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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 9
- - - - - - -
Declan had specified that they should arrive before the guests, so it was a good hour before the showing when the three of them ventured out of the hired car – also arranged by Declan – and through the appointed gallery glass doors to which Ashton had a key.
Michael was surprised to see the place was empty, bare white walls and no one about. “What’s… ”
“There’s a new installation coming in next week,” Ash cut in. “This place, it has three levels. This one’s for public display. Upstairs is for private showings and invitation only exhibitions. Grant, he’s the owner, is an art broker, mostly. He uses this place as a showcase for his clients – buying and selling, rather than focusing on general sales to the public.”
Brian watched as Ash went round the reception desk, and pushed a button that brought up the lights. “What’s on the top floor?”
“Grant lives there,” their friend answered a bit distractedly. “Wait staff should be by soon, if they’re not already. DJ and cater, too. We’re upstairs,” Ash finished, already heading for the stairs against the back wall.
Brian and Michael shared a look, and then Brian nodded up, “After you.”
At the top, they came up short at the sight of Ashton facing the stairs with his back to the room, on his knees with head lowered and eyes closed.
“Ash?”
Anything else Michael was going to say was silenced when Brian raised his hand, finger to lips. He pulled Michael to stand with him, back to front with arms around Michael’s waist as he leaned in and said softly, "Watch."
That was when Declan appeared.
With a confident stride, innate and powerful, he came, hair perfect, dark and curled to his shoulders. Face as clean as the day Brian and Michael had first met him, shaven – the beard he’d worn but two days past, gone.
“Uh oh – someone’s in trouble,” Michael murmured, shushed by Brian which caused him to grin.
Whether he meant Declan for having lost the beard, or Ashton because of the naked menace of the other man’s smile – it hardly mattered, because both were probably true. But Brian would place odds that Ash would soon forget the first, once he got a look at the man.
Black leather pants, skin tight with boots laced from foot to knee. Around his waist, a silver chain belt in gypsy style with coins hanging down that swayed when he moved. His shirt a vibrant, jewel-tone sapphire blue silk with poet cut sleeves. And hands, covered in black kid gloves, with something held in each on either side.
In the right, Declan held a cane. Shining like black glass, it was topped with silverwork flames that encased the shaft from the top down to mid-thigh. The handle was a dragon, fierce with teeth bared and fire in its ruby encrusted eyes. The piece was a work of art, held with ease by a master of the scene.
And in the left…
“Darkling, stay.” Declan said, as he came to stand at Ashton’s back. A nod of welcome to Brian and Michael, and then he was crouching down with one knee on the floor. Voice low but strong, he said, “What is your truth?”
Ash inhaled sharply, then answered, “You are, Master.”
“Your past?”
“You, Master.”
“Your future?”
“Only you, Master, as you please.”
“And your now… ” It wasn’t a question; he’d said it like the beginning of a phrase that only Ashton could finish.
“Is as you would have it, Master.”
“And you… ” Declan finished, setting his cane on the floor as he came up on his knees.
“Yours. I am yours.” He said the words, and meant them in every way.
Declan closed his eyes, and pressed his nose to Ashton’s hair for a moment as he breathed out two words. “Thank you.” Then he drew back and raised his left hand, reaching around as he said, “Open your eyes. See what I would have you wear.”
In his hand was a collar, black leather with metallic silver stitching along the top and bottom. The piece was a couple of inches in width all the way around except in the center where it dipped down in a rounded v-shape. Handmade, it was decorated with three silver pieces of metalwork – two of which were flames fanning out on the left and the right. And there was the larger centerpiece. A dragon, one reared up with wings spread – the collar a direct match to Declan’s cane.
“Oh but that is…. So beautiful.” Even from a distance, Ashton’s pleasure was evident by the shine of his wet eyes. He traced his fingers over the dragon, “Who….”
“Deborah.” Unbuckling the piece, Declan pulled Ash’s shirt collar back and placed it around his slave lover’s neck. Fastening it closed, he placed a kiss on the side of Ashton’s neck. “Rise, slave of mine. And greet your Master as you should.”
Standing himself, Declan leaned on the cane and grinned as Ashton turned to see him.
Michael only just managed not to laugh when Ash saw Declan’s face; it was almost the equivalent of a guppy fish, with eyes a bit wide and mouth open in an O. Though he had to hand it to Ashton for managing a quick recovery.
If a gasped, “Bloody hell,” followed by a chagrinned, “Sorry, Master,” could be considered quick.
Indulging him, Declan tilted his head. “Forgiven.”
Taking a moment to look his lover up and down, Ash bit his lip and clenched his fists. Taking a deep breath, a tad shaken, he went forward into Declan’s waiting arms. He bowed his head, resting it on Dec’s shoulder as he murmured private words that Brian and Michael couldn’t hear.
A pause to listen, and Declan answered back a little louder. “You too, Darkling.” Turning his head, he added, “But you know my favorite of your outfits is you in nothing at all. This, though,” left hand skimming over Ashton’s hip and thigh. “This’ll run pretty high on the list after tonight.”
When Ashton laughed, Declan pulled him into a kiss. Firm, but affectionate. Afterwards, Declan held Ash’s eyes with his own and said softly, “Happy Anniversary, love.”
“And to you. For every year, thank you.”
In a tone that was more fondness than the sarcasm he would have used a year ago, Brian told Michael, “Cue the string section.”
“Shhh.” Michael elbowed Brian, but it only caused the taller man to laugh.
Which had Declan and Ash looking their way as Dec shook his head. “Okay, okay – sap factor’s running close to cringe-worthy, yeah?” He made a quick check of the time. “This place’ll be brimming soon, what with setting up and then the guests. So, how about taking an advance look around? Before chaos reigns.”
Michael agreed, “Brilliant. I can’t wait to see your photos.”
“Looking forward to it,” Brian said.
Declan reached over with his cane and pushed a button on the wall that lit the spots above each of the eleven enlarged prints from Declan’s collection. “Gentlemen, I give you ‘NUIN’.”
- - -
One of Eleven:
Stark, grainy. Raw. It was a double portrait, Ashton sitting on the floor with Declan standing to the right, angled from the side in front of him, reflected full figured in the mirror on the wall behind. Both were physically younger, but the look in their eyes – weary, worn. Old before their time.
Ash looked at Declan like he was his last hope; the one man who could be his saving grace, yet also dejected, like he’d been told no before having the possibility of a yes.
Declan, face cut off with a blank dark expression, looking into the mirror, not at himself, but at the back of Ashton’s head. Inflexible, decided.
But then the question – why take the portrait if it was a moment to forget? The act seeming to say more than their resolute stillness could.
“It was the night we first met. He’d said no to every suggestion, every request. Until he was almost out the door, but then he turned back and….”
Declan interrupted Ash, “And I asked to take his picture. I said I’d pay him back with time, more of my time for more of his.”
Two of Eleven:
An all-together different style. At a glance, it was autumn in the English countryside. A nature scene captured in black and white in what looked to be a windstorm. Trees swaying, ancient and looming tall as their limbs were caught in the whirl of nature’s fun and frolic. A dance during which they dipped and moved together, and from which they would be left spent and unadorned until spring called forth the new from the old.
On the ground below, half buried in leaves, lay Ash. Smiling, light – reaching a hand out as if to call the cameraman to lie and roll about at his side. His spirit in his eyes, he was a sprite partially obscured by the foliage that cushioned and curled about him. The leaves his comfort, cover and toys.
