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USQaf Fic: "Embraced..." - by Xof - Br/M - Part 8 of 15
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 8
- - - - - - -
“What’d you call a tattoo artist who has a sneezing fit?”
“I have no idea.” Michael answered from his perch on the lift chair.
“Picasso.” Hugh proclaimed.
Brian groaned from the couch where he was laid out, looking through a collection of Hugh’s work. “I’ll have to tell that one to Lindz,” he told Michael, who smiled for a bit before his face grew serious, focused as he was on what was happening and how Ashton was reacting to it, his mother hen instincts in full gear.
“Ohhh saints be, man. Stop ’im now before he gets to the knock-knock jokes.” Ash groused in a raspy voice, the words blending in with a gasp as the needles hit a particularly sensitive spot.
“Lad, never knock the skills of a man who’s driving needles into your skin,” Hugh joked. “I could take it personal, like.”
“Bastard’s lucky I’m a bit of a masochist,” was Ash’s muttered reply. Good natured, but still said a bit begrudgingly.
"You're the one who wants it done in a day. Same as those years back when we did your wrists," Hugh said, leaning in close to Ash's back as he carefully passed his hand and the machine over the last of the tattoo's outline. "Polar opposites, I tell you. You gripe and moan to distract yourself, and Declan – he was as still and silent as the grave."
"You make him sound like a vampire."
"And a fine one he'd make. Course he'd probably wind up being all cape, fangs and hair."
"Hugh!"
"Hugh, nothing. And keep still," the man laughed. "It's you I've to blame for the state of Annie's reading habits after all. It's vampires this, and werewolves that. I swear, I've even heard the woman whispering 'Jean Claude' in her sleep." As Ashton started laughing hard enough to shake, Hugh leaned back holding his gloved hands and the needle gun away from the man's moving skin. "Look at ya. You're lucky I've got to change to the mags, so it's a time out for you."
It was their third break since he'd started, which was a sign of how long they'd been at it. Brian got up and stretched his legs as Ash got his breath back and closed his eyes to relax. Coming up beside Michael, Brian whistled as he took a look at their friend's back. Ash's skin was still a bit shiny from the ointment they'd applied before starting, but rose up slightly along the now black inked lines that made up the design he'd asked Hugh to adapt for him from an original piece. Tinged bright pink by all the needlework and the constant rubbing of a cloth to wipe away ink and whatnot, "You look like you've got a bad sunburn." It was the first analogy that Brian came up with.
"Charmer." Ash sounded tired, his voice soft like it'd been that morning. “The red fades afterwards.”
Michael touched his hand. "Can I get you anything?"
Ash smiled, but didn't open his eyes. "No, Misha." He was sounding a bit in a zone, as if he were happy but distanced. Not falling asleep really, just drifting around in his mind's eye. “m good.”
Brian turned to Michael, scratching his fingers over the hair that graced his lover's chin. "Hey."
Michael took hold of Brian's hips and smiled up at him, "Barn."
They both shared a goofy grin since it was one of their older jokes from years and youth past. Right up there with TUMS=SMUT. The kiss that came after was sweet, and slow, and very adult.
"Told you they were cute." Ash was blinking up at them, talking to Hugh as the other man finished switching out his needles for the shading magnums.
"Aye, they do make a handsome pair." He looked over Ashton's back, "How are you feeling?"
"Like if I drank water, I'd spring a leak." At Hugh's muttered, 'Always a comedian,' Ash answered seriously. "I'm riding it, so I'm good. I'll come down later, you know that."
"I do know, but you know me back – I'll keep asking."
"I love you, too." Ash closed his eyes again, settling his arms more comfortably. "So how's it looking?"
"Beautiful." That was Michael. "Intense." That was Brian. Both speaking over each other.
Hugh replied, "Sounds about right. Beautifully intense." He leaned in towards Ash. "Though I'm thinking it'll be one of my best, so I'm biased."
Brian walked around and squatted down to Ashton’s level. “You certainly aren’t a man to do things by halves.” He paused, and then ruffled Ash’s hair as he stood up. “Declan will love it.”
Ash nodded, doing his best not to move as Hugh wheeled the chair back up to him. “That’s my hope.” As the man snapped on a new pair of gloves and then checked his equipment, Ashton looked at Michael. “Still fascinated?”
“Hours under a needle and you’re still teasing,” Michael laughed, his cheeks feeling a bit warmer. He listened as the buzz of the machine started to mix once more with the background music. “I guess a lot of folks get tattoos because it’s trendy or they want to seem cool.”
“Or they’re drunk. Lost a bet,” Hugh winked.
“But this isn’t about any of that.” Michael nodded his head towards Ash. “I never thought of it as a gift before now. It’s like a….”
“Declaration.” Brian cut in. “To Declan.”
“To a degree. These were my declaration,” Ash moved his wrists. “This,” he paused. “Is for us both. My gift, my thanks, my hope. It’s my life. And his.”
Michael put an arm around Brian’s hips, looking up at him with a smile. “It’s *their* always.” The meaning shared as Brian leaned in and kissed him on his forehead, fingers coming up to press the platinum medallion that hung from Michael’s collar against his skin. The ‘always’ engraved on the underside was theirs. When Brian remained close, his fingers tracing over the A on top, Michael leaned up to speak in his ear. “You’re thinking so hard, I can almost hear it. What about?”
Brian just flicked the medallion and grinned before stepping back. “I’m thinking Chinese. Hugh, know of a good place that’ll deliver?”
“Menu’s under the phone by the computer.” He looked back to the design he’d been inking in, then up at Ash. “Ready for the shading? Or do you need more time?”
Shifting a bit, Ash rested his face against the pillow Hugh handed him. “I’d say do your worst, but it’s your best I’m paying for.” He chuckled when his friend popped him on the leg with his free hand. “Bully.” Taking a breath, he said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
“This bit’s gonna be the finer detailing; gotta add the sense of depth. Bring ’em to life, yeah. So be good, and be still.”
A snort, “Now who sounds like a dominant, Mr.-That’s-Your-Scene-Not-Mine?”
“Ashton,” Hugh said. “Keep it up, and you’ll have smartarse etched across your pretty hide.”
Ash turned his grin into the pillow, biting his lower lip to keep from answering back as Michael and Brian looked on and laughed.
- - -
“Ash. Ash. Whoa, easy. Yeah, that’s it.” Brian voice was equal parts amused and aggravated. “Standing now, lean on me.”
Ashton, who was at best a little worse for wear – okay, make that happily blah-do, blinked up at him and grinned sloppily. “Just a little drunk punched. Uhmm, punch drunk.”
“No, you’re just drunk.” Brian laughed as Michael came into Declan and Ash’s bedroom to help him with getting their friend settled.
“No, sir. I’m punch, that’s me.” Ash blinked, and then pointed. “That makes you Judy. Punch, Judy, get it?” Just as fast as it started, his humor ended and he wandered onto a new topic as he was seated on the bed. “God, you’re really tall.” He smiled as Michael came to sit beside him, telling him, “You’ve got your own jungle gym, just grab hold and climb.”
Michael snorted. “Yep, and he has the best handlebar I’ve ever played with.” He looked at Brian who was keeping Ash from falling back onto the bed, and hence onto his bandaged back – ouch. “He’s totally wasted.”
