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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 6
- - - - - - -
There are no singular direct routes from one destination to another when it comes to London. It was a lesson quickly learned by new venturers, even under the guidance of a member of the regular cast, born and bred.
So it was that the three of them ended up meandering at a stroll through the streets leading off from Covent Garden, stopping to enjoy the antics and enthusiasm of the street performers practicing their trades. If it wasn't silver painted men with black tiger stripes, it was any number of magicians or musicians or both.
And when it wasn’t that, it was Brian wandering towards the shop window displays to look, admire and sometimes scoff at the items he saw. Men’s clothes, shoes, leather goods, it didn’t matter. If something caught his eye, there he was until Michael managed to pull him away with a promise of later. Shopping was for later.
Michael and Brian were too focused on Ash’s continuing tale of the last time he’d been through the square to notice that they were holding hands as they walked, the pair of them at ease and enjoying the day. “I tell you, there were hundreds of them. Hare Krishna devotees everywhere! All decked out in yellows and golds. It was some sort of festival last June when we flew in for the week. Mind you, it wasn’t but a few days later and the entire square was filled again – only this time every available space was jammed in with wrecked cars and the like. Massive monuments of twisted metal, some sort of public safety display. I tell you, if you want to see London at its most diverse, then this is one of *the* places to come.”
And then there it was laid out before them, the open square named for the battle of Trafalgar – a commemoration of Admiral Lord Nelson’s bravery until death at his last siege against Napoleon’s forces.
The square was filled with large fountains, the sound of running water, traffic, the flapping of pigeon wings, and people – crowds of people taking pictures, meeting friends, having a packed lunch, sightseeing, enjoying the day. And of course, the first thing out of Brian’s mouth? A-not-so subtle comment about how phallic the tribute to Nelson was, rising above it all. Column tall, soaring large overhead with the statue of the man himself perched high on top. And at its base, guarding with menace and dark majesty – the four famous bronze lions of which Ashton was so fond.
Answering back, Ash gave Brian a look. “Says a man who comes from a country that honors its first president with something as phallic and tall was the Washington Monument?”
Michael was smiling; energized with the excitement of being in the moment, in a place he’d only seen photos of or on film, looking left and right, all around, enjoying the atmosphere and the vibe of their surroundings. He held out his camera to Ashton, laughing. “Hush you two, or you’ll both be talking about dicks all day.” He grabbed Brian’s hand again, and pulled playfully. “It’s picture time.”
Having already been the victim, uhmm hmm, target of more than a few flashes that day, Brian begrudgingly growled, “Again? Fuck me.” Only to lose his fake bemoaning put-on of a frown, when Michael abruptly turned and planted a kiss on his lips, and pressed a hand down to squeeze just so at Brian’s groin, the touch gone again so fast others easily missed it.
“Not now, but later – it's a promise.”
And then Michael was off at a fast pace, Brian following after the sexual animal he’d helped to cultivate with an amused Ashton at his side.
By the time they’d ventured past all the fountains and managed to squeeze through the crowds to reach the lions, they’d already used a goodly amount of the memory card in the digital camera. Each man took turns at playing photographer, so they’d all manage to have a few with the others in them. Poses were usually silly or a lark as they amused themselves with ribbing and teasing each other. The pigeons making good their escape as Brian waved his arms and grinned as Michael gave him a shove, Ash shooting the scene as they gave chase past a travel group of Japanese tourists – Michael coming in the winner despite Brian’s long-legged advantage when he dove through a narrow gap to make it to the lions first.
Brian grabbed him, giving him a boost up onto the pedestal before climbing up himself. The two of them in luck as their lion became passenger free, which was a rarity given the popularity of their current position. So up they went, Michael astride up front with Brian at his back. Ash called out for them to look his way, the camera already at work as he took their picture again. And then again as Brian began to tickle Michael until he squirmed and laughed. And one more still as Michael twisted around and did what had fast become a habit, stopping Brian’s devilry by adding in some fire of his own – the pair of them kissing, wind in their hair as Brian pressed Michael to the lion’s back. The shared moment seemed to last forever until Ashton’s catcall whistle returned them to their surroundings.
“That’ll be one for the photo album.” Ash teased as they dropped back down beside him. “What we almost got arrested for while on our first day out in London.”
Brian leaned in, whispering something in Michael’s ear to which he nodded. “Okay.” Looking around, Michael spied a couple of women taking pictures of each other nearby. He smiled, walking over and offering to trade taking a group shot – one of them with their camera, and vice versa. A quick snap of them with their 35mm, and he passed them the camera Ash had been holding. Both he and Brian pulled the Englishman between them, waiting for the lady taking the photo to frame the shot so the lion was in it too – and then on the count of three, the both of them turned and planted wet raspberry kisses to Ashton’s cheeks as he began laughing. “Sneaks!”
A thank you to the women, and they were off for the next part of their afternoon, Ash having convinced Brian that since they were already there, “Why not take a turn in the National Gallery before heading off to the Brit Mu?” He continued to sell the idea, “Tell you what. I’ll trade you one National Gallery, for one Tate Modern.” He was playing dirty pool, because the Tate Modern was the one museum in the city that he knew in advance that Brian wanted to see. “Besides, you’ll love the impressionist wing – and there’s the Van Gogh, and the gift shop. And….”
“I’ll go, I’ll go. Shit, are you sure that I’m the only one in advertising?”
Ignoring Brian, Ash said, “And Michael, I'd love to show you the Rembrandt cartoon!”
“Cartoon?” Michael shook his head, “Something tells me you don’t mean as in animation.”
“Nope, it’s basically a sketch done in charcoal, a practice piece for the artist that’s done before he transposes it to canvas as a guide for the painting. The one they have here is of the Madonna and Child. They’ve got it housed in a darkened alcove so that the lights won’t harm it. But of course that closed-in, low-lit atmosphere only adds to the intimacy and beauty of the piece.”
Michael smiled, “Sold.”
The National Gallery it was.
- - -
The three of them managed to clutter their way into the elevator of the Rai building a few hours later, such space as there was with three men and the multitude of gift bags they had rustling in their hands. True to Declan's promise, Ashton had proved one hell of a tour guide when it came to museums. He'd engaged them so much, they'd discovered with surprise that most of the afternoon had dwindled and there wasn't time enough to fully appreciate the "Brit Mu," as Ashton called it. So that was left for another day.
Even Brian had passed the day fully engaged in their surroundings. Ever the ad man, he'd surprised Michael with his interest in how the works could be adapted to use in modern campaigns. It was just the way he worked, picturing the ads into existence. Often the image came to him before the slogan.
They'd all enjoyed the gift store. Obviously. Michael had gotten a few new pins to add to his Mom's rainbow vest, because if it wasn't a rude saying, naked men would serve her bawdy sense of humor. Even if they were from classical art. Plus he’d found a thousand piece puzzle of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” which would play to two of Debbie’s favorite pastimes – putting puzzles together and collecting all things sunflower. There was a time when Michael was a teen when she'd covered every available bit of counter space in the kitchen with sunflower cooking accessories, a collection she still had up in the attic – one among a hundred, no doubt. And last, thanks to a suggestion from Brian, Michael had gotten his mom a small print of the cartoon they’d been introduced to by Ashton.