“We won’t even discuss how many bites I got from rolling around like a whelp right out of his nappies.” Ashton laughed. A bit chagrined at the memory.
"No, but tormenting you with the itch cream was interesting," Declan smirked.
Three of Eleven:
Figure study, with a twist. Or rather a kink. The picture’s focus was on a pair of hands, rough, covered in drying clay and marble dust. Callused fingers curled inward, wrists bare, crossed. It was a portrait of Ash, sitting on a stool looking exhausted, his head down, face buried in the bend of his arms. Elbows on his worktable with hands up, but folded down.
The moment made more intimate for his lack of awareness. For the harsh contrast between the sharp focus on his hands, and the soft faded blur of the rest of him. An artist driven from within to work, to create until he could no longer see past the pain. His body finally saying no more, when his mind warred in denial that those words even existed.
“When’d you take that?” Ash asked, the surprise in his voice making it evident he’d not seen it before now.
Declan lifted his lover’s hand in his, tracing over the knuckles with a small smile. “It was one of your deadline pushes for university. Can’t remember which. You were so out of it, you didn’t even know I was there. Didn’t see the flash.” He shook his head, “I think you slept almost 48 hours through once you’d finished that piece.”
“Cor, I remember that. Long time past.” Ash turned his hand so that he was holding Declan’s. “Sneaker.”
“That made him sound like a shoe,” Brian mock-whispered to Michael, earning himself a double thump – Michael to the left, and Ash to the right.
Four of Eleven:
Full on close-up, face framed by black empty space. Declan, from forehead to chin. Eyes obscured, covered by spanned fingers – but on closer look, by two different hands. Ears too, closed off, palms laid flat – separate hands. See no evil, hear no evil? Or not, given his mouth was free, though he was smiling – out of the side of his mouth granted, with jaw off center, and his teeth biting into his bottom lip.
The two of them having a bit of fun at Declan’s expense. Ash’s hands callused and nicked, over Dec’s right ear and left eye – he had to be hidden behind, reaching around. And Declan’s, slim long fingers and manicured nails on the left ear and right eye. A calm, cute moment that on film captured a side of them that was playful. Unassuming.
A snort, and then Ash burst out with a laugh. “You should see the outtakes on that one.”
Declan tisked, “No. No, they should not.”
Ash winked at him, then said to the side, “Two words – giddy giggles.”
“Ashton….”
“Yes, Master. Shutting up now, Master.”
Five of Eleven:
Half a circle of light wands, the type used in performances – long and bright, like florescent light bulbs. Each had to be four feet tall, perfectly spaced between. They were the only illumination in the dark room. And at the center – rising, caught and captured by the camera, was the line of Ashton’s back.
He was naked, skin a mix of shadow and reflected lights, body wet with sweat. On his knees, arms spread above him and pressed flat to the floor above his head. Head lifting up but obscured, and back bowed enough to give only a hint of his behind as the outline was consumed by the dark.
A man made more by the postulating of himself to the truth of his nature. Made new as he rose at his Master’s command.
“That’s good, powerful.” Brian said, appreciating the structure of the image – the technique one he’d have found appealing professionally. The piece was made more satisfying because he knew the men in front of and behind the camera. “Anytime you wanna chuck the glamorous life of therapy, and give this a go for a living – consider me interested in your campaign.”
“Ta,” Declan grinned. “But it’s still a hobby.”
“Says the man who’s standing in a gallery that’s showcasing his art with a viewing public less than an hour away.”
“Nothing I haven’t told him a few thousand times,” Ash interjected. “But he likes to keep it close.”
His grin growing, Declan shrugged. “The man. And his mystery.”
Six of Eleven:
Standing tall, back to the camera. Leather pants, no shirt. Dark hair, curling at the ears and neck.
It was Declan, younger, hair shorter than now. Lit from the front in a blacked out room, his body outlined with streaming light as it slipped and spilled around his shape, highlighting the muscles of his slim back, the strength evident in the tension of his taut arms and clenched fists.
And around his neck, wrapped time and again – a long length of corded leather. The whip, held fast with deliberate placement as the handle hung over his shoulder and down his spine. Ominous, yes. But then from out the lower corner of the picture’s frame, there was a hand – fingers spread wide, reaching for but not daring to touch either the man or the whip. Though the yearning, the eagerness was evident as it strove to be near either goal, or both.
“Ashton’s to blame for this one,” Declan said, as Michael stood transfixed. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring, and being pulled from his locked focus had Michael blushing as Declan looked at him with enough insight that he had to fight the urge to squirm.
“It’s brilliant, and you know it.” Ash insisted.
Indulgently fond, Declan replied, “Never let it be said I don’t do my best to satisfy your creative urges.”
Brian snorted, “Sexual or otherwise.”
Seven of Eleven:
In the middle of a laugh, it was the pair of them at ease. In a private setting indoors, lying on mats before a fire. Their townhouse in Pittsburgh. Ash with an arm thrown over his face, mid-wiggle as Declan rose up above him on an elbow, grinning like mad. The Sunday paper puzzle was spread out on the floor to their sides, but Declan had found a better canvas for his answers. T-shirt rucked up, stomach bare – the Master was drawing a duplicate puzzle square on his slave’s skin, letters half filled in before Ash lost his composure and laughed.
Laughed as Declan’s right hand smudged a line towards his navel, his left holding down the clicker as the camera caught the moment. Two lovers, randomly happy and in love with the moment, and each other.
“Now look who’s too cute for words,” Brian teased. Having fun at spinning the word back at Ashton.
“Yet you’ve managed to find some, regardless,” Ash scoffed, amused for all his snark.
Eight of Eleven:
Spotlight on black velvet, camera zoomed in so close that the circle filled almost the entire frame. And on the crushed velvet, resting with wrists pressed together side by side was Ashton’s arms from elbows to finger tips. With a difference that wasn’t new to either Brian or Michael, but had been when the photograph had been taken – the cuff inked tattoos, Declan’s name twice over. Once in Cyrillic and once in Gaelic lettering.
Marks that meant he was Declan’s, in every way he could become.
“They’d just healed, no more ointment. No complications, thanks to Hugh.”
Michael looked over, “How’s the… ” He stopped when he realized he didn’t know what he could and couldn’t say without risking the surprise for Declan.
“I’m good, Misha. No fears.”
Nine of Eleven:
Rain, on a day so overcast everything appeared blue-gray. Or would have if the photo hadn’t have been in black and white like all the rest. A day when most would have been safe inside or ducked into an alcove, trying to avoid being drenched. But not the reveler framed now for all to see. Ashton Forster, wet through and kicking up puddles as he looked back towards the camera with a wide smile.
He’d been caught spinning, arms thrown out wide, on a stray London street. No traffic, no one else to be seen. Just an Englishman playing a child’s game, being indulged in his hilarity by the man snapping the photo from what must have been a safe doorway or from under an umbrella.
“Gene Kelly lives,” Michael said, as Ashton gave a bow.
“I lack the talent for tap, but if it’s a song you’re after – I’ll give it a proper go.”
“One bar of ‘Singing In The Rain’ and I’m calling for a cab.” Brian made as if he were looking for the exits, only to have Michael yank him back by his hand as the taller man laughed.
Declan leaned in, “Not to worry, Darkling. Later, I’ll happily be your audience of one.”