“Blame Hugh.” The man’s one more for the road had turned into two, then more than two. Ash hadn’t really seemed too affected until they got him into the cab home, then his adrenaline dropped and wham, in came the alcohol high.
“Okay, Ash. Look at me.” Michael was using his I-Know-You’re-Trashed voice, soft and happy – the one meant to sooth and guide. “We need to put you to bed, so you can sleep a little. All right?”
“Not tired,” Ash frowned. Then smiled, “Telly! Dec said we could.”
Confused, Brian asked, “What’s he talking about?”
Michael jumped back as Ashton made a sudden move for the nightstand drawer, managing to pull out a remote, which he then waggled in the air like a prize. Grinning, Michael got it. “He gave you permission to watch television while he was gone.”
“Let’s get him into the bed; he can lie on his stomach while he watches,” Brian reasoned. He wasn’t usually so fastidious when it came to drunken friends, but this one had been left literally and figuratively in their hands. “We can line the pillows around him so he won’t roll over.”
“Okay,” Michael made to slide off the bed so he could nab the pillows on the other side, but Ash made a grab for his hand.
“Stay! Both stay. Lots of channels, so little time.” He thrust the remote at Brian like a bribe. “Yes?”
Shaking his head, Brian grinned. “Tell you what. We’ll stay, and I’ll let you keep the remote. But… ” The grin turned into a full on smile. “You have to give up your clothes.”
Ever an uninhibited soul, Ash happily agreed. “I can do that.” And promptly tried to remove the enormous t-shirt he’d been given by Hugh while still holding the remote.
Michael ended up giving him a hand with the shirt, making sure it cleared the bandages without snagging, while Brian got Ashton out of his jeans. When the Englishman tried to pull off his boxer briefs, Brian stopped him. “This isn’t a clothing optional sleepover, now up with you.”
Ash climbed up slowly, with a grumbled, “Bossy much?” Then he slid down in the middle of the bed and pushed a button on the remote. The cabinet at the foot of the extra king sized bed opened as a large television came up from its hiding place. “I love telly.”
It was said with such an emphatic sigh that Michael had to bite back a laugh as he searched through Ash’s discarded jeans. Pulling out the paper that Hugh had given them before leaving, Michael checked over the instructions, not that he wouldn’t end up reading it again come morning when they removed Ash’s bandages. He’d volunteered to help Ashton out until Declan received his gift the next night and took over. The task being to watch out for Ash and to help him take care of the tattoo like a good patient. Cleaning, ointment – the works. Especially the ointment, repeated every few hours. Something Ash couldn’t do on his own given the size and placement, not to mention presently being a tad drunk and the coming hangover tomorrow.
Brian handed over the tube that Hugh had given him earlier. “I’m going to get some water and juice from the kitchen. Want anything?”
“Soda.”
“Ice cream.” Ash added, never taking his eyes from the screen.
Michael gave Brian a squeeze, hugging him sideways. “Better bring a tray.”
Rolling his eyes, Brian walked out with a parting, “Slave driver.”
“I heard that!” Ashton’s words followed after him down the hall.
- - -
A crack of light eased through the parted drapes onto the wall to at side of the bed, morning's announcement of a new day. As time passed, the sun came further into the room until it shown over two tangled pairs of feet that lie bare below two sets of denim-clad legs. The warmth touched the sleepers as it spread across the room and up their bodies, calling one of them to wake as he blinked a bit, then shut his eyes and tried to turn back into dark sleep.
That proved an impossibility when out of nowhere a flying hand unconsciously whacked Michael against the ear, causing him to start and groan in pain, now very much awake.
"Brian?" Squinting a bit as he shifted up, rubbing at his ear, Michael saw that the still sleeping Brian hadn't been the culprit as yet another whack landed – this time across his hip. "Ash?" He reached to give his friend a gentle nudge. "Ashton, wake up."
They were all three lying horizontal across the middle of the bed with Brian closest to the end, Michael in the middle and Ash asleep between him and the pillows they'd put against the headboard so he wouldn't have room to turn over before he'd gone to sleep. Best laid plans and all that. They'd meant to watch a little television and then once their friend had drifted off – sleeping too heavily to sleepwalk due to the alcohol, then Brian and Michael would go to their room. Little had they understood the Englishman's stamina for all things boob-tube related; hence here they were, the two of them having fallen asleep before their host while still in their clothes.
And now here Michael was, sandwiched against Brian who was dead to the world and Ash who was lost in a bad dream. Michael gave him another nudge, holding the man's hand down when he next tried to swing. "Wake up, Ash."
"Wha–?" Brian sounded gruff, coughing a bit as he opened his eyes. He sat up, "What's he doing?"
“Right now, hitting me.”
“Why?” Not that Brian waited for an answer as he reached down and pulled at the man's toes. Hard.
A surprised burst of noise, and Ash lifted his head as he jerked his foot away from Brian's reach. "Bloody hell, owe!" Hands reaching for his head, Ash moaned. "Kill me."
"You were having a nightmare." Michael told him.
Ash paused, pressing his face back into the pillow. Then he murmured, "Large men, chasing me with hypodermic needles." He shuddered, and then winced at the twinge of his tender back. "Bugger. That would be why then."
"Which is worse, the head or your back?" Brian got up, holding out a water bottle he'd brought in the night before – the lone soldier that had lasted as Ash had drunk its comrade at Michael's insistence.
"Take your pick, I think my head's just making me more aware of the other." He slowly knelt up, his stomach growling as he did. "But I'm too hungry to be hung over."
"You were sobering up pretty well by the time you went to sleep, so... ” Michael was guessing, as he got up and came around to Ash's side. "Let's get you some aspirin, and then I can help you with what Hugh said we needed to do for this." He laid his hand on Ash's shoulder, smiling as the other man muttered agreement and then left the bed. Once Ashton made it to the bathroom, Michael asked Brian, "What do you think we should do about breakfast?"
"I'll go scramble some bacon and burn some eggs, while you get to play nursemaid."
Michael snorted, "Yes, dear."
After that, they all started moving a bit quicker – more awake once breakfast was devoured, more refreshed after cleaning up and changing clothes. There seemed to be an underlining current of passivity about their plans for the day; none of them put forth any other options other than spending time in before their big night to come. In the end, they just ended up hanging out, listening to music and talking until the afternoon had come and the day was half gone.
Feeling better, Ashton kept teasing Brian after Michael helped him reapply ointment on his tattoo, saying how fortunate he was to have a lover like Michael. “Sooo good with his hands.” When Michael’s face had gone half red, Ash said more seriously, “You’ve a talent for care-giving, Michael. That nature or nurture?”
Michael shrugged, but Brian told him. “Deb once told me that she thought it was your greatest talent, caring so much. So well.”
“She said that?”
“She did.” Brian raised his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, and then leaned in to press his forehead against Michael’s. “Woman’s got a point.”
“She’s also got a red wig.” Michael shook his head, sounding happy.
Before Brian could join in with a fond jibe, they were all surprised by a buzz coming from the intercom by the elevator entrance. The sound usually signaled a delivery from downstairs. Ash went to answer it. “Evan’s here.”
Brian’s expression changed with the news to one that was deliciously feral. So much so that Michael asked warily, “What did you do?”
“Anything I choose to,” Brian answered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s time to play.”
