. "One 'the better to pork you with' comment, and you, Mister Sir, will have hit a new all time pun low."
"Oh, I can do low." Brian pushed the plug in, just right and pressed down on it with the flat of his palm causing it to move against Michael's prostate as he grabbed onto Brian's shoulders and gasped.
"Fuck, that's...” He was going to lose it soon, without permission, if he didn't find a way to distract his tormentor. There was no get-out-of-jail-free card, even if Brian was the one to make him cross orders he'd given himself. Score one for Brian being a bastard, Michael's very own.
Stroking, rubbing at Brian's length until he could hear the hunger of Brian's next loud breath, Michael managed to pull the denim until it worked free – buttonholes loosened with age, giving as he pushed his hand in to claim the prize inside. "If I'm not allowed, what about you? I want to watch you."
A pause, Brian warring in his head as to whether he wanted to continue playing the strings of Michael's libido, or to leave off so his lover could strum him instead. A talented turn and twist from the hand holding him, working him and Brian's head rolled back. His voice thick, "Magic hands, Mikey." Another stroke, another and again until Brian's hands fell away from Michael's body as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the sensations that were racking his own.
Taking it all in, the way Brian's hips moved to the rhythm set by his hand and Brian's face – relaxed and tense all in turns as the pleasure moved through him, and Michael smiled. Happy, pleased and pleasured. It was one of his favorite times, to be able to give and have Brian's pleasure literally in his hands. There was a satisfaction here that he hadn't the words to voice, but knew and felt as an almost tangible thing.
For Brian, it was a moment made. Flesh, it was true, whole and shattered as his body burned and shot. The spill of him over Michael's hand coming in a rush that robbed his breath and left him malleable, melted and decidedly, in that moment and more and more each time, Michael's.
A half laugh, "I think my spine just spilled out of my dick." And Brian was playing pillow to a giggling sub, the two of them wrestling about until they were a tumbled, tangled pair. Giving Michael's sweats a push down to his thighs, Brian kissed him as he eased the plug free – tasting the moan as it came in answer to the feel of the toy leaving Michael's body. He rubbed his hand over the curves of Michael's ass, giving him a playful swat before pulling the sweats back in place. "Still not yet."
With a groan, Michael rolled to lie on his back besides Brian on the rug. "I could just do it myself, you know."
Brian leaned up, resting his head in his hand. "But you won't."
Michael closed his eyes, trying to relax enough to answer. "I know." He was in sub headspace, as it was called. He'd been given an ordered by his Dom, and he needed and would do his best to comply. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." But the tone didn't match the words, because he was trying not to smile and failing as Brian crawled over him and stared him in the eye. He lost all ability to maintain his pout when Brian leaned in and licked first his mouth and then the mark he'd left on Michael's skin, snorting out a low huff as Brian abruptly blew a loud raspberry just under his ear.
Jerking away from Brian’s hands, Michael sat up and leaned back against the sofa. Shaking his head, eyes wet from trying to suppress his amusement, Michael said, “That’s it; you’re nuts.” He watched as Brian knelt up to refasten his jeans, daring a fond bit of teasing. “I think King Kinney just lost the last of his street cred.”
Brian prowled in, hovering close on hands and knees as he shook his head. “I’m not on the street, Mikey. Just home, with you – not an ounce of cred needed.” A kiss to the spot he’s buzzed, and then playful words – no less true, but for his mirth – said in Michael’s ear. “Besides, I’ll always be King Kinney to you.” Pause…and then one more word, beginning with B.
Closing his eyes, Michael cupped Brian’s face – enjoying the bristle of stubble against his hands. He sighed, saying softly, “You call me baby, and I’m gone. Every time.”
“Why else do you think I say it?” When Michael opened his eyes with a glare, Brian stopped his mouth with a kiss – putting just enough into it to distract, but not taking things far enough to start all over again. Other plans, first. “Come on.” He stood and gave a hand up to Michael. Nodding towards the computer desk, Brian asked, “How far did you get last night?”
Michael gave him an incredulous look. “You mean *after* you got off the phone with Declan making plans for our flight, but *before* you started pulling my clothes off on the way to bed? Not much.” Not much being all of less than half an hour, thanks to Brian’s wandering hands and heated words.
Brian grinned. “Well, with the tickets settled and us staying at their place – all that’s left is to figure out what we want to see and do.” He pulled Michael up into the bedroom, giving him a slow push onto the bed as he lay down with him. “We could just wing it, since we’ll have Ash playing tour guide.”
Ashton, they’d found, would be the one who would have more time on his hands, as it seemed that Declan was returning home for more than just a visit. He was having a one-man private exhibition of his photography project at a friend’s art gallery. It had been planned to coincide with his and Ash’s anniversary trip back to England, the place they always returned to at the same time each year. But other than the particulars, Dec was being mum on the show itself.
Even Ash was in the dark on most of the details, not that he hadn’t been rather vocal in protesting the fact, until Declan had pulled another of his Master tricks to shush him. One flick of his wrist, a deft pull on something in his pocket and he’d extracted a long, thin strip of silk – no more than two-feet long and one-inch wide. Just the sight of it had Ash falling silent, with an ‘oh shit’ look on his face. A word from Declan, “Wrists,” and the man was on his knees bowing his head and extending his arms. And silent he’d remained as Dec wrapped the silk around his wrists twice, letting the ends hang loose without a knot to hold it together. Because it was the presence of the tie that was the only lock required, Declan’s will imposed with a softness that held Ash as firmly as cuffs could ever do.
To Brian and Michael, the Irishman had simply said with a wink, “Call it a creative form of time out.” Fondly threading his fingers through Ash's hair, he added, "He'll be silent for as long as is required, and then be rewarded. Or he'll break the rule, and he'll be held to task."
Over half an hour in, and still he'd remained silent. Focused. Michael had seen that expression on Ash's face before, the quiet intent absorption the man found in obeying. Like Declan had told Michael months before, Ashton found the ritual as rewarding as others found the end goal. Even in times when it proved inconvenient to his wheedling out the secrets of Declan's plans.
An hour gone, and Declan had pressed a kiss to his slave's forehead and rose to see Michael and Brian to the door. He'd laughed at Brian's question. "Is he going for a record?"
"Hardly. He's two hours shy." Giving Michael’s disbelieving face a pat, Declan had added, "He'll be on an accomplishment high for all of a few minutes when he's let free, then he'll be nagging for details like it never happened."
Brian’s snorted, “Perfect,” had seen them on their way.
So between then and now, not much in the way of planning had been done in regards to activities and sights to see. Not that it looked like that was going to change in the next few minutes, either.
"Bri?" Michael questioned as the other man pressed Michael's right hand flat to the mattress, over his head. He was already half pinned by Brian's body. "Wha –?"
"Shh. No questions, Michael."
The voice. Shit, no fair. A sharp breath from Michael as he watched Brian reach under the nearest pillow, and then there was a long streak of black seen out the corner of his eye, and the sensation of nylon – one end secured to an o-ring embedded in the wall behind the bed – being wrapped around his wrist. It was the same material used for women's hose, but intended for a much more overt restraining purpose.
When Brian didn't go for his other wrist – choosing instead to push Michael's t-shirt up only as far as it took to uncover his nipples – Michael touched his face. “You forgot this hand.”
Brian shook his head, "Nope, you're gonna need that one." A devilish light in his eyes, he added, "After all, you can just do it yourself, right?" He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he gave Michael's sweats a good yank over his hips until he was exposed from chest to thighs. Sweeping his tongue over Michael's nipple, Brian nipped at it until he jerked and tried to hold Brian's head closer.
When Brian drew Michael's free hand down to close around the length of his own sex, Michael bit his lip – moving into the sensation, even as he groaned in frustration. "I'm right handed." It didn't stop him unconsciously wrapping his fingers round and arching up a little, his movements intentionally limited by Brian's body.