He’d bought himself one, too, for its beauty, and for the memory of their afternoon.
For the girls, Brian had chosen one item each. He’d picked a small sculpture designed after one of Degas' “Petite Danseuse” for Lindsay. For Mel, he’d stuck to something practical, a silk scarf of Monet's “The Water-Lily Pond” that she could wear with one of her lawyer lady suits. "I'll just let her think that one was your idea," he told Michael. It was typical of Melanie to believe good gestures from Brian where usually the result of him being poked and prodded by Michael – and not in that fun, life affirming sort of way. Though she had less and less to say to the negative the longer he and Michael remained together. It was one of the perks of their changed relationship – proving the naysayers wrong.
Michael got a table book of the National Gallery's collection for the Temmet's new home – the fixer-upper that Emmett had so quickly fallen in love with, and Ted had agreed to buy around four months back. Michael thought the book would appeal to the pair's old world homey interior design, the look of which Emmett had thrown all his talents into completing while Ted was busy overhauling his internet business. There had been a near miss with one of his employees carrying a fake ID, and ever since Ted had let him go, the former accountant had been determined. It was background checks for all, no matter what the man’s dick size.
And for Uncle Vic, they’d gotten a book on Renaissance master painters. Michael thought it would be a good companion to the books Vic had brought home from his trip to Italy with Deb, just a few short years ago. That Vic was still alive and fighting the good fight would make it all the sweeter to revisit the memories with a glad heart.
They all came spilling forth into the living room, shoes kicked off good and proper, only to have Ashton come to an abrupt halt. He literally *stilled* – head straight but eyes down, and hands clasped at his back. He was looking at a pair of red leather spike heeled boots placed on the rack just inside their home.
“Ash?” Michael looked around to see what might be wrong, but then he noticed that they were not alone.
Coming their way, Declan had a woman at his side. Dark, shining long black hair to her waist, she was tall and strong, carrying about her an air of quiet determination that was evident in her at a glance. Her eyes were a unique amber brown, and Michael had the strange impulse to look away when they passed over him – or down, rather – as if it were her due.
"Oh... ” Michael breathed out the sound, barely above a whisper. She was a Dominant. She must be for Ash to have reacted by going from gregarious charm to respecting silence with the rapidity of a flipped switch. He looked to Brian and saw that his lover seemed to share his insight as he placed his free hand on the back of Michael's neck. The gesture was small, but telling as the woman's perusal moved from Michael to Brian followed with a smile.
"Striking, Declan. But then you always have such good taste in friends." Her words near enough to a vocal wink to have Dec shaking his head with a grin.
"Deborah, be nice." A fond admonishment, but one that still carried weight. Declan came to Ash, who stayed in sub formation as he was kissed softly on the forehead in greeting. "At ease, darkling." The last was a murmur, but it caused Ash to smile.
Relaxed, he lifted his eyes. "Yes, Master."
"Greet our guest, Ash."
A half bow, and he said, "Domme James, it is good to see you again."
The woman, Deborah, laughed. "Declan, you have him so polite these days. The old guard will appreciate it. Well, those you’ve allowed to join us at week’s end."
"Some of them will be forever set in their ways. Polite, yes. Groveling to other dominants on hands and knees, never. They know my mind on this. My slave is mine, and does not show subservience to anyone but me." It sounded like an old argument, though Declan's words were amicable enough. Something it seemed he’d had to deal in the past with others not present.
"Nor should he," she agreed and then turned, a woman who knew how to divert the flow of the conversation when needed. "Come, introduce me to these two."
"Madam Deborah James, this is Brian Kinney and his Michael Novotny. They're colonials." The last was said with a chuckle, and a wicked smile.
Brian's, "Good to meet you," was layered with Michael's, "Ma'am."
Deborah nodded, "Charmed." Then she turned to Declan, "Friday, yes?" When he agreed, she said, "Must be off. Enjoy your new prized possessions, dear." A quick goodbye to the others, and she was gone with the closing of the elevator doors.
“She leaves an impression.” Brian remarked, rubbing his side when Michael gave him a nudge. “What?”
Declan agreed, “She always has.” He came to Ash, rubbing his hand over the man’s chest – just a soft glide from left to right. A gesture he did upon occasion, either to comfort or tease. Or in this case, assure. “She’s a good friend to have.”
Brian decided to ask, “So what’s the issue with the old guard? Something we need to know?”
“Not an issue, so much as differences in opinion. The old argument of whether there is only one path to the same destination, or many roads to follow.” Declan took Ash’s hand. “Nothing to worry about. There won’t be any narrow-mindedness allowed; it’s our big day, our way.” A brush of his lips to Ash’s and then he pulled back. “Tea in an hour, then afterwards….” He looked to Brian, “I thought we’d give that club I mentioned a try. The night seems right for Jazz.”
“Are we in for dinner? Or….”
Declan nodded, “I’ve called for delivery. Why don’t you give these two a bit of a tour of your studio? You promised Michael you’d show him your creations, remember.”
“Yes, Master.” Ash agreed, but then asked curiously, “New prized possession?”
“Not a word, that’s for Friday. Now off with you. I’ve calls to make.”
A long, loud exasperated sigh his only vocal protest, Ash did as bid walking down the hall with two amused yanks hard on his heels.
- - -
"I dare you. I do. You can NOT say it without the screw up," Ash declared. "Ten times, fast as you can and no stopping."
Michael took a deep breath, and shot Brian a look when he started to snicker. "You're no help."
Ash nodded, "Exactly. Brian, be supportive." He paused. "Even when you know he's gonna fail."
"Hey!"
"Mikey, just get it over with or this one'll never let us go eat."
"Okay, okay." 1... 2... 3… "When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whiddled all the while. When I was a wh... little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a whiddle woy I littled all the lile. Damn it!"
Both Ashton and Brian lost it at the same time, the pair of them cracking up as Michael first glared then joined in. "You are evil."
"Oy, that is my back story you’re slagging off there. But then it’s true. Haven't found a soul who can do it without slipping up." Ash shared, "Not even Declan."
"I'm just surprised you haven't had one of these sticks chucked at your head." Brian said, looking at the box beside one of Ashton's workbenches. It contained several sizes and varieties of wood from which Ash choose to create the miniatures that lined a number of shelves throughout the apartment. Small animals, birds, fantasy creatures and caricatures of people he knew. They were everywhere, ranging from the lifelike to the surreal – each a gift for him to keep. Something he'd been doing since he stole his first pocketknife when he was just ten years old.
No matter what other media he delved into and no matter how large or complex his designs, these were the flights of his fancy that belonged to him, none of which were for sale to any patron. They were something of his talent that was his and his alone.
Or rather, that's how they had started. He'd explained that becoming Declan's had meant that all his possessions were no longer his, but the man who held him and loved him enough to see what these creatures meant, and the history of his life they represented, had given them back on the same day he'd accepted Ashton as his own.
Declan had seen the value in having Ash retain the parts of himself that made him most whole. And in turn, they were made dearer as a gift of Declan's continuing trust and faith in him.