Michael swallowed nervously, “You look like you could eat me alive.” At Brian’s slow nod, he asked, “What’s the game?”
“Just consider it a little turn at strip and show.”
- - -
"It'll never fit."
"Sir, I can assure you they *always* fit." Evan's voice still held his quiet formality, but it was the emphasis in his phrasing that had Brian smiling as Michael stood in front of a mirror, eyeing the article being held up by the designer. It was a matter of skill, and it was evident that Evan was very aware of his own.
"Evan, let's check on what you've brought for me. Give them some time alone," Ash, ever the diplomat, called the man from the room, leaving with a wink to both men as they exited down the hall.
Brian picked up the shirt Michael was doubtful of, “Take off your clothes.”
Understanding that it was an order, not a request – Michael nodded, and pulled off the t-shirt he’d changed into after he’d showered earlier. The shirt, then the sleep pants he liked to walk around in on lazy days when they stayed inside, and weren’t …well, engaged in other – naked – pursuits.
Speaking of which….
Brian drew his eyes down Michael’s frame, enjoying the warmth he knew his gaze caused the other man to feel. Throwing the shirt onto the bed, he reached into the garment bag and took out the pants. Thin, soft and gunmetal gray with just a bit of silver sheen, the leather was sensual to the touch. Brian couldn’t wait to feel them stretched over Michael’s skin.
Kneeling down, Brian gave Michael’s foot a teasing thump. “Shake a leg.”
Michael stepped in and tried to stay still as Brian slowly brought the leather up his body and pulled it over his hips. He failed to keep that stillness when Brian reached in to adjust his sex inside. Clutching Brian’s arm, Michael closed his eyes. “Bri… ” He was too distracted to know if he was asking for Brian to stop, or go further.
“Shhh,” Brian eased his hand out and carefully fastened the zipper, buttoning the waist. He took a moment to run his hands over Michael's backside, enjoying the feel of the leather as it perfectly molded over his curves. Drawing back, he looked down and nodded in approval at the design. He'd told Evan to start with basic rock star with a dash of well worn to scuff it up, but to mix a bit of Goth punk into the design. Which reminded him. “Not done yet, hold on.”
Michael opened his eyes as Brian pulled three belts from the same bag. He looked them over with a pleased sound, one that indicated Brian approved of Evan’s choices.
First, he threaded the simplest belt – black with metallic silver stitching and a pewter buckle, through the loops around Michael's waist. Then he took the next, larger belt – silver leather with black embossed geometric designs along the length and width of it and worked it around, feeding one end under the first belt on Michael's left side. Then Brian brought it around to the front, buckling it on the right so that it hung in a sweep, low on Michael's right hip. The buckle on the second belt was a large silver Celtic clasp, one that shone when the light hit it.
Then Brian picked up belt three. It was black leather with a high glossed silver stud design running down the length of the piece. The studs were in blocks of five by eight rows with an inch of black showing through and between as each block was repeated. The overall effect drew the eye as the studs flashed back any light that touched their surface, which is what Brian had wanted when he'd requested it be adapted to the leather pants Michael was wearing. Adapted in that this belt in particular was made to be a part of the pants, to be attached in a way that Brian had specified and Evan had been glad to incorporate into the design.
Kneeling back down, Brian turned Michael so that he could see the hidden snap closures running along the back and inner thigh of Michael’s right leg. Just above the knee, up to just under his groin. Brian buckled the belt, and then looped it. “Step into it.”
Game but still wondering where Brian was going with all this, Michael put his foot in the center of the circles and watched as Brian pulled the belt up his leg. Once over the knee, Brian started matching up the snaps on the back of the belt with the ones sewn into the pants. After he was done, he sat back and nodded. “Take a look.”
Michael turned to the mirror. “Whoa.” The belt circled his thigh snuggly about three inches above his knee, then crisscrossed in the back to come round again about six inches higher to circle tight around his thigh again, just below his crotch. He turned around, looking from all sides at the effect of the belts and how they hugged him. “I….”
“Wait,” Brian stood up and pulled the shirt that couldn’t possibly fit right over Michael’s head. Funny how it did indeed fit – skin tight, true, but meant to be. It was made of a really soft feeling transparent net fabric. Intentionally made to look as if it were half torn, with rips and ragged ends, the shirt was really two different pieces sewn together – the under bit made of silver metallic gray, with the outer being transparent black. And like the rest, there was a shimmer and sheen to both sections that was accented by the rest of what Michael was wearing.
Brian gave the sleeves a shove up Michael’s arms so that his ever-present cuffs showed. Then he reached up and pulled at the neckline until it ripped and hung low enough that Michael’s collar wasn’t obstructed. Another small jerk, and he had a hint of collarbone showing too.
When Michael gave him a look like he was nuts, Brian grinned. “I remember too, you know. Senior year, the two of us holed up in your room practicing on second-hand guitars and that amp of death. The one that almost got me electrocuted once.”
Michael laughed, “Robert Smith-wannabes.”
Brian nodded. “We never made it past the first few cords,” he said. “But now, tonight… ” A nod to the mirror, “Take a look.”
“Whoa.” Even Michael had to admit he looked, well… good. All he had to do was see Brian’s hungry expression to know that. As for himself, he liked it. He more than liked it. It made him feel like he’d reached a level of cool that he’d always thought beyond him as a teen. “Thank you,” he said, meeting Brian’s eyes in the glass. Both of them knew that it was for more than the clothes.
“Welcome.” Brian hugged him from behind, arms around Michael’s waist. “So what do you think? Spiky hair, some eyeliner and I’ll have my own rock star by my side tonight.”
“Lord, Ashton’ll be making plans for me the minute he sees all this.” Michael nudged Brian as the taller man rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder, his hand rubbing at the patch of skin that showed a couple inches below the shirt’s tattered, cut hem. “And you. That’s why you got me those boots the other day.” Black half boots with silver buckles on the sides; they were a good compliment to Michael’s outfit and clearly a planned choice.
“Guilty.”
Turning to look back at the bed, Michael asked, "And that? Is that what I think it is?" In front of him sat a long and a tad ominous black box with Evan's signet embossed on the top.
Brian gave Michael's ass a pop with the flat of his hand before stepping back. "Evan's as fast as Declan said he'd be." When Michael went to open it, Brian pressed it shut. "Michael. Not now, that's for later." Dom voice.
Knowing that time was growing short before they all had to start getting ready, Michael still gave Brian a quick, "Pretty please, Mister Sir." Worth a try.
Brian snorted, "And speaking of killing Ash." He took the box and slid it under the bed, decision made. Getting to play with the finished version of Michael’s arm restraints could wait for another day. “Time for you to go make sure party-boy is getting a move on.”
“Spoilsport. What’ll you be doing?”
“Sport, yes. Spoil – not a chance. Which means, tick tock. Off you go.”
Brian had a garment bag of his own to play with.
- - -
“La, look at you! Misha, that’s too perfect. Give us a turn.”
Michael did a spin, coming back around with his arms spread wide. Dropping them, he looked around, “Where’s Evan? I wanted to tell him thanks.”
“He’s just off; had another stop to make.” Ashton picked up a garment bag from the bed and hung it from the back of the bathroom door. Turning, he caught Michael staring at his back and smiled. “Lend a hand?” He was bare from the waist up, letting his tattoo breathe but he needed to make sure it didn’t dry out.