Ten of Eleven:
Man as canvas, wearing only skin and paint. Hair slicked back, shining dark. Face half-covered with a mask, only the mouth and chin free. Lips parted as if taking a deep breath. He was sitting on a stool, naked but covered strategically by a raised thigh, foot on a higher rung as he turned a bit forward to face the camera. Arms raised, hands locked together in restraints that were attached to a hook on the wall above his head.
And the body, slim and pale – but missing the wrist ink and nipple rings. Marked with permanence only along one arm, the tattoo upside down given the angle of his captured limbs. But marked he was in another decidedly more temporary fashion. By paint.
Black lines, dribbled down on him from above in random patterns, circles and swirls. Covered in such a way that he became the art, rather than the artist – framed and decorated by his beholder. Made primitive, bound as he was in his prime.
Not an inch of him free from Ash’s dark touch.
A man, a Master – made in the image of his slave, *by* his slave, lover and friend.
“Fucking hell, Declan. You’ve got nuts big enough to feed a whole family of squirrels.”
“Crassly put, but thank you.” Declan chuckled at Brian’s reaction. “I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?”
Michael looked at the portrait, then at Declan and back again. “It’s really good. How’d you get talked into it?”
“You mean how did the big bad Dom find himself submitting to Ash’s wandering paint brush?” Declan laughed. “It was my gift, this time last year.”
Ash nodded, taking Declan’s hand and looking back at the portrait. The memories seeming to pass through his eyes as he murmured fondly, “Our tenth.”
Eleven of Eleven:
The two of them, at evening’s end. Standing together, pressed close with Declan behind and Ashton in front. Declan’s arms around Ash’s waist, with one hand pressed flat against his lover’s heart. Both men dressed, trousers and dress shirts with ties hanging free and collars unbuttoned. They could have just come in from a fancy dinner, or a party or a play. Come back to a quiet space that was just them, and what they could be and were to each other.
Ash’s head rested back against Declan’s shoulder, his eyes closed and lips turned up with a gentle lift as if hearing words whispered. Declan’s face turned, pressed against Ash’s hair – eyes camouflaged by long dark lashes and mouth parted as if he’d just said the naughtiest thing. Or something lovely and fun.
“You’ve a bit of the romantic in you, to end on this one,” Michael said, turning to see Ash being held in a similar position as the last portrait – Declan hugging him lightly from behind.
Brian nodded solemnly but with not a little humor in his eyes. “Shhh, now. Wouldn’t want that to get out. Might ruin his reputation.”
“Hardly,” Declan smiled. “I’m too much the dragon for it to scourge me – for one night.”
Ash turned around, lifting a hand to brush against Declan’s smooth jaw. Then he paused, and asked, “Wait, one night? The show’s….”
“For one night. Only. Our night, Darkling.” He kissed Ash, leaving him looking a bit stunned. “Happy anniversary.”
Ashton leaned in and pressed his face against Declan’s shoulder – mirroring a bit the photo in front of which they stood. “Thank you, love. For so much.”
“And to you, for all the mores that are to come.”
- - -
“Brian.” It was Declan, coming over with a hand raised to pat him on the arm after making what had to be his fourth turn through the milling guests and wait staff. Music filling the room, Brian leaned in to hear as Declan asked, “Where’s Michael?”
“Standing by the bar with Hugh, why?” Looking over, Brian saw Hugh giving a belly laugh as Michael shook his head and laughed himself. They’d both been taken fast under the larger man’s wing as it were, once he’d arrived for the evening. So if there were a lull in introductions amid the sea of different and new faces, or if Brian and Michael got separated, then Hugh wasn’t far away. Brian figured it was probably because as much as Hugh was a friend of Declan and Ashton, he was feeling a bit of the odd man out without his Annie at his side.
“It’s almost time for Ash’s moment,” Declan answered. He was standing there, leaning on his cane with a style and ease that usually only came with frequent use, his eyes locked on his slave’s form from across the room.
“It’s his gift to you. Doesn’t that make it *your* moment?”
That enigmatic smile, again. The one that spoke to Declan’s inner amusement, but outwardly showed that he could but wasn’t going to elaborate. “Thank you, by the way. For the present. Ash shared the news.”
Brian grinned, “Well, you said no anniversary gifts.” It was a part of Declan and Ashton’s tradition that they gave gifts to each other, but did not receive them from others. “Michael figured if we called it a host gift, then you’d bend the rules.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling that the choice of what to give was yours.” A laugh, and Declan asked, “Where did you find a six-pendulum Newton’s cradle?” They usually came with only five.
Just what every therapist needed on his or her desk – an Executive Pacifier. Swinging balls and all.
“A resourceful assistant is a wonderful thing,” Brian joked. “Did he tell you it was engraved?”
D-E-C-L-A-N on one side of each silver ball, and A-S-H-T-O-N on the other.
“The two of us knocking balls in perpetual motion?” Declan, ever an artist at deadpanning. “Yes, he may have mentioned it – when he could gasp in enough air to breathe after his laughing fit.” Declan smirked. “I do appreciate your humor, Brian. In all its uniqueness.”
“Glad you like it.” Brian mock bowed, “And the gift.”
Declan raised the cane, holding it under one arm as he slipped a hand into his pocket. With smile, he pulled out a small key and handed it to him. “Mind this, will you?”
Brian looked at the key, “What’s it for?”
A shake of his head, “You’ll have to wait for that.” Declan looked around as the music suddenly stopped. “I think that’s my cue.”
Cane firmly back on the floor, Declan turned and walked to the center of the room. The people around him looked and then seemed to part, widening the space around him until he stood alone.
Michael joined Brian. “What’s he doing?”
Brian put his arm around Michael, leaning in to say, “Receiving his gift, I think.”
Ash appeared, in front of Declan but half a room away. He bowed, staying down until the room filled with the triple tap of Declan’s cane against the floor. Face serious and eyes only for his Master, Ash walked the distance and knelt at the other man’s feet. “What is your will, Master?”
“Rise.”
The room remained silent as Ashton did so, standing still as Declan slowly, deliberately circled him – walking around him with eyes appraising until he stood back where he’d started. His eyes locked with Ash’s, as he said, “Madam James, would you please?”
The devil was smiling as Deborah parted from the crowd and came forward, taking the cane that she’d made for him into her possession until it could be returned again.
Michael was close enough to hear her fondly murmur, “Dramatist,” before she went back into the crowd. He bit back against the impulse to laugh as Brian whispered, “Ain’t he just.”
Declan’s reaction to her name-calling was a wink, and then he was kissing Ash – soft, full and long – parting their lips to speak three words. “Dance with me.”
A raised hand, and the DJ followed Declan’s signal – music filling the room to wrap around the two of them like a pulse, slow and seductive, a Latin undertone with a sway to it that matched Declan’s body as he took Ashton close and began to move. Began to rock and flow in time to the beat, easy and sure – focused on Ash’s face and body rather than on anyone else watching in the room.
Keeping their bodies close, Declan moved forward and then back – touching Ash’s chest as his slave raised hands to hold Declan’s hips. Leather-clad fingers teasing, then palms pressing over Ash’s nipples, Dec said something that was lost in the music, something that had Ashton reluctantly moving his hands back, then away from Declan’s body. Not that Declan left them there for long….