"Ever thought of doing a chess set? These fellas look about the right size." Brian asked, looking at the variety of Ash's choices.
"I did think to make a scene chess set, once. It's on my ever expanding to do list."
Michael had crossed over to the display that filled one section of the far wall. Masks, or rather facial studies in mask form – all of Declan in various mediums. Some in wood, some in fired clay, some in marble, each capturing a different quality of his features and facial expressions – from set determination and demand, to impish laughter, to quiet calm. It was the man in many moods, each one as engaging as the man they represented.
"They're amazing, Ash. They look just like him."
"Always so sweet, Misha. Thank you." Ashton weaved his way through the few cloth-covered pieces he was still leisurely working on when in the city, his larger marble sculptures taking up a good amount of floor space. Blocks so heavy they'd had to be brought up in the reinforced service lift located at the back of the building. Referring to the masks, he said, "They're so fragile that I had them mounted so they wouldn't fall to the floor or get jostled." He stopped at a black cabinet nearby, undoing the latch and opening it so that they could see inside. There was another piece set against black velvet, Declan's face shining with a look of pure affection. Shining too because the mask was covered in gold leaf. "Me at my most decadent, he says."
"You do have a flare for the dramatic," Brian patted him on the back. "And the talent to back it up."
A smile and Ash turned to close the cabinet. "While I have you both here, there's something I wanted to show you." They walked over to another worktable where he removed the drape. "These are the models for some of my other projects. Usually the patron is only interested in the finished work, so I get to keep these myself."
He sat on a bench and pulled a few of the clay figures over for them to see. "Some sculptors can see the work emerging as they go, but I've always needed something to build on, especially when I'm using marble. There's too much of a possibility that you could ruin it if you miscalculate along the way. So I start with these."
A dozen figure studies of the male form in various poses, from classical to modern styles, from clothed to nudes. Most clearly designed for scene players judging from the poses they were in. Michael smiled when he saw the model for the slave statue he'd first seen back in Pittsburgh, the memory of its effect on him a cherished one now that he better understood his own nature.
"They're not rough like I'd thought they'd be. It's like you've put in as much attention to detail on these as you did with the finished ones."
"I never can let a thing rest, especially not mostly done. So I usually start the commissioned piece only after these are complete." Turning to Michael, "I wanted to give you an idea of how the statue I'm doing based on Brian's pictures will begin. Once it's done, the clay model will be yours."
A pause, and then Michael began smiling and laughing at the same time. At the other two men's questioning looks, he shook his head. "Sorry, that's really fantastic. Thank you. I just couldn't help but think how satisfying it'll be not being the only one with his ass on display in our home."
"Not to mention his bit and danglies." Ash joined in, leaving Brian standing there rolling his eyes as he lost the inner-struggle to retain his own mirth.
"Go on, yuck it up. Me and my statue-ass will be chowing down with Dec should you manage to follow."
Ashton called after him, "I saw that smile, Brian Kinney. Just so you know I know."
And smile he did as he walked from the room, the sound of two laughing fools at his back.
- - -
"We're never gonna get all this stuff in our luggage." Michael shook his head, slumping over the table as he rested his feet for the first time in hours. Thank god for food courts, not matter on what side of the pond you found yourself.
"We'll get more."
"Stuff?"
"Luggage." Brian said with a straight face. "Practical solution."
Michael wryly replied, "Brian Kinney did *not* just use the word practical."
"Only under dire circumstances, Mikey." Brian looked down at the dozen or so bags surrounding their legs half under the table. "Come the end of next week, this will qualify."
They’d spent a busy morning making a run to the Tate Modern to pay Brian back for their National Gallery time the day before, though Michael had been rather surprised at how much he'd enjoyed the works there himself. A good deal of it had been like a field trip through the land of the bizarre and the bemusing. How some of it could be called art, he didn’t know.
Not that Michael thought he had any grounds upon which to judge.
It was that reaction that had amused Ashton to no end, mostly because there were times when even he had to agree. He’d reasoned that when a person had to spend more time on the explanation of why a work could classify as art than it took to create the piece in the first place – well, that told a story in and of itself.
Brian's taste for the modern and/or odd satisfied, they'd split up for awhile. Ashton left to make a previous appointment, as Brian and Michael grabbed a taxi to Harrods.
Course at this speed, they'd have to hire a freight truck back to Chez Rai.
Not that stopping to shop had deterred Michael from playing tourist when it came to taking a trip or two, or three on the Egyptian escalators. Brian's, "I'll just sit over here holding your purse, dear," had gotten him a shove. But for his good humor, Michael had held his tongue to most, if not all, of Brian's purchases, even though the number of clothes, shoes, gifts and the like was starting to boggle his mind.
It had not distracted him on one point, though. Michael had been adamant that they were going to stop and buy Gus a true Harrods teddy bear. Plush, soft brown with a green sweater embroidered with the store's name in gold thread. It was almost as big as the boy. Michael planned on getting it a companion, too. A Beefeater bear from the Tower of London gift shop. He'd seen them online, and wanted one for his store as well.
"Rage calling Zephyr. Come in, Zephyr." Brian gave Michael a nudge. "Earth to you."
"Cut it out." Michael grinned. "I'm people watching and experiencing price tag shock. I may never recover."
"Tourist," Brian teased.
"Tragic, but true." He added, "Says the man who threw out my dollars to pounds cheat sheet because 'the bank will handle it for us.' As if that was my point for using it in the first place."
"I know your point, and it's not something I want to have spoiling our fun while we're here."
"Litterer."
"You are so...."
"Pathetic." Michael laughed. "I know. I love you, too."
Brian nodded, knowingly and with a smile. "It's a fact." He leaned over, as if to kiss Michael but drew away to add, "Me, too." Then he held still as the words called Michael to him, closing the distance.
- - -
It was a non-descript brownstone storefront in one of the up-scale districts of London, no window displays. No windows. Just a blue door with "Bankston's Custom Leather Goods" displayed in elegant letters on a placard embedded on the wall to the right, with "By Appointment Only" in smaller script below.
"Evan. It's Declan; we're here." After releasing the intercom button, the Englishman looked at his watch. "And on time, it's a miracle." The last was said at a contrite looking Ashton, who was standing back with Brian and Michael as they waited for the purveyor of the shop to open the door.
"Sorry, Master. Lost track of time."
"Lost track of the message, more like." Tone firm, Declan turned back as an austere sounding male voice came over the speaker.
"Welcome, Dr. Rai – please do come in."
"Said the spider to the fly," Brian whispered in Michael's ear, intrigued by all the mystery, or rather exclusivity of their current appointment. It had an ominous quality to it that he couldn't help but tease Michael about.
Michael stepped a bit closer as the door opened, a tall man, very slim and very finely dressed, greeted Declan with quick half bow.
"Dr. Rai, it's been some time." A voice that was prim, but solicitous and smooth. His manner and style speaking to a time decades past, though he couldn’t have been past forty at a look, the man stood back as Declan crossed inside.
"Evan, you know Declan will do for me." It sounded like an oft-repeated phrase, but with little expectation that the other man would cross the line into familiarity. "You're looking well."