“Ointment?”
“Yeah, just have a care for your clothes.”
After washing his hands in the bathroom, Michael grabbed the tube and sat on the bed as Ashton faced away. Gently dabbing along the inked skin, he said, “The red’s faded a lot.”
“Cheers, then.”
“Your shirt’s not like mine, is it? Cause Hugh said no tight clothing for awhile.”
Michael could hear the smile his mothering put in Ash’s voice as he replied, “Taken care of. Besides, I’ve a feeling I won’t be wearing it for long.”
“Stop teasing; tell me.”
“I’ll show you, in a bit. Then we’ll need to finish off your look with hair, and….”
Michael interrupted. “Eyes. I told Brian you’d pounce on those.” He was laughing as Ash looked back over his shoulder with a wink.
“I know what works. Too bad I don’t have that silver eyeliner we used at Havenshire.”
“Oh god.” Michael groaned at the memory. It had been one of the wilder “looks” Ash had given him, but still – the drama had been more than effective given Brian’s reaction.
A couple more minutes and Michael was done. He wiped his hands on a towel as Ash went into the bathroom to use a hand mirror to see the reflection of his back.
When Ash caught him looking, okay staring, at it again, he asked, “Ever think about it? Having one done. Smaller, granted, but… ”
“I… ” Michael stopped, thought about it and then said, “Years ago. Almost did it once when Brian was off in college. But I always ended up talking myself out of it.”
Ash unzipped the garment bag, but turned back before opening it. “Like you did with being a submissive?”
That surprised Michael, because he had never thought about it that way. “A bit, yeah.”
“Well, you dared to do that when the right time and the right man came along; maybe this’ll be the same.” It was an off-handed comment, Ashton’s attention already wandering back towards the garment bag. “Here we go.”
First the shirt, lightweight and expensive – it was a dress tux cut shirt designed with a twist. No buttons down the front. Which meant it was suppose to be worn open and loose, except for the sleeves which had cufflinks already in place. Celtic love knots, in silver or platinum. “Very nice.” Ash brushed a finger along the crisp collar. “I’ll have to wait until the ointment absorbs.” He hung it on the closet door, nearby.
Next he brought out the pants, “Oh, sweet heaven.” Ash was smiling, large and bright. It was instant adoration. “Look at these.” Not that he gave Michael a chance as he jerked down the pajama bottoms he was wearing – the ones he’d pulled out from the back of a bureau, old, threadbare and barely worn anymore unless he was alone. Just as quickly, he disappeared into the bathroom as Michael fought not to laugh at his retreating backside.
“Fuck me. I’m in love! Misha, come see.”
Jet-black stretch denim from the back, they were waist-less and skin tight with silver stitched pockets – all of which looked damn good on a man with a body like Ash’s. But then he turned around, and Michael knew why he was so happy. The pants had been cut so that from mid-shins to the tops of his legs, the denim gave way to leather – black and smooth, molded to his body over knees and thighs, denim from shin to ankle. And denim from the low-slung top to his crotch, they were sewn together with silver stitches and fastened with a silver zipper, and topped off with a love knot button that matched the cufflinks.
“Shit, you’re gonna kill him the minute you walk in the door.” Michael grinned. “Those are amazing.”
Ash held up his hand, “Wait. Wait a sec.” He disappeared, then was back sitting on the commode as he pulled on a pair of black boots he’d had in the closet. Bit of a heel, pointed toes and shined up – they were a great match. Pulling the pant legs down over the top of the boots, he stood and asked, “Now how does it all look?”
“Dangerous.”
Ashton looked in the mirror, angling to see his back, then forward again. There was a smile on his face as he breathed out, “Darkling, indeed.”
- - -
"Where *is* that man of yours?"
Michael turned from the dressing mirror where Ash had just finished showing him his handiwork after fixing Michael's hair – a tad mussed with a small amount of shine threaded through by Ash's fingers using a special mouse he kept on hand. But no answer came as his eyes locked on Brian coming into the room as if on cue.
“Blimey, would you look at him.” Ashton filled the silence as Michael walked straight to Brian, as if drawn by a magnet. “I don’t know who’s the luckier man between you,” their friend smiled.
Michael, if he’d been capable of comment, would have gladly said there wasn’t a comparison, though Brian would have disagreed. But Michael had lost the ability to do anything but stare, mesmerized by the man who was his.
Magnificent.
It was the only word he could put to the image that was Brian Kinney in black and china red. Dress shoes, perfectly shined. Tuxedo trousers with sharp pressed lines. Red silk sash, wrapped around his waist and tied off on the side with the ends flowing down on the left with small tasseled edges. And then above, he wore a tight sleeveless black leather vest with flared collar that was clearly custom cut with ribbed vertical black stitching from waist to neck, each line about an inch apart from left to right.
Fastened down the front with silver clasps that looked like they'd been taken from a Tudor period film, it was a style that followed through as Brian turned slowly so Michael could see the rest. The back was Chinese silk, red from neck to waist, but with the added feminine flair of being corseted – directly juxtaposed with the masculine leather of the front. Thin black strings were threaded through lacing rings on either side, crisscrossing his lower back as it cinched the garment together and pulled the leather tighter to Brian's tall frame.
"How the hell did you get into that on your own?”
“Trade secret.” Brian smirked as Ashton made a show of fanning his face in response to Brian's outfit, but he turned his attention back to Michael as his lover came to him.
Standing close enough to almost touch, Michael did just that – reaching out with something close to reverence. He traced the warmth of Brian’s exposed arms – strong, firm and powerful. His gaze followed everywhere he touched, from Brian's shoulders to wrists, stopping to run his fingers over the etched initials found on Brian's leather cuff.
Smiling, Michael ran his palms over the leather that covered Brian's chest. Then he headed back around Brian’s sides to the silk and ties. Michael wasn’t even aware that he’d closed his eyes to absorb the sensations, to enjoy them, until Brian’s voice came and his focus shifted.
“Mikey.” Brian stopped for a moment as Michael looked at him, the pleasure visible there in his brown eyes a satisfying turn even for a man who was well aware of his own reflection. “You like?" It was evident in his voice that he was amused, but also gratified by Michael's appreciative daze.
“I love it,” Michael whispered. He rose up to kiss Brian, and then smiled with such pride. “Beautiful.” Both the man, and his clothes.
Brian nodded, joking, “But you’re biased.” Giving Michael a squeeze, his hands traveled for a moment over his lover’s backside before he let go of the newly flustered Michael.
“How’d you hide all this?” Michael knew the outfit hadn’t been in their things on the plane.
Looking over at Ashton, Brian replied, “His Master can be a very resourceful man.” Ominous, that.
“Don’t I know it,” Ash said, wistfully.
Grinning at the yearning that was clear in Ashton’s voice, Brian gave the man a once over. “He’s got damn good taste, to boot. You look like sex walking.”
A half bow, and Ash said, “Thank you, sir.”
Brian clapped his hands together once. “So, whadda you say? Shall we get the bride to the church on time?”
Michael covered his mouth, but still failed to hide his laughter as Ash snarked back, “That’s to the gallery, thank you. Some attention to detail, please.”
A playful nudge from Brian to Michael, and the taller man leaned in to whisper – rather loudly, “Think he can say handful?”
But it wasn’t Michael who answered, “Potentially not as quick as wanker, no.”