"Call it a new perspective on things." He nipped at the taut nipple nearest him, enjoying the change in Michael's breathing as he kept trying to move more than he was being allowed. Enjoying the picture of Michael lewdly displayed, uncovered yet not altogether bare, partially bound and held down with skin flushed and eyes dark with need.
Brian played on the awkwardness of Michael's left-handed allowance as he said, "Still, be still. Just hold it; feel yourself hard and slick. Feel it, and watch me."
Smooth, warm, soft yet hard – pulsing in his hand, Michael fought to keep his eyes open, to see past the pleasure as Brian moved down his body. But then it became something he couldn't look away from as he stared and shook, Brian's tongue lapping at the head of his dick. Licking, tasting – a kiss here, suction there; and then the words – a whisper against his skin, "Milk it ’til you come."
Michael jerked again, moaning as he squeezed and let up, squeezed and let up – his right hand fighting against the nylon as he moved innately to bring it down so he could touch himself. The tension building as he was prevented from using it. Building still more as he watched Brian's warm lips grow wet and red as Michael worked himself over them, through and against the sly tongue inside.
Tight, hard, desperate and oh so needful – he was a wreck of want. A man tiptoed on the edge of over, and then with another squeeze and lick, the both together, he was gone.
Coming, and then coming to with his ears ringing from his own shout and the sound of laughter as Brian moved up to wipe his face off on Michael's rucked up tee. Michael's own rolling-laugh joining part with a mix of a groan as Brian declared it one of the best facials he'd ever had.
Fearing a new onslaught visit to pun-ville, with anti-aging and fountain of youth jokes on tap, Michael pulled Brian's head close once he'd been freed and stopped his Dom's mouth with a kiss. The taste lingering, and shared between.
- - -
The flick of numbers shining in the dark as they lay together, time passing in relative silence as Michael turned into the heat of Brian's body. He'd awaken from a dream, one not remembered but felt in his bones – the lingering ease, a comfort that told of pleasant thoughts, the kind that called for him to return to Morpheus' arms for more of the same.
"Someone's awake."
A smile against Brian's skin, and Michael nodded. "Uhmm, hmm."
Turning, Brian pulled Michael closer – his face brushing through the soft tangle of black hair as they snuggled down. Minutes passing, the pair of them almost back under – and then Michael's voice came. A murmur, really. The man only half awake, but guided still by a passing conviction that now was the moment to ask something he’d been too distracted to bring up before now. Sometimes it was easier to speak in the dark about things that held the power to bring new light.
“Hmm, ’id you mean it?”
Brian waited drowsily for more, but was left wondering. “It?”
Michael nodded, his head tucked under Brian’s chin. He didn’t clarify, just slid a warm palm down Brian’s stomach until it came to rest curled over his soft sex and pubic curls. Then a word, not a question – just a mention, exhaled on a sigh. “Bare.”
A grin, eyes closing as Brian savored the gentle rasp of Michael’s hairy chin above and the familiar touch of his hand below. There wasn’t anything leading in it, Michael’s hand reaching to feel him in the middle of the night. It was just something he’d grown to do, the ease and freedom of touching Brian a joy – soft or hard.
Breathing out slowly, on the way to drifting off again, Brian murmured, “Skin to skin, yeah.”
The words reaching him, spreading a sense of happiness through him that increased his comfort – Michael’s lips parted. The next word formed in his mind, but passing into silence as it remained unsaid as unconsciousness won the race with reason. The ‘when’ remained a thought for another day as the pair of them slept once more.
- - -
“I know I'm going to forget something." Exasperation and worry evident in his voice, Michael surveyed all the things amassed on the bed – a frown clouding his face as he ticked things off a list that existed only in his head.
Ashton stepped up into the room and with one glance at the duvet covered with hardly an inch to spare in a variety of items that had yet to be put into the suitcases open on the floor, he groaned. "It's like you're packing for a year abroad. That or you've had visions of a deserted island in your future."
One playful nudge of reprimand from Michael, and the Englishman only got worse – laughing loudly. "Oh my god, you're Gilligan." He didn't stop snickering, even under threat of a pillow whacking. Hands up as Michael came closer with one, he managed to add to the fire, "Okay, okay. Mary Ann."
Michael couldn't keep a straight-face any longer, bursting out in begrudging laughter as he dropped the pillow and joined Ashton – the both of them sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. Coughing a little, Michael shook his head. "Whatever you say, Ginger."
It only served to have Ash tittering away again, until he was laid out on his back wiping tears from his eyes. "Now there's a dame with some kinda kink in her closet."
"How did *you* start watching 'Gilligan's Island'?"
"Late night cable reruns, but it wasn't my favorite."
Michael thought for a moment, then smiled. "Ruling out sci-fi - since that's obvious and we are so not going there right now? I bet I know." He turned to look at Ashton, "I'd say, 'I Dream of Jeanie'."
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Ash groaned. "Bollocks, what gave it away?"
Voice high, and adoring – Michael mimicked, "'Yes, Master. No, Master. Whatever you say, Master.'"
Sitting up, Ashton grinned. "And here I thought it was the outfit." Adding, "Don't knock it; a short vest and harem pants can make an evening."
Michael held up a hand, "I don't even want to know."
"Prat." Giving Michael's arm a tug, Ash helped him to stand as the two of them turned back to the cluttered chaos of Brian and Michael's bed.
"Look at this in a different way. Instead of a trip to a foreign country, and an unfamiliar hotel – this is a visit with friends. So a lot of the things you have here to supplement your stay will already be available at our place. Only take things you wouldn't be able to find readily at a store, like this." Ashton picked up the zip case that had Michael's inhaler in it. "You don't use this often, right?"
"No, not as much as when I was a kid. Brian just had me refill it as a backup – the prescription's in there too." He remembered all too well what it was like for his Uncle Vic's trip to Italy with his mom. Meds had to be catalogued and scripts accounted for before they'd been able to leave the airport. Michael didn’t know if it would even be an issue for him, but he wanted to be prepared just in case.
"So this definitely goes." Ash looked around, pulling out items from the pile – making a much smaller pile of his own. "Camera, batteries – only a few, you can get more there. Passports, tickets, emergency numbers, credit cards are carry-ons anyway. Maps I can give you. Same goes for tour books and such. So toiletries – keep on the low side, because really it's much more travel friendly to go light than it is to travel weighted down." Half murmuring as he worked, it was only a few minutes before Ashton straightened up and said, "Walla. Now you have more room in your larger suitcase for shopping and souvenirs."
Michael glanced at the bed, thinking back to another trip where everything had to be done a *certain* way and put in a *certain* order, during a period which Michael had felt very tentative in David's lifestyle, out of place even at the best of times.
Then to now, it was a new world really. One that was open, comforting as well as comfortable. An adventure for him and Brian to share – together rather than apart as so often in the past.
"Someone's smiling."
Ash's teasing only made Michael's grin grow. "Someone's going to London. Tomorrow." Shaking his head, he added, "It still doesn't seem real – with it all happening so quick. Even after almost a week. Kinda feels more like the sudden rush of a two day road trip, than a two week vacation."
"Gives you less time to go about worrying over the details."
Michael sat down on the bed and flopped back with a groan/half-laugh. "Shit, please tell me I'm not starting to sound like my mother."
Throwing one of the sweaters still littering the bed over Michael's face, Ash chuckled. "Hush with you now; that's not what I meant." He sat beside Michael, weeding through the clothes strewn over the duvet as he spoke – picking and choosing whatever he thought would match the UK weather, as Michael had asked him to earlier. "Half of these still have the price tags."