A beat, and then he turned and circled Ash again – his hands moving along the length of his lover’s arms as he traced them from wrists to shoulders, making as if he were going to draw the shirt back by the neck. But then he stopped and returned to the front. Returned, and drew first one of Ash’s hands up then the other – removing the customized cufflinks that held the sleeves of Ash’s shirt closed. Never missing a beat as he slipped them into a pocket and continued to move against Ashton’s body, the two of them mesmerizing as they slow danced.
Slipping under Ashton’s shirt, Declan ghosted his hands up the man’s back where he softly mapped his skin with a light touch until he reached what must have been the bottom of the design – skin a bit silky with the remnants of ointment from hours ago. Face suddenly serious, he stopped moving and stood against Ash as their gazes held and Declan moved his fingers further up, tracing blindly the edges of where the tattoo must be. “What have you to show me, Darkling?”
Ash drew in a breath, one that Michael could see even from a distance was shaky. The man’s face so full of emotion that Michael tightened his hold on Brian’s arms as Ash bowed his head and spoke.
“I have nothing to give, Master. Except myself, and all that is a part of me. Ever may it please you.”
“You have pleased me, for many a year. It’s proud I am that you’re mine.”
Ash raised his head, and looked at his lover with eyes full of love and hope. “Would you receive what I have to give you, Master?”
Declan slipped his hands back around and drew them up Ashton’s stomach and chest, then with a smooth push, the shirt fell down Ash’s back and off his arms to the floor. Revealing to the others the mark he would now carry for life.
The room no longer silent, a murmur carried as those who were near reacted to the design. The looks on people’s faces, curious and approving as Brian glanced around and then back as Declan lifted his hand to touch Ash’s face, and then turned him around so he could see what the others had already seen.
Spread across his mid to upper back from one side to the other, was a medallion design – a circle within a circle, measuring about ten inches round. The border space between the two circles held an intricate and beautiful Celtic pattern, which caught the eye but truly served more to draw one’s focus in towards what was at the center of the inner circle itself.
A tree that was more than a tree, a design that was more than what one saw at first glance. Above were branches, ancient and rising up tall to disappear into the curve of the border. Below were the roots intermingling together, reaching down until the circle assumed them. But between, there was the absence of a trunk – the tree instead made whole by the intertwined bodies of two men. Bare of all but each other’s arms as they held one another, kissing – they were the tree. They were the life from which the branches rose, their hair the source from which the limbs grew. They were the claiming of each other and the right to life as their tangled legs grew down into the roots that fed and held them strong.
The two of them, the pair matched together indelibly as the Celtic Tree of Life Lovers. Held fast together, with a permanence and strength to weather all storms.
The design itself was vibrant, done with a skill that Hugh had every right to find pride in. The men, the branches and roots were almost three dimensional, giving the appearance that if one reached out to touch them, they’d be real.
And indeed, that was what Declan did – air-tracing his gloved fingertips over the lines with a reverence for what they meant and for the man who had suffered their placement. “Dar…. Darkling, mine.” His voice was a rasp, his face held fast only by the barest of threads as he leaned in and pressed a kiss just above the tattoo. Pressed and held there, with eyes closed and arms wrapped around Ash’s waist. His silence and Ash’s shining eyes saying more than words could.
Locked for the longest as the music continued to play and their guests looked on, sharing from afar as Declan held Ash, and the moment held them both. Together.
- - -
Others had started dancing once Dec and Ash took a brief break to go find a few minutes alone. Music flowed, along with the booze, and everyone was happier for it, having a good time.
Everyone, including Michael and Brian. The two nigh on inseparable as they moved to the beat, Michael’s hands skimming over Brian’s chest and hips as Brian switched from having his arms crossed over Michael’s shoulders to riding low on his lover’s ass.
Buzzed and smiling, Michael moved against Brian, enjoying the way it made the taller man’s hazel eyes grow hungry.
“Dangerous ground, Mikey. Keep this up, and I’ll….”
Interrupting, Michael lifted up his head to kiss Brian – fast and sweet. “I like keeping you up.” He circled a bit against the interest he could feel developing down below.
“What are you going to do? Molest me on a public dance floor? I’m shocked.”
“As if you haven’t been molesting me on public dance floors for years.”
“But the last six months have been the most fun,” Brian laughed, stopping Michael’s answering words with a kiss as they continued to dance, continued to tease.
“As much as I hate breaking up this lovely bit of foreplay, and I mean that… ” It was Ashton, standing at their side – looking a bit rumpled and still missing his shirt. “Declan sent me to fetch you both.”
Brian had to ask, “If I throw you a bone, will you wag your tail, too?”
Hardly missing a beat, Ash replied, “I’m only interested in one man’s bone, thanks. And he’s the one who sent me.”
Michael chuckled, and then asked Brian, “Think you can walk?” He rubbed his hips against Brian again, his eyes full of mischief.
Head falling back, Brian lightly growled, “Someone save me from smart-assed submissives. I’m surrounded.”
Ash snorted, “There’s about a dozen dominants in this room who would more than appreciate being in the same predicament.”
“Okay, you two.” Michael gave them both a playful shove. “Declan’s waiting.”
Brian threw Ashton a look. “I think he thinks we’re twelve.”
Ash grinned. “He may be right.”
Leading the way, he took them out of the crowded exhibition area and around to the back of the building. It was quieter, just the faintest murmur of voices and music reaching them as they walked down the hallway, at the end of which was Declan.
The man was leaning against the wall by a pair of doors that featured an ornate beveled glass design – one that was frosted to allow light to pass, but obscured the view of the room on the other side. The light showing through seemed to flash and flicker at a steady, if mysterious, pace.
Standing tall with his cane once more in hand, Declan greeted them with a smile. “Brian, I believe you still have the key that I gave you, yes?”
Brian pulled the key from his pocket and handed it to Declan, watching as the man unlocked the door.
Leaving it closed, Declan handed the key back to Brian. “While it is a tradition of sorts for us not to receive gifts on our anniversary, it is also our tradition to give a gift to folks we care for. You two came within our circle at a critical moment in your relationship. And since then,” Dec smiled at Ash, then looked back at Brian and Michael. “It’s been a true pleasure to witness how you’ve grown, and explored this newer side to your natures.” He stepped away from the door, as Ashton came around to stand at his back. “So this year, it was a readymade decision to give our gift to the two of you.”
Michael glanced at Ash, seeing him looking fondly at them both. “But, you’ve done so much to help us, and now this trip with you playing tour guide, and….”
“Misha, you deserve to receive all the faith you give,” Ash said. “Let us thank you, for sharing with us and looking after me.”
Brian put an arm across Michael’s chest, hugging his shoulders from behind. He met Declan’s gaze with his own assessing eyes, and then gave him a small nod. The men having said thank you and you’re welcome without a word, as was often their way. “So, what’s behind door number one?”
Declan answered, “More a moment, than anything else. A time and space to share with you what we see when you’re with us.” He reached out and opened the door a crack. “The rest of the night’s yours, with no interruptions. Just turn the lock when you enter, and lock it again when you leave. I’ll see to having everything returned safely home tomorrow.” Letting the door open fully, Declan stepped back.
“Your show awaits.” He smiled, with a merry sparkle in his eyes.
Brian asked one last question before heading with Michael into the unknown awaiting them. "This show have a name?"
Declan nodded, then answered with one word. “‘Embraced.’”