Leave it to Ash. Every time.
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 8
- - - - - - -
“What’d you call a tattoo artist who has a sneezing fit?”
“I have no idea.” Michael answered from his perch on the lift chair.
“Picasso.” Hugh proclaimed.
Brian groaned from the couch where he was laid out, looking through a collection of Hugh’s work. “I’ll have to tell that one to Lindz,” he told Michael, who smiled for a bit before his face grew serious, focused as he was on what was happening and how Ashton was reacting to it, his mother hen instincts in full gear.
“Ohhh saints be, man. Stop ’im now before he gets to the knock-knock jokes.” Ash groused in a raspy voice, the words blending in with a gasp as the needles hit a particularly sensitive spot.
“Lad, never knock the skills of a man who’s driving needles into your skin,” Hugh joked. “I could take it personal, like.”
“Bastard’s lucky I’m a bit of a masochist,” was Ash’s muttered reply. Good natured, but still said a bit begrudgingly.
"You're the one who wants it done in a day. Same as those years back when we did your wrists," Hugh said, leaning in close to Ash's back as he carefully passed his hand and the machine over the last of the tattoo's outline. "Polar opposites, I tell you. You gripe and moan to distract yourself, and Declan – he was as still and silent as the grave."
"You make him sound like a vampire."
"And a fine one he'd make. Course he'd probably wind up being all cape, fangs and hair."
"Hugh!"
"Hugh, nothing. And keep still," the man laughed. "It's you I've to blame for the state of Annie's reading habits after all. It's vampires this, and werewolves that. I swear, I've even heard the woman whispering 'Jean Claude' in her sleep." As Ashton started laughing hard enough to shake, Hugh leaned back holding his gloved hands and the needle gun away from the man's moving skin. "Look at ya. You're lucky I've got to change to the mags, so it's a time out for you."
It was their third break since he'd started, which was a sign of how long they'd been at it. Brian got up and stretched his legs as Ash got his breath back and closed his eyes to relax. Coming up beside Michael, Brian whistled as he took a look at their friend's back. Ash's skin was still a bit shiny from the ointment they'd applied before starting, but rose up slightly along the now black inked lines that made up the design he'd asked Hugh to adapt for him from an original piece. Tinged bright pink by all the needlework and the constant rubbing of a cloth to wipe away ink and whatnot, "You look like you've got a bad sunburn." It was the first analogy that Brian came up with.
"Charmer." Ash sounded tired, his voice soft like it'd been that morning. “The red fades afterwards.”
Michael touched his hand. "Can I get you anything?"
Ash smiled, but didn't open his eyes. "No, Misha." He was sounding a bit in a zone, as if he were happy but distanced. Not falling asleep really, just drifting around in his mind's eye. “m good.”
Brian turned to Michael, scratching his fingers over the hair that graced his lover's chin. "Hey."
Michael took hold of Brian's hips and smiled up at him, "Barn."
They both shared a goofy grin since it was one of their older jokes from years and youth past. Right up there with TUMS=SMUT. The kiss that came after was sweet, and slow, and very adult.
"Told you they were cute." Ash was blinking up at them, talking to Hugh as the other man finished switching out his needles for the shading magnums.
"Aye, they do make a handsome pair." He looked over Ashton's back, "How are you feeling?"
"Like if I drank water, I'd spring a leak." At Hugh's muttered, 'Always a comedian,' Ash answered seriously. "I'm riding it, so I'm good. I'll come down later, you know that."
"I do know, but you know me back – I'll keep asking."
"I love you, too." Ash closed his eyes again, settling his arms more comfortably. "So how's it looking?"
"Beautiful." That was Michael. "Intense." That was Brian. Both speaking over each other.
Hugh replied, "Sounds about right. Beautifully intense." He leaned in towards Ash. "Though I'm thinking it'll be one of my best, so I'm biased."
Brian walked around and squatted down to Ashton’s level. “You certainly aren’t a man to do things by halves.” He paused, and then ruffled Ash’s hair as he stood up. “Declan will love it.”
Ash nodded, doing his best not to move as Hugh wheeled the chair back up to him. “That’s my hope.” As the man snapped on a new pair of gloves and then checked his equipment, Ashton looked at Michael. “Still fascinated?”
“Hours under a needle and you’re still teasing,” Michael laughed, his cheeks feeling a bit warmer. He listened as the buzz of the machine started to mix once more with the background music. “I guess a lot of folks get tattoos because it’s trendy or they want to seem cool.”
“Or they’re drunk. Lost a bet,” Hugh winked.
“But this isn’t about any of that.” Michael nodded his head towards Ash. “I never thought of it as a gift before now. It’s like a….”
“Declaration.” Brian cut in. “To Declan.”
“To a degree. These were my declaration,” Ash moved his wrists. “This,” he paused. “Is for us both. My gift, my thanks, my hope. It’s my life. And his.”
Michael put an arm around Brian’s hips, looking up at him with a smile. “It’s *their* always.” The meaning shared as Brian leaned in and kissed him on his forehead, fingers coming up to press the platinum medallion that hung from Michael’s collar against his skin. The ‘always’ engraved on the underside was theirs. When Brian remained close, his fingers tracing over the A on top, Michael leaned up to speak in his ear. “You’re thinking so hard, I can almost hear it. What about?”
Brian just flicked the medallion and grinned before stepping back. “I’m thinking Chinese. Hugh, know of a good place that’ll deliver?”
“Menu’s under the phone by the computer.” He looked back to the design he’d been inking in, then up at Ash. “Ready for the shading? Or do you need more time?”
Shifting a bit, Ash rested his face against the pillow Hugh handed him. “I’d say do your worst, but it’s your best I’m paying for.” He chuckled when his friend popped him on the leg with his free hand. “Bully.” Taking a breath, he said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
“This bit’s gonna be the finer detailing; gotta add the sense of depth. Bring ’em to life, yeah. So be good, and be still.”
A snort, “Now who sounds like a dominant, Mr.-That’s-Your-Scene-Not-Mine?”
“Ashton,” Hugh said. “Keep it up, and you’ll have smartarse etched across your pretty hide.”
Ash turned his grin into the pillow, biting his lower lip to keep from answering back as Michael and Brian looked on and laughed.
- - -
“Ash. Ash. Whoa, easy. Yeah, that’s it.” Brian voice was equal parts amused and aggravated. “Standing now, lean on me.”
Ashton, who was at best a little worse for wear – okay, make that happily blah-do, blinked up at him and grinned sloppily. “Just a little drunk punched. Uhmm, punch drunk.”
“No, you’re just drunk.” Brian laughed as Michael came into Declan and Ash’s bedroom to help him with getting their friend settled.
“No, sir. I’m punch, that’s me.” Ash blinked, and then pointed. “That makes you Judy. Punch, Judy, get it?” Just as fast as it started, his humor ended and he wandered onto a new topic as he was seated on the bed. “God, you’re really tall.” He smiled as Michael came to sit beside him, telling him, “You’ve got your own jungle gym, just grab hold and climb.”
Michael snorted. “Yep, and he has the best handlebar I’ve ever played with.” He looked at Brian who was keeping Ash from falling back onto the bed, and hence onto his bandaged back – ouch. “He’s totally wasted.”