Michael had the grace to look chagrined. "It's one of Brian's favorite pastimes – shopping. But I'm a creature of habit, so I end up grabbing what I'm used to wearing." He picked up a soft dove gray sweater, running his hand over the sinfully sensual cashmere. "I'm working on not saying no when he shops for me, and he's working on buying only the must-have items he can't resist."
Ashton gave the sweater a feel, saying, "And you in this would be something he definitely couldn't resist."
"This is a result of him spending yesterday shopping instead of eating lunch. The man can do a showroom run-through, walk out with half a wardrobe and still manage to hold a meeting with his assistant on his cell phone simultaneously."
Ash had to laugh. "I'm no help to you there. Both of us are true clotheshorses. It's ironic considering how much time we spend out of them."
Worrying his lip, Michael sat up. His face was thoughtful, as if he was trying to figure out how to ask something he'd been wondering about, but thought it rude territory in which to venture. "Ash? How does it work? I mean, between you – being Master/slave. Money, possessions – how do you, uhm...”
As always, an open book – Ash said, "He holds a rather radical notion that while I am willingly his slave, which means he could quite easily have everything in his name and nothing in mine – we are equal partners in everything, legally. Co-owners, joint accounts – the works."
Laughing, he added. "The practical side of fantasy. It's kind of funny – people who don't look to the full impact of what being in the scene can hold.... They'll say, 'Take me, I'm yours' – but then the actuality of being without possessions because you are yourself a possession sets in, and they go running."
Michael nodded, "Sounds like 'I am what I own,' rather than 'I am what I give.'"
"Sounds like they are trying to play the wrong games. Because that's what it is to them, a game – rather than a life."
Michael glanced at the clock; it was late afternoon – going on six almost. Time to pack and be done with it. He smiled when Ash piled a half dozen of the new sweaters and shirts in his lap, his other older clothes taking a backseat to Ashton's sense of style. Oh well, it would make Brian happy – and Michael had to admit, the rich fabrics and colors would be an improvement over much-washed cotton and the remnants of his Big-Q dress shirts that littered part of their wardrobe.
Several minutes passed as the two of them folded and arranged, Michael laughing when Ash told him that he and Declan were only taking carry-ons because, "Our closets are as overstuffed there as they are here."
The packing done, they grabbed beers from the fridge and settled on the couch. Right in time to hear about the fifth message being left by Deb – a list of things she thought Michael needed to take, not forget or needed to look for while in London. The day had been chorused by her calls, so that even the sound of her voice had Ashton grinning as Michael groaned. "She means well, Misha." The affection in his voice was evidence enough of the amusement he got in watching the ongoing "Mommy Novotny Show."
Nodding, Michael took a long swallow from his beer. He knew she did, and while at times it aggravated him – he loved her enthusiastic mothering. Especially since he'd seen the cold havoc having a mother like Brian's could bring.
Michael asked Ash, thoughtfully, "Does your family know? About Declan, or any of it?" He couldn't imagine them not knowing about their relationship, since it was over a decade and running. But as for the truth of ... Well, it was something he couldn't see sharing if he were Ash.
After all – he hadn't. It was a part of him, of him and Brian, which Michael wanted to own unto himself.
Ashton looked away, his face – his mood shifting as he stayed silent. It was an awkward pause; one that felt heavy and strong. One that had Michael on the verge of an apology, when Ash turned back and said softly, sadly, "There's the family you have, and then there's the family you create. One, no. The other, yes."
He didn't elaborate. His open book, closed.
Michael nodded, looking down at his beer and picking at the label. The silence lasting, weighted. He smiled when Ash reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, the two of them sharing a look that eased the tension of the moment as Ashton asked where "Mister Sir" was hiding.
"He's pulling a late day at work, wrapping up loose ends with Cynthia before we leave." Draining the last of his beer, Michael went to throw out the bottle. "What's Declan doing?"
Ash stood up from the couch. "Still being mysterious."
"And you haven't given into snooping?"
A laugh, dry but wise. "Not hardly. That's something that's been drilled home for a few years now. I can tease, nag a little, seduce or beg for details. But going behind his back is a decided no." Ashton walked to the kitchen island, setting down his beer. "He'll only tell me what he wants to, anyway."
Michael sat on one of the island stools. "I guess you could consider it extended foreplay."
“Apt, yeah. I’ll give you that. And the man's very good at foreplay. But never underestimate the merits of a full wham-bam, now and again."
Ash was still grinning as Michael shook his head. "You are one of a kind." After all, there weren't many people who could equate detail gathering with a sexual quickie.
"Which is a relief to Declan; if I were one of twins, he'd already be old before his time. Shagged that much closer to an early grave."
That had Michael groaning, to which Ash responded with playful ruffling of his dark hair. When his hand got batted away, Ashton sat on the stool next to Michael – his expression turning serious. "I needed to talk with you about something."
“Yeah?”
"I think Declan told you a little about his reputation within the scene. He's earned a place of respect to many who are actively involved back home. It's a sub-culture, sure, but there are standards and rules that serious players adhere to in both their private and their public lives." He looked at Michael for a moment, then continued. "Our roles are more formalized in London than they have been here. Particularly at times when we are in contact with other scene players."
"Okay, so that means?"
"It means that I wanted you to understand what's happening if you see me fall into headspace while we're out and about, or have guests at home."
"How far into it? Something tells me you don't make it a practice of falling to your knees in Trafalgar Square."
Ash snorted. "That's another story for another time. No. In public, if we come across someone who knows us that way, then I'm more likely to stand back and to Declan's left with eyes down. Silent, but attentive and aware should Declan address me."
"Silent. Does that mean you can't talk to others?"
"In a proper scene event, no one would speak to me directly anyway. Or in public either, if Declan's with me. His voice, his word is all that would matter to many."
Michael nodded, worry writ clear in his eyes. "Does that bother you? It's almost like you're invisible."
Ash shook his head, "It's the opposite, Misha. I am my Master's greatest pride in those moments, I stand as a testament to his skill, and my devotion is his reward. Others look to me, at how I behave, as evidence of our strength together."
"Do you ever have someone trying to trip you up? Make you lose your temper?"
"There's the occasional pisher, yeah. Usually someone younger, or new to the scene that doesn't know the rules, or our history together." He grinned, a wicked light in his eyes. "Given how thoroughly I'm entrenched, it can be rather a laugh to watch them trying to have a go."
"Declan must eat them alive."
"A couple almost wet their pants," Ash laughed, the memory obviously one of which he was quite fond.
Michael had had his own run-in with Declan – a small 'oh-shit' moment involving a robe he wasn't supposed to be wearing one morning at Havenshire. While it hadn’t been malicious, there had been just the edge of ... something in the man's eyes that had straightened Michael's spine and had him fully conscious of who held the power in the room. To have those eyes turned on you with dark focus, even anger – yeah, Michael could well see what Ashton was saying.
Declan Rai was a man not to be crossed, protective and possessive both.
"It's happened a time or two with Brian, too." Michael added, "The scaring them out of their wits bit." Brian wasn't a man to suffer fools for long. Unless they were clients, and even then he had a tendency to speak ahead of propriety when his patience fell short in the face of small-mindedness.
Scratching a bit at his chin, unconsciously – Michael asked, "Am I supposed to do the same thing? Head down, mouth shut...."
"No, not in general. You're our guests, and this is a vacation. I wouldn't worry about it when we're about. If we end up in a scene environment, then Brian will decide how it plays out." As Michael's dominant, it was up to Brian to set the guidelines of any scene they entered – whether that scene was in private, or amongst a crowd of fellow players.
"I just don't want to embarrass you, or Brian."
Ash stood and pulled Michael close with an arm around his shoulders and a kiss to the top of his head. "No worries, Misha. None." He leaned back and smiled, "Just relax and enjoy the ride."
- - - - - - -
"I can't. One more time down the aisle and I'll lose it!" Michael's voice was a desperate, heated burst over Brian's ear.