“Sir, thank you. Your visit is an honor as always.”
Declan smiled, nodding towards the others. “Ashton you no doubt remember. And these are our friends, Brian and Michael. I trust you to treat them well.”
“Of course, sir.” He turned, welcoming them all into his workshop. “Gentlemen, if you please.” Evan indicated the high back settee, as Dec and Ash sat together. Turning to Brian, he asked, “How may I be of assistance, sir?”
Brian looked at Michael, who was curious, and Declan, who was amused but assuring in his ease. Then at Ash, who seemed pleased, even eager, to witness Brian’s coming gift for Michael and for himself. “Declan told me you have a certain skill, for select clients. And I have this idea. I’d like you to see it done.”
Another half bow, “With pleasure, sir. Shall we begin?”
A wicked break of lips parting on a devilish smile, and Brian nodded – eyes locked on Michael, hungry and hot. “Let’s….”
- - -
“Michael, do it.”
And he had. He’d done as told, taking off his shoes, socks, shirt and still more, coming in the end to stand almost bare in front of a stranger – a bit worried and unsure, but still trusting Brian. He did as directed, standing on a raised platform in a room banked with mirrors as the other walked around and around again, the circling as disconcerting as standing in nothing but his under shorts while he was assessed.
Assessed and sized, that is. Told to move this way, then that. Arms up, arms down, forward then back. Measured again and again as Evan ran his tape from point to point, the man stopping only to write down each figure until he’d mapped Michael from neck to ankle, never uttering a word as to why, or what for.
The what for having been discussed without Michael in a side conversation with Brian and Evan across the room as Dec remained silent with Ashton sliding from his seat to rest at his Master’s feet, avidly watching with a knowing soft smile.
When Evan left them for a moment, Michael quirked an eyebrow at Ashton. “What do you know?”
Declan gave Ash’s hair a quick tug, “Hush.”
A wink at Michael, and Ash answered, “Yes, Master.”
Brian tisked at him, “Not a word, you. I get to tell him.” Stepping up, he came in close, arm circling Michael’s waist until they were touching face to face. “There’s no secret, just a surprise.” His voice low, then getting lower still as he slipped his hands down Michael’s arms to his wrists, pushing them back behind him until Brian held them locked – held Michael locked. “I know how much you like this, unable to move unless I say. Knowing I have the say because you gave me the permission to take away your doubt. To give you, and me, another taste of just how good this can feel.” He leaned in, lips brushing Michael’s ear. “I’m giving us a new toy, or two. Thanks to Declan’s friend.”
“Well, acquaintance more like. Scene players doing favors for other scene players.” Declan shrugged. “Besides, he’s excellent at his work. As I’m sure both Michael and this one will find out.” Another tug at Ash’s hair.
“Me?” Ash asked, smiling. “When?”
“Friday for you.”
“And soon for you.” Brian murmured, as Michael moved forward against him – the smaller man gasping as Brian tightened his grip on Michael’s wrists.
“Mr. Kinney, if you will.” Evan was back, indicating that with Brian’s permission he would begin the fitting.
Michael blinked, trying to think past the warm haze that Brian had induced. He looked to the side. “It looks like a black leather funnel.” A flat black leather funnel, too. With strings. “What is…?”
“Michael.” Uh oh, Dom voice. “Be still, be patient.”
A nod, and Michael agreed, “Yes, sir.” It came out sounding more like he’d try, rather than firm belief that he’d succeed.
Brian smiled, shook his head and then let go. Walking around behind Michael, he told Evan, “Show me.”
And show indeed the man did. Almost half an hour of adjustments noted, alterations to length, material and design, as they worked together to find the perfect fit. One that would restrain, but not endanger. One that locked, make that laced, Michael into his role without even a word needed to set him in his submissive mindset. Until he stood tall, eyes closed so he could focus on his body and the effects of the restraints clasped firm along his arms from an inch above his wrist cuffs, over his elbows and up to mid-biceps.
Michael started a bit as he was shifted, the feel of leather being criss-crossed over his chest and then fastened back, buckled to the long straps that held his arms. “Easy,” a murmur from Brian that sounded both amused and warmly distracted, as if he were reacting himself to the sight of Michael bound. And then again he spoke, his words passing by Michael’s ear as Brian stood in front of him with the fabric of his clothes brushing against Michael’s skin. But the words weren’t for Michael; they were for Evan. “Can you make the adjustments on this and the other by Friday?”
“Certainly, sir. Where should they be delivered?”
Declan’s voice came from across the room, “To ours. You can send them over with my order.”
Brian agreed and then paused as he looked at Michael, taking in the expression of his face and the way he was being so still, so good. Patience imposed. A glance further down and Brian smiled. “Gentlemen, give us a moment?” Declan and Ash rose, Ash chuckling as Dec gave him a light push towards the door. To Evan’s back, Brian added, “There’s no prying eyes, yes – electronic or otherwise?” It was phrased as a question, but the tone bode no less force than the hard edge of demand.
“None, sir. Thank you again. Your patronage is appreciated.” Another slight bow, and Brian was left with Michael alone in the room of mirrors.
Michael’s blind world turned as his face was held and lifted into a harsh kiss, hungry and wet. He was almost desperate for breath when he felt Brian pushing his underwear to the floor as the kiss ended. Then the heat and grip of Brian’s hand coming down over his cock.
“Open your eyes. Look at us.”
Michael did, seeing only Brian at first. Seeing the pleasure he’d brought, always did bring, by his submission – by being ruled by Brian’s desire, by his control. The power his trust made Brian feel, in return, shined evident and burning in his hazel eyes. That alone had Michael not wanting to look away, but he’d been told otherwise, so he did.
His arms wrapped in black, it was the first thing he saw. It looked almost like opera gloves sewn together and laced from top to bottom, braced by the straps running over and under his arms. That is if the restraints were made by a Hollywood glamour inspired seamstress with a hardcore leather kink. Which, okay, that was redundant but probably explained Evan….
And then there was Brian, standing tall and so close. Touching him.
“Us, Michael. Look at us.”
Left, right, everywhere – it was them, a blatant reflection of what they were and what they did to each other. There had been a time when Michael would have had to fight to see past his own insecurity of being one of the pair. But now, given all the time shared, attention given and not a little familiarity with Brian’s fondness for mirrors, Michael could and did *see* them as he should. As Brian did. Two men, wanting and wanted. Equal in both, and to each other.
“There you go,” Brian whispered. Leaning in, he said, “You’re so hard, you’re twitching in my hand.” When Michael unconsciously made to move his arms forward, Brian shook his head. “No you don’t. That’s the point – no moving, no doing anything with your hands until I say you can.” A brief kiss, and then Brian took a step back. A step back, and then to Michael’s surprise, Brian went to his knees. “You can’t do, Michael. But you can take.”
Hands grasped at Michael’s waist, steadying him as Brian set to drive him out of his mind. Both with his mouth and the mind-fuck that was their image reflected back again and again.
“Fuck, ahh.”
Caught up, and captured.
Captive, even as he was allowed to come.