“Blame Hugh.” The man’s one more for the road had turned into two, then more than two. Ash hadn’t really seemed too affected until they got him into the cab home, then his adrenaline dropped and wham, in came the alcohol high.
“Okay, Ash. Look at me.” Michael was using his I-Know-You’re-Trashed voice, soft and happy – the one meant to sooth and guide. “We need to put you to bed, so you can sleep a little. All right?”
“Not tired,” Ash frowned. Then smiled, “Telly! Dec said we could.”
Confused, Brian asked, “What’s he talking about?”
Michael jumped back as Ashton made a sudden move for the nightstand drawer, managing to pull out a remote, which he then waggled in the air like a prize. Grinning, Michael got it. “He gave you permission to watch television while he was gone.”
“Let’s get him into the bed; he can lie on his stomach while he watches,” Brian reasoned. He wasn’t usually so fastidious when it came to drunken friends, but this one had been left literally and figuratively in their hands. “We can line the pillows around him so he won’t roll over.”
“Okay,” Michael made to slide off the bed so he could nab the pillows on the other side, but Ash made a grab for his hand.
“Stay! Both stay. Lots of channels, so little time.” He thrust the remote at Brian like a bribe. “Yes?”
Shaking his head, Brian grinned. “Tell you what. We’ll stay, and I’ll let you keep the remote. But… ” The grin turned into a full on smile. “You have to give up your clothes.”
Ever an uninhibited soul, Ash happily agreed. “I can do that.” And promptly tried to remove the enormous t-shirt he’d been given by Hugh while still holding the remote.
Michael ended up giving him a hand with the shirt, making sure it cleared the bandages without snagging, while Brian got Ashton out of his jeans. When the Englishman tried to pull off his boxer briefs, Brian stopped him. “This isn’t a clothing optional sleepover, now up with you.”
Ash climbed up slowly, with a grumbled, “Bossy much?” Then he slid down in the middle of the bed and pushed a button on the remote. The cabinet at the foot of the extra king sized bed opened as a large television came up from its hiding place. “I love telly.”
It was said with such an emphatic sigh that Michael had to bite back a laugh as he searched through Ash’s discarded jeans. Pulling out the paper that Hugh had given them before leaving, Michael checked over the instructions, not that he wouldn’t end up reading it again come morning when they removed Ash’s bandages. He’d volunteered to help Ashton out until Declan received his gift the next night and took over. The task being to watch out for Ash and to help him take care of the tattoo like a good patient. Cleaning, ointment – the works. Especially the ointment, repeated every few hours. Something Ash couldn’t do on his own given the size and placement, not to mention presently being a tad drunk and the coming hangover tomorrow.
Brian handed over the tube that Hugh had given him earlier. “I’m going to get some water and juice from the kitchen. Want anything?”
“Soda.”
“Ice cream.” Ash added, never taking his eyes from the screen.
Michael gave Brian a squeeze, hugging him sideways. “Better bring a tray.”
Rolling his eyes, Brian walked out with a parting, “Slave driver.”
“I heard that!” Ashton’s words followed after him down the hall.
- - -
A crack of light eased through the parted drapes onto the wall to at side of the bed, morning's announcement of a new day. As time passed, the sun came further into the room until it shown over two tangled pairs of feet that lie bare below two sets of denim-clad legs. The warmth touched the sleepers as it spread across the room and up their bodies, calling one of them to wake as he blinked a bit, then shut his eyes and tried to turn back into dark sleep.
That proved an impossibility when out of nowhere a flying hand unconsciously whacked Michael against the ear, causing him to start and groan in pain, now very much awake.
"Brian?" Squinting a bit as he shifted up, rubbing at his ear, Michael saw that the still sleeping Brian hadn't been the culprit as yet another whack landed – this time across his hip. "Ash?" He reached to give his friend a gentle nudge. "Ashton, wake up."
They were all three lying horizontal across the middle of the bed with Brian closest to the end, Michael in the middle and Ash asleep between him and the pillows they'd put against the headboard so he wouldn't have room to turn over before he'd gone to sleep. Best laid plans and all that. They'd meant to watch a little television and then once their friend had drifted off – sleeping too heavily to sleepwalk due to the alcohol, then Brian and Michael would go to their room. Little had they understood the Englishman's stamina for all things boob-tube related; hence here they were, the two of them having fallen asleep before their host while still in their clothes.
And now here Michael was, sandwiched against Brian who was dead to the world and Ash who was lost in a bad dream. Michael gave him another nudge, holding the man's hand down when he next tried to swing. "Wake up, Ash."
"Wha–?" Brian sounded gruff, coughing a bit as he opened his eyes. He sat up, "What's he doing?"
“Right now, hitting me.”
“Why?” Not that Brian waited for an answer as he reached down and pulled at the man's toes. Hard.
A surprised burst of noise, and Ash lifted his head as he jerked his foot away from Brian's reach. "Bloody hell, owe!" Hands reaching for his head, Ash moaned. "Kill me."
"You were having a nightmare." Michael told him.
Ash paused, pressing his face back into the pillow. Then he murmured, "Large men, chasing me with hypodermic needles." He shuddered, and then winced at the twinge of his tender back. "Bugger. That would be why then."
"Which is worse, the head or your back?" Brian got up, holding out a water bottle he'd brought in the night before – the lone soldier that had lasted as Ash had drunk its comrade at Michael's insistence.
"Take your pick, I think my head's just making me more aware of the other." He slowly knelt up, his stomach growling as he did. "But I'm too hungry to be hung over."
"You were sobering up pretty well by the time you went to sleep, so... ” Michael was guessing, as he got up and came around to Ash's side. "Let's get you some aspirin, and then I can help you with what Hugh said we needed to do for this." He laid his hand on Ash's shoulder, smiling as the other man muttered agreement and then left the bed. Once Ashton made it to the bathroom, Michael asked Brian, "What do you think we should do about breakfast?"
"I'll go scramble some bacon and burn some eggs, while you get to play nursemaid."
Michael snorted, "Yes, dear."
After that, they all started moving a bit quicker – more awake once breakfast was devoured, more refreshed after cleaning up and changing clothes. There seemed to be an underlining current of passivity about their plans for the day; none of them put forth any other options other than spending time in before their big night to come. In the end, they just ended up hanging out, listening to music and talking until the afternoon had come and the day was half gone.
Feeling better, Ashton kept teasing Brian after Michael helped him reapply ointment on his tattoo, saying how fortunate he was to have a lover like Michael. “Sooo good with his hands.” When Michael’s face had gone half red, Ash said more seriously, “You’ve a talent for care-giving, Michael. That nature or nurture?”
Michael shrugged, but Brian told him. “Deb once told me that she thought it was your greatest talent, caring so much. So well.”
“She said that?”
“She did.” Brian raised his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, and then leaned in to press his forehead against Michael’s. “Woman’s got a point.”
“She’s also got a red wig.” Michael shook his head, sounding happy.
Before Brian could join in with a fond jibe, they were all surprised by a buzz coming from the intercom by the elevator entrance. The sound usually signaled a delivery from downstairs. Ash went to answer it. “Evan’s here.”
Brian’s expression changed with the news to one that was deliciously feral. So much so that Michael asked warily, “What did you do?”
“Anything I choose to,” Brian answered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s time to play.”
Michael swallowed nervously, “You look like you could eat me alive.” At Brian’s slow nod, he asked, “What’s the game?”