Brian bit the inside of his lip, fighting a grin even though he knew it would be difficult to see in the dimmed light of first class. He rolled his head to see Michael's face, the flustered arousal always a good look for him. Voice a soft growl, Brian said, “No, you won’t lose it. And yes, you will go."
A grumble, “Folks are gonna start thinking I’ve got a bladder problem.”
Not laughing at Michael's words proved impossible as Brian reached over and scrubbed his fingers through the man's dark hair, his amusement growing as Michael slapped at his hand and glared. "No one's paying attention. They're all asleep, watching TV or have their heads in a book." He pointed to the seats in front of them, where Declan was relaxed back with his eyes closed and Ash was thumbing through the latest Laurell K. Hamilton vampire hunter book.
Brian added, "Besides which, you know you'll do it."
They both did, because it was what Brian wanted.
"Any chance you'll tell me what the prize is?"
Michael's question went unanswered as Brian looked at him, eyes half-shuddered and intent. "Three down. You've got two more trips to make, Michael. I'd get a move on it."
A deep breath, and Michael unhooked his seatbelt. Standing, he did as bid – walking down the aisle and disappearing into the bathroom where he was to pursue . . . other activities.
Brian stretched out, drawing the blanket that Michael had left over his lap. Eyes closing, he ran his hand up his thigh and settled his palm over the bulge under his button fly. He didn't do anything else; he just let the warmth and weight of his hand remain hidden from view as he pictured Michael in his mind.
Michael had always been a hyped-up traveler – excited, giddy and a little anxious. Not in a frantic way, mind. More enthusiasm and happiness mixed with not a little wonder that he was actually *going* somewhere outside of the Pitts. Brian had only to think back to the last couple of road trips with Michael – Havenshire and the one before to NYC, to remember Michael's high-energy rambles and bordering on bouncy spirits.
It was a side of Michael that Brian found endearing in general, and only slightly, albeit fondly, pathetic on the off day. He'd learned early on that it could be channeled in small ways. Give Michael some distraction, and time – in this case literally, flew.
Something it seemed that David had not bothered to find out on Michael's first trip over the ocean.
A fact that Brian had found out only in passing while they were planning for their flight when Michael had mentioned that he'd been asleep for most of the two transatlantic plane rides with David. When Brian said he couldn't imagine Michael sleeping through like that, Michael had just commented that it must have been the motion pills that David had given him.
Pills, it seemed, that Michael had only been given over an hour into their flight when he hadn't been showing any signs of being sick, and that had left him groggy and slightly lethargic once they'd landed in France.
It was then that it had hit Brian with a flash of cold fury, the realization that David had drugged Michael unconscious so he wouldn't have to be disturbed at close-quarters with the youthful exuberance that was a part of Michael's better nature. A nature that David had been actively trying to ‘cultivate’ – read, steam-roll over – so that Michael would be a better man.
Brian had kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to cloud their trip with his speculations about Michael's ex.
Instead, he'd pulled Michael aside and whispered hot words in his ear. Words that formed a command, Dom to sub, that would and had managed to be what Brian had intended – a distraction. Focused, and to the point. With a reward looming that would make it all worthwhile.
All Michael had to do was follow through. Every hour that had passed so far, he'd gone into the bathroom and closed his eyes. Blindly, by touch, he'd undo his jeans and slip his hand inside. Touching, squeezing, stroking himself hard. Working his shaft, and teasing the tip until he was just a touch wet. And then he’d had to open his eyes and see himself there, dick in hand and Brian on his mind. A count to ten, and then it had been over before it was *actually* over. Then he’d had to cover his hard-on, close up his jeans and pull down his red pullover to hide the evidence of his arousal as he’d washed his hands and returned to his seat.
Each time working him tighter and tighter as the tease took hold. The frustration, too. As he was made not to come, made to bring back the evidence as he sat again next to Brian – the blanket making its way across both their laps as his lover's hand traveled, claimed and molded itself between Michael's thighs.
Holding, held – the two of them sitting with the moment shared until Michael's flesh would begin to ease from lack of anything *more* and a new hour came. The journey repeated, again and again.
When at last they'd landed, Michael wasn't all that surprised to see Ash throwing him a wink – since he'd had a front row view of Michael's trips back and forth. "Air travel can be soooo stimulating, yes?"
Michael could feel his face heating up as Brian gave his butt a pat and said, "Must be the high altitude."
Declan snorted, "To say nothing of a certain Irish-American's wilds."
Brian put his arm around Michael's shoulders, replying, "Anything I could do to help it be an up-lifting experience."
Ash laughed, "Just don't molest him while going through customs, or he and his jumper will *both* be Elmo red."
Of course with observations like that, Michael was on the road to being there already.
TBC...
Would love to know what you think...
Hugs
xof
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 4
- - - - - - -
“Mom, mom – Ma! Will you let me get a word in?” His exasperation ringing clear, Michael gave Brian a pop on the leg as he began snickering in the background while trying to wrestle Michael into a tangle of arms and legs; no matter that he was on the phone with his mother. Frustrated by his mother’s endless barrage, which had been going almost non-stop for half an hour since Michael had told her about their trip, and caught up in trying to squirm away from Brian’s reaching hands that wandered ever closer to places a man didn’t want to be touched while speaking to said mother, Michael held the phone out and glared at Brian as he mouthed, ‘You’re supposed to be helping, asshole.’
Having been in a good – make that flat out great – mood all morning despite the early hour of their wakeup call for Gus’ visit, Brian had been relishing his bad boy naughty mode and acting out at every opportunity. Teasing Michael, conspiring with Gus, the man had enjoyed his day, his lover and his child. Lost boys, all.
They’d barely said goodbye to Gus, Lindz and Melanie as their day turned into night, when the phone had rung and Michael had been trapped into a conversation that seemed as never-ending as Brian’s sexual stamina, one being much more beneficial to Michael's state of mind than the other.
Making a grab for the phone, Brian covered the mouthpiece as Michael asked what he was doing. “Helping.” He held the phone a few inches from his ear, listening to a stream of Novotny nattering before he interrupted Debbie. “Yes, Mother. No, Mother. Why don't you make a list, Mother?" His face scrunching up in laughter at Deb's reaction to the sudden change in speaker, and his ever more present use of mother as both endearment and teasing barb. His amusement grew as he was treated to what must have been a repeat of Debbie's wisdom for the wayward traveler. "Deb, as engaging as I'm sure this conversation would prove to be, I have other plans for Michael's time. And mine. Tah." Click.
Seeing Michael's rueful look – because it wasn't most men who had the balls to hang-up on Debbie Novotny – Brian asked, "What?" His faux innocent expression quickly slipped into a grin. "I'll make good on our trip. One stop at Harrods and Deb'll have to let me back in the family at least until Christmas. You'll see." Privately, he was looking forward to “doling out the dosh,” as Ash would say. When it came to money and the Novotny's, gifts were met with a minimum of resistance mixed with un-jaded enjoyment. It was only when gifts crossed the line into 'help' or perceived 'charity' that the line was drawn, stubbornly and with obstinacy. “What do you think Deb would like? I’m thinking a wool sweater, fire engine red.”
Michael shook his head, “Wool, huh? That'd be appropriate, Mr. Black Sheep.”
Giving Michael a heave, Brian rolled him until he had him pressed to the plush white shag rug – the phone a memory, lost under the sofa. "I seem to remember that someone once called me his very own big bad wolf, or have you changed your mind?"
Arching up, shifting under Brian's weight – Michael breathed out, "Not a chance." He rose, catching Brian's mouth in a kiss and pressing his tongue inside to lick across Brian's teeth. Murmuring as the kiss ended, Michael said, "Such big teeth you have." At Brian's snort, he leaned his head back, baring his throat so pale against the black leather of his collar. A whisper, "Bite me." A beat, "Please."