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 6
- - - - - - -
There are no singular direct routes from one destination to another when it comes to London. It was a lesson quickly learned by new venturers, even under the guidance of a member of the regular cast, born and bred.
So it was that the three of them ended up meandering at a stroll through the streets leading off from Covent Garden, stopping to enjoy the antics and enthusiasm of the street performers practicing their trades. If it wasn't silver painted men with black tiger stripes, it was any number of magicians or musicians or both.
And when it wasn’t that, it was Brian wandering towards the shop window displays to look, admire and sometimes scoff at the items he saw. Men’s clothes, shoes, leather goods, it didn’t matter. If something caught his eye, there he was until Michael managed to pull him away with a promise of later. Shopping was for later.
Michael and Brian were too focused on Ash’s continuing tale of the last time he’d been through the square to notice that they were holding hands as they walked, the pair of them at ease and enjoying the day. “I tell you, there were hundreds of them. Hare Krishna devotees everywhere! All decked out in yellows and golds. It was some sort of festival last June when we flew in for the week. Mind you, it wasn’t but a few days later and the entire square was filled again – only this time every available space was jammed in with wrecked cars and the like. Massive monuments of twisted metal, some sort of public safety display. I tell you, if you want to see London at its most diverse, then this is one of *the* places to come.”
And then there it was laid out before them, the open square named for the battle of Trafalgar – a commemoration of Admiral Lord Nelson’s bravery until death at his last siege against Napoleon’s forces.
The square was filled with large fountains, the sound of running water, traffic, the flapping of pigeon wings, and people – crowds of people taking pictures, meeting friends, having a packed lunch, sightseeing, enjoying the day. And of course, the first thing out of Brian’s mouth? A-not-so subtle comment about how phallic the tribute to Nelson was, rising above it all. Column tall, soaring large overhead with the statue of the man himself perched high on top. And at its base, guarding with menace and dark majesty – the four famous bronze lions of which Ashton was so fond.
Answering back, Ash gave Brian a look. “Says a man who comes from a country that honors its first president with something as phallic and tall was the Washington Monument?”
Michael was smiling; energized with the excitement of being in the moment, in a place he’d only seen photos of or on film, looking left and right, all around, enjoying the atmosphere and the vibe of their surroundings. He held out his camera to Ashton, laughing. “Hush you two, or you’ll both be talking about dicks all day.” He grabbed Brian’s hand again, and pulled playfully. “It’s picture time.”
Having already been the victim, uhmm hmm, target of more than a few flashes that day, Brian begrudgingly growled, “Again? Fuck me.” Only to lose his fake bemoaning put-on of a frown, when Michael abruptly turned and planted a kiss on his lips, and pressed a hand down to squeeze just so at Brian’s groin, the touch gone again so fast others easily missed it.
“Not now, but later – it's a promise.”
And then Michael was off at a fast pace, Brian following after the sexual animal he’d helped to cultivate with an amused Ashton at his side.
By the time they’d ventured past all the fountains and managed to squeeze through the crowds to reach the lions, they’d already used a goodly amount of the memory card in the digital camera. Each man took turns at playing photographer, so they’d all manage to have a few with the others in them. Poses were usually silly or a lark as they amused themselves with ribbing and teasing each other. The pigeons making good their escape as Brian waved his arms and grinned as Michael gave him a shove, Ash shooting the scene as they gave chase past a travel group of Japanese tourists – Michael coming in the winner despite Brian’s long-legged advantage when he dove through a narrow gap to make it to the lions first.
Brian grabbed him, giving him a boost up onto the pedestal before climbing up himself. The two of them in luck as their lion became passenger free, which was a rarity given the popularity of their current position. So up they went, Michael astride up front with Brian at his back. Ash called out for them to look his way, the camera already at work as he took their picture again. And then again as Brian began to tickle Michael until he squirmed and laughed. And one more still as Michael twisted around and did what had fast become a habit, stopping Brian’s devilry by adding in some fire of his own – the pair of them kissing, wind in their hair as Brian pressed Michael to the lion’s back. The shared moment seemed to last forever until Ashton’s catcall whistle returned them to their surroundings.
“That’ll be one for the photo album.” Ash teased as they dropped back down beside him. “What we almost got arrested for while on our first day out in London.”
Brian leaned in, whispering something in Michael’s ear to which he nodded. “Okay.” Looking around, Michael spied a couple of women taking pictures of each other nearby. He smiled, walking over and offering to trade taking a group shot – one of them with their camera, and vice versa. A quick snap of them with their 35mm, and he passed them the camera Ash had been holding. Both he and Brian pulled the Englishman between them, waiting for the lady taking the photo to frame the shot so the lion was in it too – and then on the count of three, the both of them turned and planted wet raspberry kisses to Ashton’s cheeks as he began laughing. “Sneaks!”
A thank you to the women, and they were off for the next part of their afternoon, Ash having convinced Brian that since they were already there, “Why not take a turn in the National Gallery before heading off to the Brit Mu?” He continued to sell the idea, “Tell you what. I’ll trade you one National Gallery, for one Tate Modern.” He was playing dirty pool, because the Tate Modern was the one museum in the city that he knew in advance that Brian wanted to see. “Besides, you’ll love the impressionist wing – and there’s the Van Gogh, and the gift shop. And….”
“I’ll go, I’ll go. Shit, are you sure that I’m the only one in advertising?”
Ignoring Brian, Ash said, “And Michael, I'd love to show you the Rembrandt cartoon!”
“Cartoon?” Michael shook his head, “Something tells me you don’t mean as in animation.”
“Nope, it’s basically a sketch done in charcoal, a practice piece for the artist that’s done before he transposes it to canvas as a guide for the painting. The one they have here is of the Madonna and Child. They’ve got it housed in a darkened alcove so that the lights won’t harm it. But of course that closed-in, low-lit atmosphere only adds to the intimacy and beauty of the piece.”
Michael smiled, “Sold.”
The National Gallery it was.
- - -
The three of them managed to clutter their way into the elevator of the Rai building a few hours later, such space as there was with three men and the multitude of gift bags they had rustling in their hands. True to Declan's promise, Ashton had proved one hell of a tour guide when it came to museums. He'd engaged them so much, they'd discovered with surprise that most of the afternoon had dwindled and there wasn't time enough to fully appreciate the "Brit Mu," as Ashton called it. So that was left for another day.
Even Brian had passed the day fully engaged in their surroundings. Ever the ad man, he'd surprised Michael with his interest in how the works could be adapted to use in modern campaigns. It was just the way he worked, picturing the ads into existence. Often the image came to him before the slogan.
They'd all enjoyed the gift store. Obviously. Michael had gotten a few new pins to add to his Mom's rainbow vest, because if it wasn't a rude saying, naked men would serve her bawdy sense of humor. Even if they were from classical art. Plus he’d found a thousand piece puzzle of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” which would play to two of Debbie’s favorite pastimes – putting puzzles together and collecting all things sunflower. There was a time when Michael was a teen when she'd covered every available bit of counter space in the kitchen with sunflower cooking accessories, a collection she still had up in the attic – one among a hundred, no doubt. And last, thanks to a suggestion from Brian, Michael had gotten his mom a small print of the cartoon they’d been introduced to by Ashton.