“Just consider it a little turn at strip and show.”
- - -
"It'll never fit."
"Sir, I can assure you they *always* fit." Evan's voice still held his quiet formality, but it was the emphasis in his phrasing that had Brian smiling as Michael stood in front of a mirror, eyeing the article being held up by the designer. It was a matter of skill, and it was evident that Evan was very aware of his own.
"Evan, let's check on what you've brought for me. Give them some time alone," Ash, ever the diplomat, called the man from the room, leaving with a wink to both men as they exited down the hall.
Brian picked up the shirt Michael was doubtful of, “Take off your clothes.”
Understanding that it was an order, not a request – Michael nodded, and pulled off the t-shirt he’d changed into after he’d showered earlier. The shirt, then the sleep pants he liked to walk around in on lazy days when they stayed inside, and weren’t …well, engaged in other – naked – pursuits.
Speaking of which….
Brian drew his eyes down Michael’s frame, enjoying the warmth he knew his gaze caused the other man to feel. Throwing the shirt onto the bed, he reached into the garment bag and took out the pants. Thin, soft and gunmetal gray with just a bit of silver sheen, the leather was sensual to the touch. Brian couldn’t wait to feel them stretched over Michael’s skin.
Kneeling down, Brian gave Michael’s foot a teasing thump. “Shake a leg.”
Michael stepped in and tried to stay still as Brian slowly brought the leather up his body and pulled it over his hips. He failed to keep that stillness when Brian reached in to adjust his sex inside. Clutching Brian’s arm, Michael closed his eyes. “Bri… ” He was too distracted to know if he was asking for Brian to stop, or go further.
“Shhh,” Brian eased his hand out and carefully fastened the zipper, buttoning the waist. He took a moment to run his hands over Michael's backside, enjoying the feel of the leather as it perfectly molded over his curves. Drawing back, he looked down and nodded in approval at the design. He'd told Evan to start with basic rock star with a dash of well worn to scuff it up, but to mix a bit of Goth punk into the design. Which reminded him. “Not done yet, hold on.”
Michael opened his eyes as Brian pulled three belts from the same bag. He looked them over with a pleased sound, one that indicated Brian approved of Evan’s choices.
First, he threaded the simplest belt – black with metallic silver stitching and a pewter buckle, through the loops around Michael's waist. Then he took the next, larger belt – silver leather with black embossed geometric designs along the length and width of it and worked it around, feeding one end under the first belt on Michael's left side. Then Brian brought it around to the front, buckling it on the right so that it hung in a sweep, low on Michael's right hip. The buckle on the second belt was a large silver Celtic clasp, one that shone when the light hit it.
Then Brian picked up belt three. It was black leather with a high glossed silver stud design running down the length of the piece. The studs were in blocks of five by eight rows with an inch of black showing through and between as each block was repeated. The overall effect drew the eye as the studs flashed back any light that touched their surface, which is what Brian had wanted when he'd requested it be adapted to the leather pants Michael was wearing. Adapted in that this belt in particular was made to be a part of the pants, to be attached in a way that Brian had specified and Evan had been glad to incorporate into the design.
Kneeling back down, Brian turned Michael so that he could see the hidden snap closures running along the back and inner thigh of Michael’s right leg. Just above the knee, up to just under his groin. Brian buckled the belt, and then looped it. “Step into it.”
Game but still wondering where Brian was going with all this, Michael put his foot in the center of the circles and watched as Brian pulled the belt up his leg. Once over the knee, Brian started matching up the snaps on the back of the belt with the ones sewn into the pants. After he was done, he sat back and nodded. “Take a look.”
Michael turned to the mirror. “Whoa.” The belt circled his thigh snuggly about three inches above his knee, then crisscrossed in the back to come round again about six inches higher to circle tight around his thigh again, just below his crotch. He turned around, looking from all sides at the effect of the belts and how they hugged him. “I….”
“Wait,” Brian stood up and pulled the shirt that couldn’t possibly fit right over Michael’s head. Funny how it did indeed fit – skin tight, true, but meant to be. It was made of a really soft feeling transparent net fabric. Intentionally made to look as if it were half torn, with rips and ragged ends, the shirt was really two different pieces sewn together – the under bit made of silver metallic gray, with the outer being transparent black. And like the rest, there was a shimmer and sheen to both sections that was accented by the rest of what Michael was wearing.
Brian gave the sleeves a shove up Michael’s arms so that his ever-present cuffs showed. Then he reached up and pulled at the neckline until it ripped and hung low enough that Michael’s collar wasn’t obstructed. Another small jerk, and he had a hint of collarbone showing too.
When Michael gave him a look like he was nuts, Brian grinned. “I remember too, you know. Senior year, the two of us holed up in your room practicing on second-hand guitars and that amp of death. The one that almost got me electrocuted once.”
Michael laughed, “Robert Smith-wannabes.”
Brian nodded. “We never made it past the first few cords,” he said. “But now, tonight… ” A nod to the mirror, “Take a look.”
“Whoa.” Even Michael had to admit he looked, well… good. All he had to do was see Brian’s hungry expression to know that. As for himself, he liked it. He more than liked it. It made him feel like he’d reached a level of cool that he’d always thought beyond him as a teen. “Thank you,” he said, meeting Brian’s eyes in the glass. Both of them knew that it was for more than the clothes.
“Welcome.” Brian hugged him from behind, arms around Michael’s waist. “So what do you think? Spiky hair, some eyeliner and I’ll have my own rock star by my side tonight.”
“Lord, Ashton’ll be making plans for me the minute he sees all this.” Michael nudged Brian as the taller man rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder, his hand rubbing at the patch of skin that showed a couple inches below the shirt’s tattered, cut hem. “And you. That’s why you got me those boots the other day.” Black half boots with silver buckles on the sides; they were a good compliment to Michael’s outfit and clearly a planned choice.
“Guilty.”
Turning to look back at the bed, Michael asked, "And that? Is that what I think it is?" In front of him sat a long and a tad ominous black box with Evan's signet embossed on the top.
Brian gave Michael's ass a pop with the flat of his hand before stepping back. "Evan's as fast as Declan said he'd be." When Michael went to open it, Brian pressed it shut. "Michael. Not now, that's for later." Dom voice.
Knowing that time was growing short before they all had to start getting ready, Michael still gave Brian a quick, "Pretty please, Mister Sir." Worth a try.
Brian snorted, "And speaking of killing Ash." He took the box and slid it under the bed, decision made. Getting to play with the finished version of Michael’s arm restraints could wait for another day. “Time for you to go make sure party-boy is getting a move on.”
“Spoilsport. What’ll you be doing?”
“Sport, yes. Spoil – not a chance. Which means, tick tock. Off you go.”
Brian had a garment bag of his own to play with.
- - -
“La, look at you! Misha, that’s too perfect. Give us a turn.”
Michael did a spin, coming back around with his arms spread wide. Dropping them, he looked around, “Where’s Evan? I wanted to tell him thanks.”
“He’s just off; had another stop to make.” Ashton picked up a garment bag from the bed and hung it from the back of the bathroom door. Turning, he caught Michael staring at his back and smiled. “Lend a hand?” He was bare from the waist up, letting his tattoo breathe but he needed to make sure it didn’t dry out.
“Ointment?”
“Yeah, just have a care for your clothes.”