Taking in the picture of Michael as he was, eager, asking – Brian inhaled slowly and then lowered his mouth to rest against Michael skin. He traced his lips from just below Michael's ear, then down to the bend of shoulder and neck. A lick to mark his way, and then he pressed down, teeth sliding, pulling, drawing against flesh. And he held firm, stopping as Michael bucked and moaned – but didn't let go. Held and sucked, feeling skin against his tongue as he strove to leave his mark. Bright, dark, temporary – but his. Him, writ on Michael's skin.
They'd only played at this, in this way – rarely – when the mood, or moment struck. When Michael wanted to have it, all of it – the slight claiming pain, the pleasure, being helpless, held – set and pressed on him. Knowing he'd see and feel the effects for days afterwards.
It wasn't just a hickey; it was much more than just a bruise. It was Brian; present, there, a part of him until the next time. Like now.
Brian held Michael down as he jerked, as he tried to move into Brian's bite. He was the control in this; he had to be because he knew from other times that Michael was lost in it. The act itself, the experience – it clouded his mind, yet cleared his senses until all Michael knew was the feel, and the feeling. It was up to Brian to know when was when, to find the control to stop before he broke the skin, or took him beyond the stopping point where there was no pleasure left.
Pulling back, Brian held his hand over the mark – rubbing his palm over the slick and absorbing the heat. "You'll be wearing a bit if this on the plane."
Michael blinked, his rapid breath calming as he lay wrapped in the warmth of Brian's arms – the words registering as he absorbed Brian's touch. "Definitely a wolf."
Chuckling, Brian rolled them about until he was sprawled over the rug with Michael resting against him. A satisfied sound came from him as he felt Michael moving against his thigh. "Hmm, you're hard."
"Yes." It was agreement, though plaintively given.
"It's not time yet."
"When?"
Stretching out, mouth curved in a grin, Brian answered, "When I say."
Michael groaned. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Oh, yeah." He slid his hand down Michael's back, pushing it under the sweats to smooth his palm over the curve of Michael's behind. The touch had Michael shifting again, trying to bite back a sound as Brian's fingers came to rest over the base of the small plug he'd had inside since lunch. "I've had a ball, thinking of you with this up your ass." He'd been watching Michael's face and his body react to its presence from the time he'd crowded Michael into the bathroom and slipped it into him – loving how Michael's eyes had widened when he'd been ordered not to take it out, or get off on it until Brian gave him permission. Through an afternoon of play, through the goodbyes with the girls and the phone call thereafter from Deb, Michael had been under Brian's watchful eyes, and his wandering hands – flustered and aroused.
But not allowed to do anything about it.
Rocking his fingers against it, Brian listened to Michael's curse and felt him shiver as the plug pressed just where it needed to have Michael pushing back onto it. "Brian, I... Shit, that feels good."
Taking Michael's hand, Brian pulled it between his legs so that his lover could feel how he was reacting to it as well. “Definitely.”
Michael rubbed his face against Brian's chest, smiling even as he moaned at the feel of Brian, hot and hard in his jeans. Unable to resist, he murmured, "Talk about something big and bad." His grin grew as Brian laughed. He looked up, seeing the mischievous expression in Brian's eyes. "One 'the better to pork you with' comment, and you, Mister Sir, will have hit a new all time pun low."
"Oh, I can do low." Brian pushed the plug in, just right and pressed down on it with the flat of his palm causing it to move against Michael's prostate as he grabbed onto Brian's shoulders and gasped.
"Fuck, that's...” He was going to lose it soon, without permission, if he didn't find a way to distract his tormentor. There was no get-out-of-jail-free card, even if Brian was the one to make him cross orders he'd given himself. Score one for Brian being a bastard, Michael's very own.
Stroking, rubbing at Brian's length until he could hear the hunger of Brian's next loud breath, Michael managed to pull the denim until it worked free – buttonholes loosened with age, giving as he pushed his hand in to claim the prize inside. "If I'm not allowed, what about you? I want to watch you."
A pause, Brian warring in his head as to whether he wanted to continue playing the strings of Michael's libido, or to leave off so his lover could strum him instead. A talented turn and twist from the hand holding him, working him and Brian's head rolled back. His voice thick, "Magic hands, Mikey." Another stroke, another and again until Brian's hands fell away from Michael's body as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the sensations that were racking his own.
Taking it all in, the way Brian's hips moved to the rhythm set by his hand and Brian's face – relaxed and tense all in turns as the pleasure moved through him, and Michael smiled. Happy, pleased and pleasured. It was one of his favorite times, to be able to give and have Brian's pleasure literally in his hands. There was a satisfaction here that he hadn't the words to voice, but knew and felt as an almost tangible thing.
For Brian, it was a moment made. Flesh, it was true, whole and shattered as his body burned and shot. The spill of him over Michael's hand coming in a rush that robbed his breath and left him malleable, melted and decidedly, in that moment and more and more each time, Michael's.
A half laugh, "I think my spine just spilled out of my dick." And Brian was playing pillow to a giggling sub, the two of them wrestling about until they were a tumbled, tangled pair. Giving Michael's sweats a push down to his thighs, Brian kissed him as he eased the plug free – tasting the moan as it came in answer to the feel of the toy leaving Michael's body. He rubbed his hand over the curves of Michael's ass, giving him a playful swat before pulling the sweats back in place. "Still not yet."
With a groan, Michael rolled to lie on his back besides Brian on the rug. "I could just do it myself, you know."
Brian leaned up, resting his head in his hand. "But you won't."
Michael closed his eyes, trying to relax enough to answer. "I know." He was in sub headspace, as it was called. He'd been given an ordered by his Dom, and he needed and would do his best to comply. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." But the tone didn't match the words, because he was trying not to smile and failing as Brian crawled over him and stared him in the eye. He lost all ability to maintain his pout when Brian leaned in and licked first his mouth and then the mark he'd left on Michael's skin, snorting out a low huff as Brian abruptly blew a loud raspberry just under his ear.
Jerking away from Brian’s hands, Michael sat up and leaned back against the sofa. Shaking his head, eyes wet from trying to suppress his amusement, Michael said, “That’s it; you’re nuts.” He watched as Brian knelt up to refasten his jeans, daring a fond bit of teasing. “I think King Kinney just lost the last of his street cred.”
Brian prowled in, hovering close on hands and knees as he shook his head. “I’m not on the street, Mikey. Just home, with you – not an ounce of cred needed.” A kiss to the spot he’s buzzed, and then playful words – no less true, but for his mirth – said in Michael’s ear. “Besides, I’ll always be King Kinney to you.” Pause…and then one more word, beginning with B.
Closing his eyes, Michael cupped Brian’s face – enjoying the bristle of stubble against his hands. He sighed, saying softly, “You call me baby, and I’m gone. Every time.”
“Why else do you think I say it?” When Michael opened his eyes with a glare, Brian stopped his mouth with a kiss – putting just enough into it to distract, but not taking things far enough to start all over again. Other plans, first. “Come on.” He stood and gave a hand up to Michael. Nodding towards the computer desk, Brian asked, “How far did you get last night?”
Michael gave him an incredulous look. “You mean *after* you got off the phone with Declan making plans for our flight, but *before* you started pulling my clothes off on the way to bed? Not much.” Not much being all of less than half an hour, thanks to Brian’s wandering hands and heated words.
Brian grinned. “Well, with the tickets settled and us staying at their place – all that’s left is to figure out what we want to see and do.” He pulled Michael up into the bedroom, giving him a slow push onto the bed as he lay down with him. “We could just wing it, since we’ll have Ash playing tour guide.”
Ashton, they’d found, would be the one who would have more time on his hands, as it seemed that Declan was returning home for more than just a visit. He was having a one-man private exhibition of his photography project at a friend’s art gallery. It had been planned to coincide with his and Ash’s anniversary trip back to England, the place they always returned to at the same time each year. But other than the particulars, Dec was being mum on the show itself.