He’d bought himself one, too, for its beauty, and for the memory of their afternoon.
For the girls, Brian had chosen one item each. He’d picked a small sculpture designed after one of Degas' “Petite Danseuse” for Lindsay. For Mel, he’d stuck to something practical, a silk scarf of Monet's “The Water-Lily Pond” that she could wear with one of her lawyer lady suits. "I'll just let her think that one was your idea," he told Michael. It was typical of Melanie to believe good gestures from Brian where usually the result of him being poked and prodded by Michael – and not in that fun, life affirming sort of way. Though she had less and less to say to the negative the longer he and Michael remained together. It was one of the perks of their changed relationship – proving the naysayers wrong.
Michael got a table book of the National Gallery's collection for the Temmet's new home – the fixer-upper that Emmett had so quickly fallen in love with, and Ted had agreed to buy around four months back. Michael thought the book would appeal to the pair's old world homey interior design, the look of which Emmett had thrown all his talents into completing while Ted was busy overhauling his internet business. There had been a near miss with one of his employees carrying a fake ID, and ever since Ted had let him go, the former accountant had been determined. It was background checks for all, no matter what the man’s dick size.
And for Uncle Vic, they’d gotten a book on Renaissance master painters. Michael thought it would be a good companion to the books Vic had brought home from his trip to Italy with Deb, just a few short years ago. That Vic was still alive and fighting the good fight would make it all the sweeter to revisit the memories with a glad heart.
They all came spilling forth into the living room, shoes kicked off good and proper, only to have Ashton come to an abrupt halt. He literally *stilled* – head straight but eyes down, and hands clasped at his back. He was looking at a pair of red leather spike heeled boots placed on the rack just inside their home.
“Ash?” Michael looked around to see what might be wrong, but then he noticed that they were not alone.
Coming their way, Declan had a woman at his side. Dark, shining long black hair to her waist, she was tall and strong, carrying about her an air of quiet determination that was evident in her at a glance. Her eyes were a unique amber brown, and Michael had the strange impulse to look away when they passed over him – or down, rather – as if it were her due.
"Oh... ” Michael breathed out the sound, barely above a whisper. She was a Dominant. She must be for Ash to have reacted by going from gregarious charm to respecting silence with the rapidity of a flipped switch. He looked to Brian and saw that his lover seemed to share his insight as he placed his free hand on the back of Michael's neck. The gesture was small, but telling as the woman's perusal moved from Michael to Brian followed with a smile.
"Striking, Declan. But then you always have such good taste in friends." Her words near enough to a vocal wink to have Dec shaking his head with a grin.
"Deborah, be nice." A fond admonishment, but one that still carried weight. Declan came to Ash, who stayed in sub formation as he was kissed softly on the forehead in greeting. "At ease, darkling." The last was a murmur, but it caused Ash to smile.
Relaxed, he lifted his eyes. "Yes, Master."
"Greet our guest, Ash."
A half bow, and he said, "Domme James, it is good to see you again."
The woman, Deborah, laughed. "Declan, you have him so polite these days. The old guard will appreciate it. Well, those you’ve allowed to join us at week’s end."
"Some of them will be forever set in their ways. Polite, yes. Groveling to other dominants on hands and knees, never. They know my mind on this. My slave is mine, and does not show subservience to anyone but me." It sounded like an old argument, though Declan's words were amicable enough. Something it seemed he’d had to deal in the past with others not present.
"Nor should he," she agreed and then turned, a woman who knew how to divert the flow of the conversation when needed. "Come, introduce me to these two."
"Madam Deborah James, this is Brian Kinney and his Michael Novotny. They're colonials." The last was said with a chuckle, and a wicked smile.
Brian's, "Good to meet you," was layered with Michael's, "Ma'am."
Deborah nodded, "Charmed." Then she turned to Declan, "Friday, yes?" When he agreed, she said, "Must be off. Enjoy your new prized possessions, dear." A quick goodbye to the others, and she was gone with the closing of the elevator doors.
“She leaves an impression.” Brian remarked, rubbing his side when Michael gave him a nudge. “What?”
Declan agreed, “She always has.” He came to Ash, rubbing his hand over the man’s chest – just a soft glide from left to right. A gesture he did upon occasion, either to comfort or tease. Or in this case, assure. “She’s a good friend to have.”
Brian decided to ask, “So what’s the issue with the old guard? Something we need to know?”
“Not an issue, so much as differences in opinion. The old argument of whether there is only one path to the same destination, or many roads to follow.” Declan took Ash’s hand. “Nothing to worry about. There won’t be any narrow-mindedness allowed; it’s our big day, our way.” A brush of his lips to Ash’s and then he pulled back. “Tea in an hour, then afterwards….” He looked to Brian, “I thought we’d give that club I mentioned a try. The night seems right for Jazz.”
“Are we in for dinner? Or….”
Declan nodded, “I’ve called for delivery. Why don’t you give these two a bit of a tour of your studio? You promised Michael you’d show him your creations, remember.”
“Yes, Master.” Ash agreed, but then asked curiously, “New prized possession?”
“Not a word, that’s for Friday. Now off with you. I’ve calls to make.”
A long, loud exasperated sigh his only vocal protest, Ash did as bid walking down the hall with two amused yanks hard on his heels.
- - -
"I dare you. I do. You can NOT say it without the screw up," Ash declared. "Ten times, fast as you can and no stopping."
Michael took a deep breath, and shot Brian a look when he started to snicker. "You're no help."
Ash nodded, "Exactly. Brian, be supportive." He paused. "Even when you know he's gonna fail."
"Hey!"
"Mikey, just get it over with or this one'll never let us go eat."
"Okay, okay." 1... 2... 3… "When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a little boy I whiddled all the while. When I was a wh... little boy I whittled all the while. When I was a whiddle woy I littled all the lile. Damn it!"
Both Ashton and Brian lost it at the same time, the pair of them cracking up as Michael first glared then joined in. "You are evil."
"Oy, that is my back story you’re slagging off there. But then it’s true. Haven't found a soul who can do it without slipping up." Ash shared, "Not even Declan."
"I'm just surprised you haven't had one of these sticks chucked at your head." Brian said, looking at the box beside one of Ashton's workbenches. It contained several sizes and varieties of wood from which Ash choose to create the miniatures that lined a number of shelves throughout the apartment. Small animals, birds, fantasy creatures and caricatures of people he knew. They were everywhere, ranging from the lifelike to the surreal – each a gift for him to keep. Something he'd been doing since he stole his first pocketknife when he was just ten years old.
No matter what other media he delved into and no matter how large or complex his designs, these were the flights of his fancy that belonged to him, none of which were for sale to any patron. They were something of his talent that was his and his alone.
Or rather, that's how they had started. He'd explained that becoming Declan's had meant that all his possessions were no longer his, but the man who held him and loved him enough to see what these creatures meant, and the history of his life they represented, had given them back on the same day he'd accepted Ashton as his own.
Declan had seen the value in having Ash retain the parts of himself that made him most whole. And in turn, they were made dearer as a gift of Declan's continuing trust and faith in him.