After washing his hands in the bathroom, Michael grabbed the tube and sat on the bed as Ashton faced away. Gently dabbing along the inked skin, he said, “The red’s faded a lot.”
“Cheers, then.”
“Your shirt’s not like mine, is it? Cause Hugh said no tight clothing for awhile.”
Michael could hear the smile his mothering put in Ash’s voice as he replied, “Taken care of. Besides, I’ve a feeling I won’t be wearing it for long.”
“Stop teasing; tell me.”
“I’ll show you, in a bit. Then we’ll need to finish off your look with hair, and….”
Michael interrupted. “Eyes. I told Brian you’d pounce on those.” He was laughing as Ash looked back over his shoulder with a wink.
“I know what works. Too bad I don’t have that silver eyeliner we used at Havenshire.”
“Oh god.” Michael groaned at the memory. It had been one of the wilder “looks” Ash had given him, but still – the drama had been more than effective given Brian’s reaction.
A couple more minutes and Michael was done. He wiped his hands on a towel as Ash went into the bathroom to use a hand mirror to see the reflection of his back.
When Ash caught him looking, okay staring, at it again, he asked, “Ever think about it? Having one done. Smaller, granted, but… ”
“I… ” Michael stopped, thought about it and then said, “Years ago. Almost did it once when Brian was off in college. But I always ended up talking myself out of it.”
Ash unzipped the garment bag, but turned back before opening it. “Like you did with being a submissive?”
That surprised Michael, because he had never thought about it that way. “A bit, yeah.”
“Well, you dared to do that when the right time and the right man came along; maybe this’ll be the same.” It was an off-handed comment, Ashton’s attention already wandering back towards the garment bag. “Here we go.”
First the shirt, lightweight and expensive – it was a dress tux cut shirt designed with a twist. No buttons down the front. Which meant it was suppose to be worn open and loose, except for the sleeves which had cufflinks already in place. Celtic love knots, in silver or platinum. “Very nice.” Ash brushed a finger along the crisp collar. “I’ll have to wait until the ointment absorbs.” He hung it on the closet door, nearby.
Next he brought out the pants, “Oh, sweet heaven.” Ash was smiling, large and bright. It was instant adoration. “Look at these.” Not that he gave Michael a chance as he jerked down the pajama bottoms he was wearing – the ones he’d pulled out from the back of a bureau, old, threadbare and barely worn anymore unless he was alone. Just as quickly, he disappeared into the bathroom as Michael fought not to laugh at his retreating backside.
“Fuck me. I’m in love! Misha, come see.”
Jet-black stretch denim from the back, they were waist-less and skin tight with silver stitched pockets – all of which looked damn good on a man with a body like Ash’s. But then he turned around, and Michael knew why he was so happy. The pants had been cut so that from mid-shins to the tops of his legs, the denim gave way to leather – black and smooth, molded to his body over knees and thighs, denim from shin to ankle. And denim from the low-slung top to his crotch, they were sewn together with silver stitches and fastened with a silver zipper, and topped off with a love knot button that matched the cufflinks.
“Shit, you’re gonna kill him the minute you walk in the door.” Michael grinned. “Those are amazing.”
Ash held up his hand, “Wait. Wait a sec.” He disappeared, then was back sitting on the commode as he pulled on a pair of black boots he’d had in the closet. Bit of a heel, pointed toes and shined up – they were a great match. Pulling the pant legs down over the top of the boots, he stood and asked, “Now how does it all look?”
“Dangerous.”
Ashton looked in the mirror, angling to see his back, then forward again. There was a smile on his face as he breathed out, “Darkling, indeed.”
- - -
"Where *is* that man of yours?"
Michael turned from the dressing mirror where Ash had just finished showing him his handiwork after fixing Michael's hair – a tad mussed with a small amount of shine threaded through by Ash's fingers using a special mouse he kept on hand. But no answer came as his eyes locked on Brian coming into the room as if on cue.
“Blimey, would you look at him.” Ashton filled the silence as Michael walked straight to Brian, as if drawn by a magnet. “I don’t know who’s the luckier man between you,” their friend smiled.
Michael, if he’d been capable of comment, would have gladly said there wasn’t a comparison, though Brian would have disagreed. But Michael had lost the ability to do anything but stare, mesmerized by the man who was his.
Magnificent.
It was the only word he could put to the image that was Brian Kinney in black and china red. Dress shoes, perfectly shined. Tuxedo trousers with sharp pressed lines. Red silk sash, wrapped around his waist and tied off on the side with the ends flowing down on the left with small tasseled edges. And then above, he wore a tight sleeveless black leather vest with flared collar that was clearly custom cut with ribbed vertical black stitching from waist to neck, each line about an inch apart from left to right.
Fastened down the front with silver clasps that looked like they'd been taken from a Tudor period film, it was a style that followed through as Brian turned slowly so Michael could see the rest. The back was Chinese silk, red from neck to waist, but with the added feminine flair of being corseted – directly juxtaposed with the masculine leather of the front. Thin black strings were threaded through lacing rings on either side, crisscrossing his lower back as it cinched the garment together and pulled the leather tighter to Brian's tall frame.
"How the hell did you get into that on your own?”
“Trade secret.” Brian smirked as Ashton made a show of fanning his face in response to Brian's outfit, but he turned his attention back to Michael as his lover came to him.
Standing close enough to almost touch, Michael did just that – reaching out with something close to reverence. He traced the warmth of Brian’s exposed arms – strong, firm and powerful. His gaze followed everywhere he touched, from Brian's shoulders to wrists, stopping to run his fingers over the etched initials found on Brian's leather cuff.
Smiling, Michael ran his palms over the leather that covered Brian's chest. Then he headed back around Brian’s sides to the silk and ties. Michael wasn’t even aware that he’d closed his eyes to absorb the sensations, to enjoy them, until Brian’s voice came and his focus shifted.
“Mikey.” Brian stopped for a moment as Michael looked at him, the pleasure visible there in his brown eyes a satisfying turn even for a man who was well aware of his own reflection. “You like?" It was evident in his voice that he was amused, but also gratified by Michael's appreciative daze.
“I love it,” Michael whispered. He rose up to kiss Brian, and then smiled with such pride. “Beautiful.” Both the man, and his clothes.
Brian nodded, joking, “But you’re biased.” Giving Michael a squeeze, his hands traveled for a moment over his lover’s backside before he let go of the newly flustered Michael.
“How’d you hide all this?” Michael knew the outfit hadn’t been in their things on the plane.
Looking over at Ashton, Brian replied, “His Master can be a very resourceful man.” Ominous, that.
“Don’t I know it,” Ash said, wistfully.
Grinning at the yearning that was clear in Ashton’s voice, Brian gave the man a once over. “He’s got damn good taste, to boot. You look like sex walking.”
A half bow, and Ash said, “Thank you, sir.”
Brian clapped his hands together once. “So, whadda you say? Shall we get the bride to the church on time?”
Michael covered his mouth, but still failed to hide his laughter as Ash snarked back, “That’s to the gallery, thank you. Some attention to detail, please.”
A playful nudge from Brian to Michael, and the taller man leaned in to whisper – rather loudly, “Think he can say handful?”
But it wasn’t Michael who answered, “Potentially not as quick as wanker, no.”
Leave it to Ash. Every time.
TBC...
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