Even Ash was in the dark on most of the details, not that he hadn’t been rather vocal in protesting the fact, until Declan had pulled another of his Master tricks to shush him. One flick of his wrist, a deft pull on something in his pocket and he’d extracted a long, thin strip of silk – no more than two-feet long and one-inch wide. Just the sight of it had Ash falling silent, with an ‘oh shit’ look on his face. A word from Declan, “Wrists,” and the man was on his knees bowing his head and extending his arms. And silent he’d remained as Dec wrapped the silk around his wrists twice, letting the ends hang loose without a knot to hold it together. Because it was the presence of the tie that was the only lock required, Declan’s will imposed with a softness that held Ash as firmly as cuffs could ever do.
To Brian and Michael, the Irishman had simply said with a wink, “Call it a creative form of time out.” Fondly threading his fingers through Ash's hair, he added, "He'll be silent for as long as is required, and then be rewarded. Or he'll break the rule, and he'll be held to task."
Over half an hour in, and still he'd remained silent. Focused. Michael had seen that expression on Ash's face before, the quiet intent absorption the man found in obeying. Like Declan had told Michael months before, Ashton found the ritual as rewarding as others found the end goal. Even in times when it proved inconvenient to his wheedling out the secrets of Declan's plans.
An hour gone, and Declan had pressed a kiss to his slave's forehead and rose to see Michael and Brian to the door. He'd laughed at Brian's question. "Is he going for a record?"
"Hardly. He's two hours shy." Giving Michael’s disbelieving face a pat, Declan had added, "He'll be on an accomplishment high for all of a few minutes when he's let free, then he'll be nagging for details like it never happened."
Brian’s snorted, “Perfect,” had seen them on their way.
So between then and now, not much in the way of planning had been done in regards to activities and sights to see. Not that it looked like that was going to change in the next few minutes, either.
"Bri?" Michael questioned as the other man pressed Michael's right hand flat to the mattress, over his head. He was already half pinned by Brian's body. "Wha –?"
"Shh. No questions, Michael."
The voice. Shit, no fair. A sharp breath from Michael as he watched Brian reach under the nearest pillow, and then there was a long streak of black seen out the corner of his eye, and the sensation of nylon – one end secured to an o-ring embedded in the wall behind the bed – being wrapped around his wrist. It was the same material used for women's hose, but intended for a much more overt restraining purpose.
When Brian didn't go for his other wrist – choosing instead to push Michael's t-shirt up only as far as it took to uncover his nipples – Michael touched his face. “You forgot this hand.”
Brian shook his head, "Nope, you're gonna need that one." A devilish light in his eyes, he added, "After all, you can just do it yourself, right?" He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he gave Michael's sweats a good yank over his hips until he was exposed from chest to thighs. Sweeping his tongue over Michael's nipple, Brian nipped at it until he jerked and tried to hold Brian's head closer.
When Brian drew Michael's free hand down to close around the length of his own sex, Michael bit his lip – moving into the sensation, even as he groaned in frustration. "I'm right handed." It didn't stop him unconsciously wrapping his fingers round and arching up a little, his movements intentionally limited by Brian's body.
"Call it a new perspective on things." He nipped at the taut nipple nearest him, enjoying the change in Michael's breathing as he kept trying to move more than he was being allowed. Enjoying the picture of Michael lewdly displayed, uncovered yet not altogether bare, partially bound and held down with skin flushed and eyes dark with need.
Brian played on the awkwardness of Michael's left-handed allowance as he said, "Still, be still. Just hold it; feel yourself hard and slick. Feel it, and watch me."
Smooth, warm, soft yet hard – pulsing in his hand, Michael fought to keep his eyes open, to see past the pleasure as Brian moved down his body. But then it became something he couldn't look away from as he stared and shook, Brian's tongue lapping at the head of his dick. Licking, tasting – a kiss here, suction there; and then the words – a whisper against his skin, "Milk it ’til you come."
Michael jerked again, moaning as he squeezed and let up, squeezed and let up – his right hand fighting against the nylon as he moved innately to bring it down so he could touch himself. The tension building as he was prevented from using it. Building still more as he watched Brian's warm lips grow wet and red as Michael worked himself over them, through and against the sly tongue inside.
Tight, hard, desperate and oh so needful – he was a wreck of want. A man tiptoed on the edge of over, and then with another squeeze and lick, the both together, he was gone.
Coming, and then coming to with his ears ringing from his own shout and the sound of laughter as Brian moved up to wipe his face off on Michael's rucked up tee. Michael's own rolling-laugh joining part with a mix of a groan as Brian declared it one of the best facials he'd ever had.
Fearing a new onslaught visit to pun-ville, with anti-aging and fountain of youth jokes on tap, Michael pulled Brian's head close once he'd been freed and stopped his Dom's mouth with a kiss. The taste lingering, and shared between.
- - -
The flick of numbers shining in the dark as they lay together, time passing in relative silence as Michael turned into the heat of Brian's body. He'd awaken from a dream, one not remembered but felt in his bones – the lingering ease, a comfort that told of pleasant thoughts, the kind that called for him to return to Morpheus' arms for more of the same.
"Someone's awake."
A smile against Brian's skin, and Michael nodded. "Uhmm, hmm."
Turning, Brian pulled Michael closer – his face brushing through the soft tangle of black hair as they snuggled down. Minutes passing, the pair of them almost back under – and then Michael's voice came. A murmur, really. The man only half awake, but guided still by a passing conviction that now was the moment to ask something he’d been too distracted to bring up before now. Sometimes it was easier to speak in the dark about things that held the power to bring new light.
“Hmm, ’id you mean it?”
Brian waited drowsily for more, but was left wondering. “It?”
Michael nodded, his head tucked under Brian’s chin. He didn’t clarify, just slid a warm palm down Brian’s stomach until it came to rest curled over his soft sex and pubic curls. Then a word, not a question – just a mention, exhaled on a sigh. “Bare.”
A grin, eyes closing as Brian savored the gentle rasp of Michael’s hairy chin above and the familiar touch of his hand below. There wasn’t anything leading in it, Michael’s hand reaching to feel him in the middle of the night. It was just something he’d grown to do, the ease and freedom of touching Brian a joy – soft or hard.
Breathing out slowly, on the way to drifting off again, Brian murmured, “Skin to skin, yeah.”
The words reaching him, spreading a sense of happiness through him that increased his comfort – Michael’s lips parted. The next word formed in his mind, but passing into silence as it remained unsaid as unconsciousness won the race with reason. The ‘when’ remained a thought for another day as the pair of them slept once more.
- - -
“I know I'm going to forget something." Exasperation and worry evident in his voice, Michael surveyed all the things amassed on the bed – a frown clouding his face as he ticked things off a list that existed only in his head.
Ashton stepped up into the room and with one glance at the duvet covered with hardly an inch to spare in a variety of items that had yet to be put into the suitcases open on the floor, he groaned. "It's like you're packing for a year abroad. That or you've had visions of a deserted island in your future."
One playful nudge of reprimand from Michael, and the Englishman only got worse – laughing loudly. "Oh my god, you're Gilligan." He didn't stop snickering, even under threat of a pillow whacking. Hands up as Michael came closer with one, he managed to add to the fire, "Okay, okay. Mary Ann."
Michael couldn't keep a straight-face any longer, bursting out in begrudging laughter as he dropped the pillow and joined Ashton – the both of them sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. Coughing a little, Michael shook his head. "Whatever you say, Ginger."
It only served to have Ash tittering away again, until he was laid out on his back wiping tears from his eyes. "Now there's a dame with some kinda kink in her closet."
"How did *you* start watching 'Gilligan's Island'?"