"Ever thought of doing a chess set? These fellas look about the right size." Brian asked, looking at the variety of Ash's choices.
"I did think to make a scene chess set, once. It's on my ever expanding to do list."
Michael had crossed over to the display that filled one section of the far wall. Masks, or rather facial studies in mask form – all of Declan in various mediums. Some in wood, some in fired clay, some in marble, each capturing a different quality of his features and facial expressions – from set determination and demand, to impish laughter, to quiet calm. It was the man in many moods, each one as engaging as the man they represented.
"They're amazing, Ash. They look just like him."
"Always so sweet, Misha. Thank you." Ashton weaved his way through the few cloth-covered pieces he was still leisurely working on when in the city, his larger marble sculptures taking up a good amount of floor space. Blocks so heavy they'd had to be brought up in the reinforced service lift located at the back of the building. Referring to the masks, he said, "They're so fragile that I had them mounted so they wouldn't fall to the floor or get jostled." He stopped at a black cabinet nearby, undoing the latch and opening it so that they could see inside. There was another piece set against black velvet, Declan's face shining with a look of pure affection. Shining too because the mask was covered in gold leaf. "Me at my most decadent, he says."
"You do have a flare for the dramatic," Brian patted him on the back. "And the talent to back it up."
A smile and Ash turned to close the cabinet. "While I have you both here, there's something I wanted to show you." They walked over to another worktable where he removed the drape. "These are the models for some of my other projects. Usually the patron is only interested in the finished work, so I get to keep these myself."
He sat on a bench and pulled a few of the clay figures over for them to see. "Some sculptors can see the work emerging as they go, but I've always needed something to build on, especially when I'm using marble. There's too much of a possibility that you could ruin it if you miscalculate along the way. So I start with these."
A dozen figure studies of the male form in various poses, from classical to modern styles, from clothed to nudes. Most clearly designed for scene players judging from the poses they were in. Michael smiled when he saw the model for the slave statue he'd first seen back in Pittsburgh, the memory of its effect on him a cherished one now that he better understood his own nature.
"They're not rough like I'd thought they'd be. It's like you've put in as much attention to detail on these as you did with the finished ones."
"I never can let a thing rest, especially not mostly done. So I usually start the commissioned piece only after these are complete." Turning to Michael, "I wanted to give you an idea of how the statue I'm doing based on Brian's pictures will begin. Once it's done, the clay model will be yours."
A pause, and then Michael began smiling and laughing at the same time. At the other two men's questioning looks, he shook his head. "Sorry, that's really fantastic. Thank you. I just couldn't help but think how satisfying it'll be not being the only one with his ass on display in our home."
"Not to mention his bit and danglies." Ash joined in, leaving Brian standing there rolling his eyes as he lost the inner-struggle to retain his own mirth.
"Go on, yuck it up. Me and my statue-ass will be chowing down with Dec should you manage to follow."
Ashton called after him, "I saw that smile, Brian Kinney. Just so you know I know."
And smile he did as he walked from the room, the sound of two laughing fools at his back.
- - -
"We're never gonna get all this stuff in our luggage." Michael shook his head, slumping over the table as he rested his feet for the first time in hours. Thank god for food courts, not matter on what side of the pond you found yourself.
"We'll get more."
"Stuff?"
"Luggage." Brian said with a straight face. "Practical solution."
Michael wryly replied, "Brian Kinney did *not* just use the word practical."
"Only under dire circumstances, Mikey." Brian looked down at the dozen or so bags surrounding their legs half under the table. "Come the end of next week, this will qualify."
They’d spent a busy morning making a run to the Tate Modern to pay Brian back for their National Gallery time the day before, though Michael had been rather surprised at how much he'd enjoyed the works there himself. A good deal of it had been like a field trip through the land of the bizarre and the bemusing. How some of it could be called art, he didn’t know.
Not that Michael thought he had any grounds upon which to judge.
It was that reaction that had amused Ashton to no end, mostly because there were times when even he had to agree. He’d reasoned that when a person had to spend more time on the explanation of why a work could classify as art than it took to create the piece in the first place – well, that told a story in and of itself.
Brian's taste for the modern and/or odd satisfied, they'd split up for awhile. Ashton left to make a previous appointment, as Brian and Michael grabbed a taxi to Harrods.
Course at this speed, they'd have to hire a freight truck back to Chez Rai.
Not that stopping to shop had deterred Michael from playing tourist when it came to taking a trip or two, or three on the Egyptian escalators. Brian's, "I'll just sit over here holding your purse, dear," had gotten him a shove. But for his good humor, Michael had held his tongue to most, if not all, of Brian's purchases, even though the number of clothes, shoes, gifts and the like was starting to boggle his mind.
It had not distracted him on one point, though. Michael had been adamant that they were going to stop and buy Gus a true Harrods teddy bear. Plush, soft brown with a green sweater embroidered with the store's name in gold thread. It was almost as big as the boy. Michael planned on getting it a companion, too. A Beefeater bear from the Tower of London gift shop. He'd seen them online, and wanted one for his store as well.
"Rage calling Zephyr. Come in, Zephyr." Brian gave Michael a nudge. "Earth to you."
"Cut it out." Michael grinned. "I'm people watching and experiencing price tag shock. I may never recover."
"Tourist," Brian teased.
"Tragic, but true." He added, "Says the man who threw out my dollars to pounds cheat sheet because 'the bank will handle it for us.' As if that was my point for using it in the first place."
"I know your point, and it's not something I want to have spoiling our fun while we're here."
"Litterer."
"You are so...."
"Pathetic." Michael laughed. "I know. I love you, too."
Brian nodded, knowingly and with a smile. "It's a fact." He leaned over, as if to kiss Michael but drew away to add, "Me, too." Then he held still as the words called Michael to him, closing the distance.
- - -
It was a non-descript brownstone storefront in one of the up-scale districts of London, no window displays. No windows. Just a blue door with "Bankston's Custom Leather Goods" displayed in elegant letters on a placard embedded on the wall to the right, with "By Appointment Only" in smaller script below.
"Evan. It's Declan; we're here." After releasing the intercom button, the Englishman looked at his watch. "And on time, it's a miracle." The last was said at a contrite looking Ashton, who was standing back with Brian and Michael as they waited for the purveyor of the shop to open the door.
"Sorry, Master. Lost track of time."
"Lost track of the message, more like." Tone firm, Declan turned back as an austere sounding male voice came over the speaker.
"Welcome, Dr. Rai – please do come in."
"Said the spider to the fly," Brian whispered in Michael's ear, intrigued by all the mystery, or rather exclusivity of their current appointment. It had an ominous quality to it that he couldn't help but tease Michael about.
Michael stepped a bit closer as the door opened, a tall man, very slim and very finely dressed, greeted Declan with quick half bow.
"Dr. Rai, it's been some time." A voice that was prim, but solicitous and smooth. His manner and style speaking to a time decades past, though he couldn’t have been past forty at a look, the man stood back as Declan crossed inside.
"Evan, you know Declan will do for me." It sounded like an oft-repeated phrase, but with little expectation that the other man would cross the line into familiarity. "You're looking well."