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 9
- - - - - - -
Declan had specified that they should arrive before the guests, so it was a good hour before the showing when the three of them ventured out of the hired car – also arranged by Declan – and through the appointed gallery glass doors to which Ashton had a key.
Michael was surprised to see the place was empty, bare white walls and no one about. “What’s… ”
“There’s a new installation coming in next week,” Ash cut in. “This place, it has three levels. This one’s for public display. Upstairs is for private showings and invitation only exhibitions. Grant, he’s the owner, is an art broker, mostly. He uses this place as a showcase for his clients – buying and selling, rather than focusing on general sales to the public.”
Brian watched as Ash went round the reception desk, and pushed a button that brought up the lights. “What’s on the top floor?”
“Grant lives there,” their friend answered a bit distractedly. “Wait staff should be by soon, if they’re not already. DJ and cater, too. We’re upstairs,” Ash finished, already heading for the stairs against the back wall.
Brian and Michael shared a look, and then Brian nodded up, “After you.”
At the top, they came up short at the sight of Ashton facing the stairs with his back to the room, on his knees with head lowered and eyes closed.
“Ash?”
Anything else Michael was going to say was silenced when Brian raised his hand, finger to lips. He pulled Michael to stand with him, back to front with arms around Michael’s waist as he leaned in and said softly, "Watch."
That was when Declan appeared.
With a confident stride, innate and powerful, he came, hair perfect, dark and curled to his shoulders. Face as clean as the day Brian and Michael had first met him, shaven – the beard he’d worn but two days past, gone.
“Uh oh – someone’s in trouble,” Michael murmured, shushed by Brian which caused him to grin.
Whether he meant Declan for having lost the beard, or Ashton because of the naked menace of the other man’s smile – it hardly mattered, because both were probably true. But Brian would place odds that Ash would soon forget the first, once he got a look at the man.
Black leather pants, skin tight with boots laced from foot to knee. Around his waist, a silver chain belt in gypsy style with coins hanging down that swayed when he moved. His shirt a vibrant, jewel-tone sapphire blue silk with poet cut sleeves. And hands, covered in black kid gloves, with something held in each on either side.
In the right, Declan held a cane. Shining like black glass, it was topped with silverwork flames that encased the shaft from the top down to mid-thigh. The handle was a dragon, fierce with teeth bared and fire in its ruby encrusted eyes. The piece was a work of art, held with ease by a master of the scene.
And in the left…
“Darkling, stay.” Declan said, as he came to stand at Ashton’s back. A nod of welcome to Brian and Michael, and then he was crouching down with one knee on the floor. Voice low but strong, he said, “What is your truth?”
Ash inhaled sharply, then answered, “You are, Master.”
“Your past?”
“You, Master.”
“Your future?”
“Only you, Master, as you please.”
“And your now… ” It wasn’t a question; he’d said it like the beginning of a phrase that only Ashton could finish.
“Is as you would have it, Master.”
“And you… ” Declan finished, setting his cane on the floor as he came up on his knees.
“Yours. I am yours.” He said the words, and meant them in every way.
Declan closed his eyes, and pressed his nose to Ashton’s hair for a moment as he breathed out two words. “Thank you.” Then he drew back and raised his left hand, reaching around as he said, “Open your eyes. See what I would have you wear.”
In his hand was a collar, black leather with metallic silver stitching along the top and bottom. The piece was a couple of inches in width all the way around except in the center where it dipped down in a rounded v-shape. Handmade, it was decorated with three silver pieces of metalwork – two of which were flames fanning out on the left and the right. And there was the larger centerpiece. A dragon, one reared up with wings spread – the collar a direct match to Declan’s cane.
“Oh but that is…. So beautiful.” Even from a distance, Ashton’s pleasure was evident by the shine of his wet eyes. He traced his fingers over the dragon, “Who….”
“Deborah.” Unbuckling the piece, Declan pulled Ash’s shirt collar back and placed it around his slave lover’s neck. Fastening it closed, he placed a kiss on the side of Ashton’s neck. “Rise, slave of mine. And greet your Master as you should.”
Standing himself, Declan leaned on the cane and grinned as Ashton turned to see him.
Michael only just managed not to laugh when Ash saw Declan’s face; it was almost the equivalent of a guppy fish, with eyes a bit wide and mouth open in an O. Though he had to hand it to Ashton for managing a quick recovery.
If a gasped, “Bloody hell,” followed by a chagrinned, “Sorry, Master,” could be considered quick.
Indulging him, Declan tilted his head. “Forgiven.”
Taking a moment to look his lover up and down, Ash bit his lip and clenched his fists. Taking a deep breath, a tad shaken, he went forward into Declan’s waiting arms. He bowed his head, resting it on Dec’s shoulder as he murmured private words that Brian and Michael couldn’t hear.
A pause to listen, and Declan answered back a little louder. “You too, Darkling.” Turning his head, he added, “But you know my favorite of your outfits is you in nothing at all. This, though,” left hand skimming over Ashton’s hip and thigh. “This’ll run pretty high on the list after tonight.”
When Ashton laughed, Declan pulled him into a kiss. Firm, but affectionate. Afterwards, Declan held Ash’s eyes with his own and said softly, “Happy Anniversary, love.”
“And to you. For every year, thank you.”
In a tone that was more fondness than the sarcasm he would have used a year ago, Brian told Michael, “Cue the string section.”
“Shhh.” Michael elbowed Brian, but it only caused the taller man to laugh.
Which had Declan and Ash looking their way as Dec shook his head. “Okay, okay – sap factor’s running close to cringe-worthy, yeah?” He made a quick check of the time. “This place’ll be brimming soon, what with setting up and then the guests. So, how about taking an advance look around? Before chaos reigns.”
Michael agreed, “Brilliant. I can’t wait to see your photos.”
“Looking forward to it,” Brian said.
Declan reached over with his cane and pushed a button on the wall that lit the spots above each of the eleven enlarged prints from Declan’s collection. “Gentlemen, I give you ‘NUIN’.”
- - -
One of Eleven:
Stark, grainy. Raw. It was a double portrait, Ashton sitting on the floor with Declan standing to the right, angled from the side in front of him, reflected full figured in the mirror on the wall behind. Both were physically younger, but the look in their eyes – weary, worn. Old before their time.
Ash looked at Declan like he was his last hope; the one man who could be his saving grace, yet also dejected, like he’d been told no before having the possibility of a yes.
Declan, face cut off with a blank dark expression, looking into the mirror, not at himself, but at the back of Ashton’s head. Inflexible, decided.
But then the question – why take the portrait if it was a moment to forget? The act seeming to say more than their resolute stillness could.
“It was the night we first met. He’d said no to every suggestion, every request. Until he was almost out the door, but then he turned back and….”
Declan interrupted Ash, “And I asked to take his picture. I said I’d pay him back with time, more of my time for more of his.”
Two of Eleven:
An all-together different style. At a glance, it was autumn in the English countryside. A nature scene captured in black and white in what looked to be a windstorm. Trees swaying, ancient and looming tall as their limbs were caught in the whirl of nature’s fun and frolic. A dance during which they dipped and moved together, and from which they would be left spent and unadorned until spring called forth the new from the old.
On the ground below, half buried in leaves, lay Ash. Smiling, light – reaching a hand out as if to call the cameraman to lie and roll about at his side. His spirit in his eyes, he was a sprite partially obscured by the foliage that cushioned and curled about him. The leaves his comfort, cover and toys.