"Late night cable reruns, but it wasn't my favorite."
Michael thought for a moment, then smiled. "Ruling out sci-fi - since that's obvious and we are so not going there right now? I bet I know." He turned to look at Ashton, "I'd say, 'I Dream of Jeanie'."
Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Ash groaned. "Bollocks, what gave it away?"
Voice high, and adoring – Michael mimicked, "'Yes, Master. No, Master. Whatever you say, Master.'"
Sitting up, Ashton grinned. "And here I thought it was the outfit." Adding, "Don't knock it; a short vest and harem pants can make an evening."
Michael held up a hand, "I don't even want to know."
"Prat." Giving Michael's arm a tug, Ash helped him to stand as the two of them turned back to the cluttered chaos of Brian and Michael's bed.
"Look at this in a different way. Instead of a trip to a foreign country, and an unfamiliar hotel – this is a visit with friends. So a lot of the things you have here to supplement your stay will already be available at our place. Only take things you wouldn't be able to find readily at a store, like this." Ashton picked up the zip case that had Michael's inhaler in it. "You don't use this often, right?"
"No, not as much as when I was a kid. Brian just had me refill it as a backup – the prescription's in there too." He remembered all too well what it was like for his Uncle Vic's trip to Italy with his mom. Meds had to be catalogued and scripts accounted for before they'd been able to leave the airport. Michael didn’t know if it would even be an issue for him, but he wanted to be prepared just in case.
"So this definitely goes." Ash looked around, pulling out items from the pile – making a much smaller pile of his own. "Camera, batteries – only a few, you can get more there. Passports, tickets, emergency numbers, credit cards are carry-ons anyway. Maps I can give you. Same goes for tour books and such. So toiletries – keep on the low side, because really it's much more travel friendly to go light than it is to travel weighted down." Half murmuring as he worked, it was only a few minutes before Ashton straightened up and said, "Walla. Now you have more room in your larger suitcase for shopping and souvenirs."
Michael glanced at the bed, thinking back to another trip where everything had to be done a *certain* way and put in a *certain* order, during a period which Michael had felt very tentative in David's lifestyle, out of place even at the best of times.
Then to now, it was a new world really. One that was open, comforting as well as comfortable. An adventure for him and Brian to share – together rather than apart as so often in the past.
"Someone's smiling."
Ash's teasing only made Michael's grin grow. "Someone's going to London. Tomorrow." Shaking his head, he added, "It still doesn't seem real – with it all happening so quick. Even after almost a week. Kinda feels more like the sudden rush of a two day road trip, than a two week vacation."
"Gives you less time to go about worrying over the details."
Michael sat down on the bed and flopped back with a groan/half-laugh. "Shit, please tell me I'm not starting to sound like my mother."
Throwing one of the sweaters still littering the bed over Michael's face, Ash chuckled. "Hush with you now; that's not what I meant." He sat beside Michael, weeding through the clothes strewn over the duvet as he spoke – picking and choosing whatever he thought would match the UK weather, as Michael had asked him to earlier. "Half of these still have the price tags."
Michael had the grace to look chagrined. "It's one of Brian's favorite pastimes – shopping. But I'm a creature of habit, so I end up grabbing what I'm used to wearing." He picked up a soft dove gray sweater, running his hand over the sinfully sensual cashmere. "I'm working on not saying no when he shops for me, and he's working on buying only the must-have items he can't resist."
Ashton gave the sweater a feel, saying, "And you in this would be something he definitely couldn't resist."
"This is a result of him spending yesterday shopping instead of eating lunch. The man can do a showroom run-through, walk out with half a wardrobe and still manage to hold a meeting with his assistant on his cell phone simultaneously."
Ash had to laugh. "I'm no help to you there. Both of us are true clotheshorses. It's ironic considering how much time we spend out of them."
Worrying his lip, Michael sat up. His face was thoughtful, as if he was trying to figure out how to ask something he'd been wondering about, but thought it rude territory in which to venture. "Ash? How does it work? I mean, between you – being Master/slave. Money, possessions – how do you, uhm...”
As always, an open book – Ash said, "He holds a rather radical notion that while I am willingly his slave, which means he could quite easily have everything in his name and nothing in mine – we are equal partners in everything, legally. Co-owners, joint accounts – the works."
Laughing, he added. "The practical side of fantasy. It's kind of funny – people who don't look to the full impact of what being in the scene can hold.... They'll say, 'Take me, I'm yours' – but then the actuality of being without possessions because you are yourself a possession sets in, and they go running."
Michael nodded, "Sounds like 'I am what I own,' rather than 'I am what I give.'"
"Sounds like they are trying to play the wrong games. Because that's what it is to them, a game – rather than a life."
Michael glanced at the clock; it was late afternoon – going on six almost. Time to pack and be done with it. He smiled when Ash piled a half dozen of the new sweaters and shirts in his lap, his other older clothes taking a backseat to Ashton's sense of style. Oh well, it would make Brian happy – and Michael had to admit, the rich fabrics and colors would be an improvement over much-washed cotton and the remnants of his Big-Q dress shirts that littered part of their wardrobe.
Several minutes passed as the two of them folded and arranged, Michael laughing when Ash told him that he and Declan were only taking carry-ons because, "Our closets are as overstuffed there as they are here."
The packing done, they grabbed beers from the fridge and settled on the couch. Right in time to hear about the fifth message being left by Deb – a list of things she thought Michael needed to take, not forget or needed to look for while in London. The day had been chorused by her calls, so that even the sound of her voice had Ashton grinning as Michael groaned. "She means well, Misha." The affection in his voice was evidence enough of the amusement he got in watching the ongoing "Mommy Novotny Show."
Nodding, Michael took a long swallow from his beer. He knew she did, and while at times it aggravated him – he loved her enthusiastic mothering. Especially since he'd seen the cold havoc having a mother like Brian's could bring.
Michael asked Ash, thoughtfully, "Does your family know? About Declan, or any of it?" He couldn't imagine them not knowing about their relationship, since it was over a decade and running. But as for the truth of ... Well, it was something he couldn't see sharing if he were Ash.
After all – he hadn't. It was a part of him, of him and Brian, which Michael wanted to own unto himself.
Ashton looked away, his face – his mood shifting as he stayed silent. It was an awkward pause; one that felt heavy and strong. One that had Michael on the verge of an apology, when Ash turned back and said softly, sadly, "There's the family you have, and then there's the family you create. One, no. The other, yes."
He didn't elaborate. His open book, closed.
Michael nodded, looking down at his beer and picking at the label. The silence lasting, weighted. He smiled when Ash reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, the two of them sharing a look that eased the tension of the moment as Ashton asked where "Mister Sir" was hiding.
"He's pulling a late day at work, wrapping up loose ends with Cynthia before we leave." Draining the last of his beer, Michael went to throw out the bottle. "What's Declan doing?"
Ash stood up from the couch. "Still being mysterious."
"And you haven't given into snooping?"
A laugh, dry but wise. "Not hardly. That's something that's been drilled home for a few years now. I can tease, nag a little, seduce or beg for details. But going behind his back is a decided no." Ashton walked to the kitchen island, setting down his beer. "He'll only tell me what he wants to, anyway."
Michael sat on one of the island stools. "I guess you could consider it extended foreplay."
“Apt, yeah. I’ll give you that. And the man's very good at foreplay. But never underestimate the merits of a full wham-bam, now and again."
Ash was still grinning as Michael shook his head. "You are one of a kind." After all, there weren't many people who could equate detail gathering with a sexual quickie.
"Which is a relief to Declan; if I were one of twins, he'd already be old before his time. Shagged that much closer to an early grave."
That had Michael groaning, to which Ash responded with playful ruffling of his dark hair. When his hand got batted away, Ashton sat on the stool next to Michael – his expression turning serious. "I needed to talk with you about something."