“Sir, thank you. Your visit is an honor as always.”
Declan smiled, nodding towards the others. “Ashton you no doubt remember. And these are our friends, Brian and Michael. I trust you to treat them well.”
“Of course, sir.” He turned, welcoming them all into his workshop. “Gentlemen, if you please.” Evan indicated the high back settee, as Dec and Ash sat together. Turning to Brian, he asked, “How may I be of assistance, sir?”
Brian looked at Michael, who was curious, and Declan, who was amused but assuring in his ease. Then at Ash, who seemed pleased, even eager, to witness Brian’s coming gift for Michael and for himself. “Declan told me you have a certain skill, for select clients. And I have this idea. I’d like you to see it done.”
Another half bow, “With pleasure, sir. Shall we begin?”
A wicked break of lips parting on a devilish smile, and Brian nodded – eyes locked on Michael, hungry and hot. “Let’s….”
- - -
“Michael, do it.”
And he had. He’d done as told, taking off his shoes, socks, shirt and still more, coming in the end to stand almost bare in front of a stranger – a bit worried and unsure, but still trusting Brian. He did as directed, standing on a raised platform in a room banked with mirrors as the other walked around and around again, the circling as disconcerting as standing in nothing but his under shorts while he was assessed.
Assessed and sized, that is. Told to move this way, then that. Arms up, arms down, forward then back. Measured again and again as Evan ran his tape from point to point, the man stopping only to write down each figure until he’d mapped Michael from neck to ankle, never uttering a word as to why, or what for.
The what for having been discussed without Michael in a side conversation with Brian and Evan across the room as Dec remained silent with Ashton sliding from his seat to rest at his Master’s feet, avidly watching with a knowing soft smile.
When Evan left them for a moment, Michael quirked an eyebrow at Ashton. “What do you know?”
Declan gave Ash’s hair a quick tug, “Hush.”
A wink at Michael, and Ash answered, “Yes, Master.”
Brian tisked at him, “Not a word, you. I get to tell him.” Stepping up, he came in close, arm circling Michael’s waist until they were touching face to face. “There’s no secret, just a surprise.” His voice low, then getting lower still as he slipped his hands down Michael’s arms to his wrists, pushing them back behind him until Brian held them locked – held Michael locked. “I know how much you like this, unable to move unless I say. Knowing I have the say because you gave me the permission to take away your doubt. To give you, and me, another taste of just how good this can feel.” He leaned in, lips brushing Michael’s ear. “I’m giving us a new toy, or two. Thanks to Declan’s friend.”
“Well, acquaintance more like. Scene players doing favors for other scene players.” Declan shrugged. “Besides, he’s excellent at his work. As I’m sure both Michael and this one will find out.” Another tug at Ash’s hair.
“Me?” Ash asked, smiling. “When?”
“Friday for you.”
“And soon for you.” Brian murmured, as Michael moved forward against him – the smaller man gasping as Brian tightened his grip on Michael’s wrists.
“Mr. Kinney, if you will.” Evan was back, indicating that with Brian’s permission he would begin the fitting.
Michael blinked, trying to think past the warm haze that Brian had induced. He looked to the side. “It looks like a black leather funnel.” A flat black leather funnel, too. With strings. “What is…?”
“Michael.” Uh oh, Dom voice. “Be still, be patient.”
A nod, and Michael agreed, “Yes, sir.” It came out sounding more like he’d try, rather than firm belief that he’d succeed.
Brian smiled, shook his head and then let go. Walking around behind Michael, he told Evan, “Show me.”
And show indeed the man did. Almost half an hour of adjustments noted, alterations to length, material and design, as they worked together to find the perfect fit. One that would restrain, but not endanger. One that locked, make that laced, Michael into his role without even a word needed to set him in his submissive mindset. Until he stood tall, eyes closed so he could focus on his body and the effects of the restraints clasped firm along his arms from an inch above his wrist cuffs, over his elbows and up to mid-biceps.
Michael started a bit as he was shifted, the feel of leather being criss-crossed over his chest and then fastened back, buckled to the long straps that held his arms. “Easy,” a murmur from Brian that sounded both amused and warmly distracted, as if he were reacting himself to the sight of Michael bound. And then again he spoke, his words passing by Michael’s ear as Brian stood in front of him with the fabric of his clothes brushing against Michael’s skin. But the words weren’t for Michael; they were for Evan. “Can you make the adjustments on this and the other by Friday?”
“Certainly, sir. Where should they be delivered?”
Declan’s voice came from across the room, “To ours. You can send them over with my order.”
Brian agreed and then paused as he looked at Michael, taking in the expression of his face and the way he was being so still, so good. Patience imposed. A glance further down and Brian smiled. “Gentlemen, give us a moment?” Declan and Ash rose, Ash chuckling as Dec gave him a light push towards the door. To Evan’s back, Brian added, “There’s no prying eyes, yes – electronic or otherwise?” It was phrased as a question, but the tone bode no less force than the hard edge of demand.
“None, sir. Thank you again. Your patronage is appreciated.” Another slight bow, and Brian was left with Michael alone in the room of mirrors.
Michael’s blind world turned as his face was held and lifted into a harsh kiss, hungry and wet. He was almost desperate for breath when he felt Brian pushing his underwear to the floor as the kiss ended. Then the heat and grip of Brian’s hand coming down over his cock.
“Open your eyes. Look at us.”
Michael did, seeing only Brian at first. Seeing the pleasure he’d brought, always did bring, by his submission – by being ruled by Brian’s desire, by his control. The power his trust made Brian feel, in return, shined evident and burning in his hazel eyes. That alone had Michael not wanting to look away, but he’d been told otherwise, so he did.
His arms wrapped in black, it was the first thing he saw. It looked almost like opera gloves sewn together and laced from top to bottom, braced by the straps running over and under his arms. That is if the restraints were made by a Hollywood glamour inspired seamstress with a hardcore leather kink. Which, okay, that was redundant but probably explained Evan….
And then there was Brian, standing tall and so close. Touching him.
“Us, Michael. Look at us.”
Left, right, everywhere – it was them, a blatant reflection of what they were and what they did to each other. There had been a time when Michael would have had to fight to see past his own insecurity of being one of the pair. But now, given all the time shared, attention given and not a little familiarity with Brian’s fondness for mirrors, Michael could and did *see* them as he should. As Brian did. Two men, wanting and wanted. Equal in both, and to each other.
“There you go,” Brian whispered. Leaning in, he said, “You’re so hard, you’re twitching in my hand.” When Michael unconsciously made to move his arms forward, Brian shook his head. “No you don’t. That’s the point – no moving, no doing anything with your hands until I say you can.” A brief kiss, and then Brian took a step back. A step back, and then to Michael’s surprise, Brian went to his knees. “You can’t do, Michael. But you can take.”
Hands grasped at Michael’s waist, steadying him as Brian set to drive him out of his mind. Both with his mouth and the mind-fuck that was their image reflected back again and again.
“Fuck, ahh.”
Caught up, and captured.
Captive, even as he was allowed to come.
TBC...
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