“We won’t even discuss how many bites I got from rolling around like a whelp right out of his nappies.” Ashton laughed. A bit chagrined at the memory.
"No, but tormenting you with the itch cream was interesting," Declan smirked.
Three of Eleven:
Figure study, with a twist. Or rather a kink. The picture’s focus was on a pair of hands, rough, covered in drying clay and marble dust. Callused fingers curled inward, wrists bare, crossed. It was a portrait of Ash, sitting on a stool looking exhausted, his head down, face buried in the bend of his arms. Elbows on his worktable with hands up, but folded down.
The moment made more intimate for his lack of awareness. For the harsh contrast between the sharp focus on his hands, and the soft faded blur of the rest of him. An artist driven from within to work, to create until he could no longer see past the pain. His body finally saying no more, when his mind warred in denial that those words even existed.
“When’d you take that?” Ash asked, the surprise in his voice making it evident he’d not seen it before now.
Declan lifted his lover’s hand in his, tracing over the knuckles with a small smile. “It was one of your deadline pushes for university. Can’t remember which. You were so out of it, you didn’t even know I was there. Didn’t see the flash.” He shook his head, “I think you slept almost 48 hours through once you’d finished that piece.”
“Cor, I remember that. Long time past.” Ash turned his hand so that he was holding Declan’s. “Sneaker.”
“That made him sound like a shoe,” Brian mock-whispered to Michael, earning himself a double thump – Michael to the left, and Ash to the right.
Four of Eleven:
Full on close-up, face framed by black empty space. Declan, from forehead to chin. Eyes obscured, covered by spanned fingers – but on closer look, by two different hands. Ears too, closed off, palms laid flat – separate hands. See no evil, hear no evil? Or not, given his mouth was free, though he was smiling – out of the side of his mouth granted, with jaw off center, and his teeth biting into his bottom lip.
The two of them having a bit of fun at Declan’s expense. Ash’s hands callused and nicked, over Dec’s right ear and left eye – he had to be hidden behind, reaching around. And Declan’s, slim long fingers and manicured nails on the left ear and right eye. A calm, cute moment that on film captured a side of them that was playful. Unassuming.
A snort, and then Ash burst out with a laugh. “You should see the outtakes on that one.”
Declan tisked, “No. No, they should not.”
Ash winked at him, then said to the side, “Two words – giddy giggles.”
“Ashton….”
“Yes, Master. Shutting up now, Master.”
Five of Eleven:
Half a circle of light wands, the type used in performances – long and bright, like florescent light bulbs. Each had to be four feet tall, perfectly spaced between. They were the only illumination in the dark room. And at the center – rising, caught and captured by the camera, was the line of Ashton’s back.
He was naked, skin a mix of shadow and reflected lights, body wet with sweat. On his knees, arms spread above him and pressed flat to the floor above his head. Head lifting up but obscured, and back bowed enough to give only a hint of his behind as the outline was consumed by the dark.
A man made more by the postulating of himself to the truth of his nature. Made new as he rose at his Master’s command.
“That’s good, powerful.” Brian said, appreciating the structure of the image – the technique one he’d have found appealing professionally. The piece was made more satisfying because he knew the men in front of and behind the camera. “Anytime you wanna chuck the glamorous life of therapy, and give this a go for a living – consider me interested in your campaign.”
“Ta,” Declan grinned. “But it’s still a hobby.”
“Says the man who’s standing in a gallery that’s showcasing his art with a viewing public less than an hour away.”
“Nothing I haven’t told him a few thousand times,” Ash interjected. “But he likes to keep it close.”
His grin growing, Declan shrugged. “The man. And his mystery.”
Six of Eleven:
Standing tall, back to the camera. Leather pants, no shirt. Dark hair, curling at the ears and neck.
It was Declan, younger, hair shorter than now. Lit from the front in a blacked out room, his body outlined with streaming light as it slipped and spilled around his shape, highlighting the muscles of his slim back, the strength evident in the tension of his taut arms and clenched fists.
And around his neck, wrapped time and again – a long length of corded leather. The whip, held fast with deliberate placement as the handle hung over his shoulder and down his spine. Ominous, yes. But then from out the lower corner of the picture’s frame, there was a hand – fingers spread wide, reaching for but not daring to touch either the man or the whip. Though the yearning, the eagerness was evident as it strove to be near either goal, or both.
“Ashton’s to blame for this one,” Declan said, as Michael stood transfixed. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring, and being pulled from his locked focus had Michael blushing as Declan looked at him with enough insight that he had to fight the urge to squirm.
“It’s brilliant, and you know it.” Ash insisted.
Indulgently fond, Declan replied, “Never let it be said I don’t do my best to satisfy your creative urges.”
Brian snorted, “Sexual or otherwise.”
Seven of Eleven:
In the middle of a laugh, it was the pair of them at ease. In a private setting indoors, lying on mats before a fire. Their townhouse in Pittsburgh. Ash with an arm thrown over his face, mid-wiggle as Declan rose up above him on an elbow, grinning like mad. The Sunday paper puzzle was spread out on the floor to their sides, but Declan had found a better canvas for his answers. T-shirt rucked up, stomach bare – the Master was drawing a duplicate puzzle square on his slave’s skin, letters half filled in before Ash lost his composure and laughed.
Laughed as Declan’s right hand smudged a line towards his navel, his left holding down the clicker as the camera caught the moment. Two lovers, randomly happy and in love with the moment, and each other.
“Now look who’s too cute for words,” Brian teased. Having fun at spinning the word back at Ashton.
“Yet you’ve managed to find some, regardless,” Ash scoffed, amused for all his snark.
Eight of Eleven:
Spotlight on black velvet, camera zoomed in so close that the circle filled almost the entire frame. And on the crushed velvet, resting with wrists pressed together side by side was Ashton’s arms from elbows to finger tips. With a difference that wasn’t new to either Brian or Michael, but had been when the photograph had been taken – the cuff inked tattoos, Declan’s name twice over. Once in Cyrillic and once in Gaelic lettering.
Marks that meant he was Declan’s, in every way he could become.
“They’d just healed, no more ointment. No complications, thanks to Hugh.”
Michael looked over, “How’s the… ” He stopped when he realized he didn’t know what he could and couldn’t say without risking the surprise for Declan.
“I’m good, Misha. No fears.”
Nine of Eleven:
Rain, on a day so overcast everything appeared blue-gray. Or would have if the photo hadn’t have been in black and white like all the rest. A day when most would have been safe inside or ducked into an alcove, trying to avoid being drenched. But not the reveler framed now for all to see. Ashton Forster, wet through and kicking up puddles as he looked back towards the camera with a wide smile.
He’d been caught spinning, arms thrown out wide, on a stray London street. No traffic, no one else to be seen. Just an Englishman playing a child’s game, being indulged in his hilarity by the man snapping the photo from what must have been a safe doorway or from under an umbrella.
“Gene Kelly lives,” Michael said, as Ashton gave a bow.
“I lack the talent for tap, but if it’s a song you’re after – I’ll give it a proper go.”
“One bar of ‘Singing In The Rain’ and I’m calling for a cab.” Brian made as if he were looking for the exits, only to have Michael yank him back by his hand as the taller man laughed.
Declan leaned in, “Not to worry, Darkling. Later, I’ll happily be your audience of one.”