“Yeah?”
"I think Declan told you a little about his reputation within the scene. He's earned a place of respect to many who are actively involved back home. It's a sub-culture, sure, but there are standards and rules that serious players adhere to in both their private and their public lives." He looked at Michael for a moment, then continued. "Our roles are more formalized in London than they have been here. Particularly at times when we are in contact with other scene players."
"Okay, so that means?"
"It means that I wanted you to understand what's happening if you see me fall into headspace while we're out and about, or have guests at home."
"How far into it? Something tells me you don't make it a practice of falling to your knees in Trafalgar Square."
Ash snorted. "That's another story for another time. No. In public, if we come across someone who knows us that way, then I'm more likely to stand back and to Declan's left with eyes down. Silent, but attentive and aware should Declan address me."
"Silent. Does that mean you can't talk to others?"
"In a proper scene event, no one would speak to me directly anyway. Or in public either, if Declan's with me. His voice, his word is all that would matter to many."
Michael nodded, worry writ clear in his eyes. "Does that bother you? It's almost like you're invisible."
Ash shook his head, "It's the opposite, Misha. I am my Master's greatest pride in those moments, I stand as a testament to his skill, and my devotion is his reward. Others look to me, at how I behave, as evidence of our strength together."
"Do you ever have someone trying to trip you up? Make you lose your temper?"
"There's the occasional pisher, yeah. Usually someone younger, or new to the scene that doesn't know the rules, or our history together." He grinned, a wicked light in his eyes. "Given how thoroughly I'm entrenched, it can be rather a laugh to watch them trying to have a go."
"Declan must eat them alive."
"A couple almost wet their pants," Ash laughed, the memory obviously one of which he was quite fond.
Michael had had his own run-in with Declan – a small 'oh-shit' moment involving a robe he wasn't supposed to be wearing one morning at Havenshire. While it hadn’t been malicious, there had been just the edge of ... something in the man's eyes that had straightened Michael's spine and had him fully conscious of who held the power in the room. To have those eyes turned on you with dark focus, even anger – yeah, Michael could well see what Ashton was saying.
Declan Rai was a man not to be crossed, protective and possessive both.
"It's happened a time or two with Brian, too." Michael added, "The scaring them out of their wits bit." Brian wasn't a man to suffer fools for long. Unless they were clients, and even then he had a tendency to speak ahead of propriety when his patience fell short in the face of small-mindedness.
Scratching a bit at his chin, unconsciously – Michael asked, "Am I supposed to do the same thing? Head down, mouth shut...."
"No, not in general. You're our guests, and this is a vacation. I wouldn't worry about it when we're about. If we end up in a scene environment, then Brian will decide how it plays out." As Michael's dominant, it was up to Brian to set the guidelines of any scene they entered – whether that scene was in private, or amongst a crowd of fellow players.
"I just don't want to embarrass you, or Brian."
Ash stood and pulled Michael close with an arm around his shoulders and a kiss to the top of his head. "No worries, Misha. None." He leaned back and smiled, "Just relax and enjoy the ride."
- - - - - - -
"I can't. One more time down the aisle and I'll lose it!" Michael's voice was a desperate, heated burst over Brian's ear.
Brian bit the inside of his lip, fighting a grin even though he knew it would be difficult to see in the dimmed light of first class. He rolled his head to see Michael's face, the flustered arousal always a good look for him. Voice a soft growl, Brian said, “No, you won’t lose it. And yes, you will go."
A grumble, “Folks are gonna start thinking I’ve got a bladder problem.”
Not laughing at Michael's words proved impossible as Brian reached over and scrubbed his fingers through the man's dark hair, his amusement growing as Michael slapped at his hand and glared. "No one's paying attention. They're all asleep, watching TV or have their heads in a book." He pointed to the seats in front of them, where Declan was relaxed back with his eyes closed and Ash was thumbing through the latest Laurell K. Hamilton vampire hunter book.
Brian added, "Besides which, you know you'll do it."
They both did, because it was what Brian wanted.
"Any chance you'll tell me what the prize is?"
Michael's question went unanswered as Brian looked at him, eyes half-shuddered and intent. "Three down. You've got two more trips to make, Michael. I'd get a move on it."
A deep breath, and Michael unhooked his seatbelt. Standing, he did as bid – walking down the aisle and disappearing into the bathroom where he was to pursue . . . other activities.
Brian stretched out, drawing the blanket that Michael had left over his lap. Eyes closing, he ran his hand up his thigh and settled his palm over the bulge under his button fly. He didn't do anything else; he just let the warmth and weight of his hand remain hidden from view as he pictured Michael in his mind.
Michael had always been a hyped-up traveler – excited, giddy and a little anxious. Not in a frantic way, mind. More enthusiasm and happiness mixed with not a little wonder that he was actually *going* somewhere outside of the Pitts. Brian had only to think back to the last couple of road trips with Michael – Havenshire and the one before to NYC, to remember Michael's high-energy rambles and bordering on bouncy spirits.
It was a side of Michael that Brian found endearing in general, and only slightly, albeit fondly, pathetic on the off day. He'd learned early on that it could be channeled in small ways. Give Michael some distraction, and time – in this case literally, flew.
Something it seemed that David had not bothered to find out on Michael's first trip over the ocean.
A fact that Brian had found out only in passing while they were planning for their flight when Michael had mentioned that he'd been asleep for most of the two transatlantic plane rides with David. When Brian said he couldn't imagine Michael sleeping through like that, Michael had just commented that it must have been the motion pills that David had given him.
Pills, it seemed, that Michael had only been given over an hour into their flight when he hadn't been showing any signs of being sick, and that had left him groggy and slightly lethargic once they'd landed in France.
It was then that it had hit Brian with a flash of cold fury, the realization that David had drugged Michael unconscious so he wouldn't have to be disturbed at close-quarters with the youthful exuberance that was a part of Michael's better nature. A nature that David had been actively trying to ‘cultivate’ – read, steam-roll over – so that Michael would be a better man.
Brian had kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to cloud their trip with his speculations about Michael's ex.
Instead, he'd pulled Michael aside and whispered hot words in his ear. Words that formed a command, Dom to sub, that would and had managed to be what Brian had intended – a distraction. Focused, and to the point. With a reward looming that would make it all worthwhile.
All Michael had to do was follow through. Every hour that had passed so far, he'd gone into the bathroom and closed his eyes. Blindly, by touch, he'd undo his jeans and slip his hand inside. Touching, squeezing, stroking himself hard. Working his shaft, and teasing the tip until he was just a touch wet. And then he’d had to open his eyes and see himself there, dick in hand and Brian on his mind. A count to ten, and then it had been over before it was *actually* over. Then he’d had to cover his hard-on, close up his jeans and pull down his red pullover to hide the evidence of his arousal as he’d washed his hands and returned to his seat.
Each time working him tighter and tighter as the tease took hold. The frustration, too. As he was made not to come, made to bring back the evidence as he sat again next to Brian – the blanket making its way across both their laps as his lover's hand traveled, claimed and molded itself between Michael's thighs.
Holding, held – the two of them sitting with the moment shared until Michael's flesh would begin to ease from lack of anything *more* and a new hour came. The journey repeated, again and again.
When at last they'd landed, Michael wasn't all that surprised to see Ash throwing him a wink – since he'd had a front row view of Michael's trips back and forth. "Air travel can be soooo stimulating, yes?"
Michael could feel his face heating up as Brian gave his butt a pat and said, "Must be the high altitude."
Declan snorted, "To say nothing of a certain Irish-American's wilds."
Brian put his arm around Michael's shoulders, replying, "Anything I could do to help it be an up-lifting experience."
Ash laughed, "Just don't molest him while going through customs, or he and his jumper will *both* be Elmo red."
Of course with observations like that, Michael was on the road to being there already.
TBC...
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