Ten of Eleven:
Man as canvas, wearing only skin and paint. Hair slicked back, shining dark. Face half-covered with a mask, only the mouth and chin free. Lips parted as if taking a deep breath. He was sitting on a stool, naked but covered strategically by a raised thigh, foot on a higher rung as he turned a bit forward to face the camera. Arms raised, hands locked together in restraints that were attached to a hook on the wall above his head.
And the body, slim and pale – but missing the wrist ink and nipple rings. Marked with permanence only along one arm, the tattoo upside down given the angle of his captured limbs. But marked he was in another decidedly more temporary fashion. By paint.
Black lines, dribbled down on him from above in random patterns, circles and swirls. Covered in such a way that he became the art, rather than the artist – framed and decorated by his beholder. Made primitive, bound as he was in his prime.
Not an inch of him free from Ash’s dark touch.
A man, a Master – made in the image of his slave, *by* his slave, lover and friend.
“Fucking hell, Declan. You’ve got nuts big enough to feed a whole family of squirrels.”
“Crassly put, but thank you.” Declan chuckled at Brian’s reaction. “I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?”
Michael looked at the portrait, then at Declan and back again. “It’s really good. How’d you get talked into it?”
“You mean how did the big bad Dom find himself submitting to Ash’s wandering paint brush?” Declan laughed. “It was my gift, this time last year.”
Ash nodded, taking Declan’s hand and looking back at the portrait. The memories seeming to pass through his eyes as he murmured fondly, “Our tenth.”
Eleven of Eleven:
The two of them, at evening’s end. Standing together, pressed close with Declan behind and Ashton in front. Declan’s arms around Ash’s waist, with one hand pressed flat against his lover’s heart. Both men dressed, trousers and dress shirts with ties hanging free and collars unbuttoned. They could have just come in from a fancy dinner, or a party or a play. Come back to a quiet space that was just them, and what they could be and were to each other.
Ash’s head rested back against Declan’s shoulder, his eyes closed and lips turned up with a gentle lift as if hearing words whispered. Declan’s face turned, pressed against Ash’s hair – eyes camouflaged by long dark lashes and mouth parted as if he’d just said the naughtiest thing. Or something lovely and fun.
“You’ve a bit of the romantic in you, to end on this one,” Michael said, turning to see Ash being held in a similar position as the last portrait – Declan hugging him lightly from behind.
Brian nodded solemnly but with not a little humor in his eyes. “Shhh, now. Wouldn’t want that to get out. Might ruin his reputation.”
“Hardly,” Declan smiled. “I’m too much the dragon for it to scourge me – for one night.”
Ash turned around, lifting a hand to brush against Declan’s smooth jaw. Then he paused, and asked, “Wait, one night? The show’s….”
“For one night. Only. Our night, Darkling.” He kissed Ash, leaving him looking a bit stunned. “Happy anniversary.”
Ashton leaned in and pressed his face against Declan’s shoulder – mirroring a bit the photo in front of which they stood. “Thank you, love. For so much.”
“And to you, for all the mores that are to come.”
- - -
“Brian.” It was Declan, coming over with a hand raised to pat him on the arm after making what had to be his fourth turn through the milling guests and wait staff. Music filling the room, Brian leaned in to hear as Declan asked, “Where’s Michael?”
“Standing by the bar with Hugh, why?” Looking over, Brian saw Hugh giving a belly laugh as Michael shook his head and laughed himself. They’d both been taken fast under the larger man’s wing as it were, once he’d arrived for the evening. So if there were a lull in introductions amid the sea of different and new faces, or if Brian and Michael got separated, then Hugh wasn’t far away. Brian figured it was probably because as much as Hugh was a friend of Declan and Ashton, he was feeling a bit of the odd man out without his Annie at his side.
“It’s almost time for Ash’s moment,” Declan answered. He was standing there, leaning on his cane with a style and ease that usually only came with frequent use, his eyes locked on his slave’s form from across the room.
“It’s his gift to you. Doesn’t that make it *your* moment?”
That enigmatic smile, again. The one that spoke to Declan’s inner amusement, but outwardly showed that he could but wasn’t going to elaborate. “Thank you, by the way. For the present. Ash shared the news.”
Brian grinned, “Well, you said no anniversary gifts.” It was a part of Declan and Ashton’s tradition that they gave gifts to each other, but did not receive them from others. “Michael figured if we called it a host gift, then you’d bend the rules.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling that the choice of what to give was yours.” A laugh, and Declan asked, “Where did you find a six-pendulum Newton’s cradle?” They usually came with only five.
Just what every therapist needed on his or her desk – an Executive Pacifier. Swinging balls and all.
“A resourceful assistant is a wonderful thing,” Brian joked. “Did he tell you it was engraved?”
D-E-C-L-A-N on one side of each silver ball, and A-S-H-T-O-N on the other.
“The two of us knocking balls in perpetual motion?” Declan, ever an artist at deadpanning. “Yes, he may have mentioned it – when he could gasp in enough air to breathe after his laughing fit.” Declan smirked. “I do appreciate your humor, Brian. In all its uniqueness.”
“Glad you like it.” Brian mock bowed, “And the gift.”
Declan raised the cane, holding it under one arm as he slipped a hand into his pocket. With smile, he pulled out a small key and handed it to him. “Mind this, will you?”
Brian looked at the key, “What’s it for?”
A shake of his head, “You’ll have to wait for that.” Declan looked around as the music suddenly stopped. “I think that’s my cue.”
Cane firmly back on the floor, Declan turned and walked to the center of the room. The people around him looked and then seemed to part, widening the space around him until he stood alone.
Michael joined Brian. “What’s he doing?”
Brian put his arm around Michael, leaning in to say, “Receiving his gift, I think.”
Ash appeared, in front of Declan but half a room away. He bowed, staying down until the room filled with the triple tap of Declan’s cane against the floor. Face serious and eyes only for his Master, Ash walked the distance and knelt at the other man’s feet. “What is your will, Master?”
“Rise.”
The room remained silent as Ashton did so, standing still as Declan slowly, deliberately circled him – walking around him with eyes appraising until he stood back where he’d started. His eyes locked with Ash’s, as he said, “Madam James, would you please?”
The devil was smiling as Deborah parted from the crowd and came forward, taking the cane that she’d made for him into her possession until it could be returned again.
Michael was close enough to hear her fondly murmur, “Dramatist,” before she went back into the crowd. He bit back against the impulse to laugh as Brian whispered, “Ain’t he just.”
Declan’s reaction to her name-calling was a wink, and then he was kissing Ash – soft, full and long – parting their lips to speak three words. “Dance with me.”
A raised hand, and the DJ followed Declan’s signal – music filling the room to wrap around the two of them like a pulse, slow and seductive, a Latin undertone with a sway to it that matched Declan’s body as he took Ashton close and began to move. Began to rock and flow in time to the beat, easy and sure – focused on Ash’s face and body rather than on anyone else watching in the room.
Keeping their bodies close, Declan moved forward and then back – touching Ash’s chest as his slave raised hands to hold Declan’s hips. Leather-clad fingers teasing, then palms pressing over Ash’s nipples, Dec said something that was lost in the music, something that had Ashton reluctantly moving his hands back, then away from Declan’s body. Not that Declan left them there for long….
A beat, and then he turned and circled Ash again – his hands moving along the length of his lover’s arms as he traced them from wrists to shoulders, making as if he were going to draw the shirt back by the neck. But then he stopped and returned to the front. Returned, and drew first one of Ash’s hands up then the other – removing the customized cufflinks that held the sleeves of Ash’s shirt closed. Never missing a beat as he slipped them into a pocket and continued to move against Ashton’s body, the two of them mesmerizing as they slow danced.
Slipping under Ashton’s shirt, Declan ghosted his hands up the man’s back where he softly mapped his skin with a light touch until he reached what must have been the bottom of the design – skin a bit silky with the remnants of ointment from hours ago. Face suddenly serious, he stopped moving and stood against Ash as their gazes held and Declan moved his fingers further up, tracing blindly the edges of where the tattoo must be. “What have you to show me, Darkling?”
Ash drew in a breath, one that Michael could see even from a distance was shaky. The man’s face so full of emotion that Michael tightened his hold on Brian’s arms as Ash bowed his head and spoke.
“I have nothing to give, Master. Except myself, and all that is a part of me. Ever may it please you.”
“You have pleased me, for many a year. It’s proud I am that you’re mine.”
Ash raised his head, and looked at his lover with eyes full of love and hope. “Would you receive what I have to give you, Master?”
Declan slipped his hands back around and drew them up Ashton’s stomach and chest, then with a smooth push, the shirt fell down Ash’s back and off his arms to the floor. Revealing to the others the mark he would now carry for life.
The room no longer silent, a murmur carried as those who were near reacted to the design. The looks on people’s faces, curious and approving as Brian glanced around and then back as Declan lifted his hand to touch Ash’s face, and then turned him around so he could see what the others had already seen.
Spread across his mid to upper back from one side to the other, was a medallion design – a circle within a circle, measuring about ten inches round. The border space between the two circles held an intricate and beautiful Celtic pattern, which caught the eye but truly served more to draw one’s focus in towards what was at the center of the inner circle itself.
A tree that was more than a tree, a design that was more than what one saw at first glance. Above were branches, ancient and rising up tall to disappear into the curve of the border. Below were the roots intermingling together, reaching down until the circle assumed them. But between, there was the absence of a trunk – the tree instead made whole by the intertwined bodies of two men. Bare of all but each other’s arms as they held one another, kissing – they were the tree. They were the life from which the branches rose, their hair the source from which the limbs grew. They were the claiming of each other and the right to life as their tangled legs grew down into the roots that fed and held them strong.
The two of them, the pair matched together indelibly as the Celtic Tree of Life Lovers. Held fast together, with a permanence and strength to weather all storms.
The design itself was vibrant, done with a skill that Hugh had every right to find pride in. The men, the branches and roots were almost three dimensional, giving the appearance that if one reached out to touch them, they’d be real.
And indeed, that was what Declan did – air-tracing his gloved fingertips over the lines with a reverence for what they meant and for the man who had suffered their placement. “Dar…. Darkling, mine.” His voice was a rasp, his face held fast only by the barest of threads as he leaned in and pressed a kiss just above the tattoo. Pressed and held there, with eyes closed and arms wrapped around Ash’s waist. His silence and Ash’s shining eyes saying more than words could.
Locked for the longest as the music continued to play and their guests looked on, sharing from afar as Declan held Ash, and the moment held them both. Together.
- - -
Others had started dancing once Dec and Ash took a brief break to go find a few minutes alone. Music flowed, along with the booze, and everyone was happier for it, having a good time.
Everyone, including Michael and Brian. The two nigh on inseparable as they moved to the beat, Michael’s hands skimming over Brian’s chest and hips as Brian switched from having his arms crossed over Michael’s shoulders to riding low on his lover’s ass.
Buzzed and smiling, Michael moved against Brian, enjoying the way it made the taller man’s hazel eyes grow hungry.
“Dangerous ground, Mikey. Keep this up, and I’ll….”
Interrupting, Michael lifted up his head to kiss Brian – fast and sweet. “I like keeping you up.” He circled a bit against the interest he could feel developing down below.
“What are you going to do? Molest me on a public dance floor? I’m shocked.”
“As if you haven’t been molesting me on public dance floors for years.”
“But the last six months have been the most fun,” Brian laughed, stopping Michael’s answering words with a kiss as they continued to dance, continued to tease.
“As much as I hate breaking up this lovely bit of foreplay, and I mean that… ” It was Ashton, standing at their side – looking a bit rumpled and still missing his shirt. “Declan sent me to fetch you both.”
Brian had to ask, “If I throw you a bone, will you wag your tail, too?”
Hardly missing a beat, Ash replied, “I’m only interested in one man’s bone, thanks. And he’s the one who sent me.”
Michael chuckled, and then asked Brian, “Think you can walk?” He rubbed his hips against Brian again, his eyes full of mischief.
Head falling back, Brian lightly growled, “Someone save me from smart-assed submissives. I’m surrounded.”
Ash snorted, “There’s about a dozen dominants in this room who would more than appreciate being in the same predicament.”
“Okay, you two.” Michael gave them both a playful shove. “Declan’s waiting.”
Brian threw Ashton a look. “I think he thinks we’re twelve.”
Ash grinned. “He may be right.”
Leading the way, he took them out of the crowded exhibition area and around to the back of the building. It was quieter, just the faintest murmur of voices and music reaching them as they walked down the hallway, at the end of which was Declan.
The man was leaning against the wall by a pair of doors that featured an ornate beveled glass design – one that was frosted to allow light to pass, but obscured the view of the room on the other side. The light showing through seemed to flash and flicker at a steady, if mysterious, pace.
Standing tall with his cane once more in hand, Declan greeted them with a smile. “Brian, I believe you still have the key that I gave you, yes?”
Brian pulled the key from his pocket and handed it to Declan, watching as the man unlocked the door.
Leaving it closed, Declan handed the key back to Brian. “While it is a tradition of sorts for us not to receive gifts on our anniversary, it is also our tradition to give a gift to folks we care for. You two came within our circle at a critical moment in your relationship. And since then,” Dec smiled at Ash, then looked back at Brian and Michael. “It’s been a true pleasure to witness how you’ve grown, and explored this newer side to your natures.” He stepped away from the door, as Ashton came around to stand at his back. “So this year, it was a readymade decision to give our gift to the two of you.”
Michael glanced at Ash, seeing him looking fondly at them both. “But, you’ve done so much to help us, and now this trip with you playing tour guide, and….”
“Misha, you deserve to receive all the faith you give,” Ash said. “Let us thank you, for sharing with us and looking after me.”
Brian put an arm across Michael’s chest, hugging his shoulders from behind. He met Declan’s gaze with his own assessing eyes, and then gave him a small nod. The men having said thank you and you’re welcome without a word, as was often their way. “So, what’s behind door number one?”
Declan answered, “More a moment, than anything else. A time and space to share with you what we see when you’re with us.” He reached out and opened the door a crack. “The rest of the night’s yours, with no interruptions. Just turn the lock when you enter, and lock it again when you leave. I’ll see to having everything returned safely home tomorrow.” Letting the door open fully, Declan stepped back.
“Your show awaits.” He smiled, with a merry sparkle in his eyes.
Brian asked one last question before heading with Michael into the unknown awaiting them. "This show have a name?"
Declan nodded, then answered with one word. “‘Embraced.’”
TBC...
Would love to know what you think...
Hugs
xof
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