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It's after Midnight, ready for more??? hehe...
hugs
xof
Title: “Encompassed…” - Part 2
Author: xof
Feedback: xof1013@gmail.com
Rating: NC-17 (Very, very….lol)
Pairing: Brian/Michael, Declan/Ashton (OMC/OMC)
Genre: First Time, Drama, Angst
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, but damn it’s fun imagining I do…. My two OMC’s are mine, even though Alexis would like it very much if I’d allow them to visit her house…lol.
Status: Complete, but will be posted in 11 parts. (over 126 pages total )
Archive: ATP, Always, yes.
Summary: An exploration of Michael’s submissive nature, and Brian’s resulting claim. With a little help from two new friends….
Timeline: Set after the finale of Season Two, 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 baby took 8 months to write, and is in fact my 50th posted story. Its length and those facts are all milestones for me, so I hope you enjoy. It drove me crazy, it wore me down and built me back up again. Tremendous gratitude to Alexis for being there through its creation, always encouraging and giving her two cents - and for the fabulous beta and preface. Thanks to Mistress Teri, for letting me pick her head and helping me round out the concept at the beginning. And to the ladies who had a very small peek early on, hope you like the end result, hugs.
Additional Notes: To be found at the end of the fic. Will include links to name origins, and to pictures I found inspiring - including clothing and toys.
Warnings: Deals with the subject of Dominance/submission, and bondage. However, it is a story of love and sensual play. There is no S/M activity between Brian and Michael, which means no PAIN. There is one scene in part one that does touch on S/M, but it’s built off of a scene shown in canon - nothing too heavy at all. Our boys only act as witnesses to it. So I encourage readers to take a chance and follow our boys as they rediscover each other, and themselves, in this new way.
- - - - - - -
Part 2
- - - - - - -
It should have been so simple. Just a turn of a doorknob and there he’d be…. But as Brian reached to open the door, he met with the immobile resistance that could only mean one thing. Locked.
It was almost ten in the morning. Michael usually opened at 9 o’clock, closing at six. Feeling impatient at the mystery of Michael’s whereabouts, Brian wrapped his knuckles and called out Michael’s name. No response.
Typically, Brian would have assumed Michael was just running an errand or that he had an appointment. But nothing had been typical since last weekend’s visit to Babylon. They hadn’t talked or seen each other at all the day afterwards; not that Brian hadn’t tried to call. He’d stopped trying after the third redirect to voicemail in a six hour period.
If Michael wanted to avoid their confrontation, then so be it. For now. Brian’s sense of reasonableness on sort supply as it usually was anyway, had quickly started to dry up on Monday with Michael as a no show - first at the diner for breakfast, then later that day at the gym. Heading back to the office, any plans Brian may have had to leave early to go to Michael’s store had been derailed by Ryder’s appearance at Brian’s office door. Having one of his biggest clients being courted with aggression by their competition wasn’t something Brian could ignore or wish away.
The next three days were almost a blur. Meetings, brainstorming sessions, working and reworking ad specs until everything was perfect - it was havoc. Brian’s office smelled of barely touched delivery and he’d managed to work through using both of his spare dress shirts; sleeping only a couple hours here and there as he could.
Cynthia had managed to reach Michael at the store, only to have Michael ring off after he explained he had to settle some purchases for a line of customers. He’d said he would call Brian back. She said he’d sounded tired; or rather she’d said that Michael had sounded the way Brian looked . . . worn out.
Michael did call back. Brian missed it because he was on a conference call with his client, trying to talk them down from the ledge - all the while feeling as though he were teetering on one himself. Cynthia directed the call to Brian’s voice mail, but it was well after dark before Brian was free to listen.
“Hi, it’s me.” (Pause) “Cynthia called earlier, but things were busy. Kids and geeks all over. Anyway. Sorry I missed your call. She said it’s been murder on your end, so I guess I can dispel the rumors Em and Ted have been putting out that you’ve left the Pitts for greener pastures; that or you’ve been at one of those celebrity in-and-out plastic surgery clinics.” (Soft, but nervous chuckle.) “Uhmm…. So, I…. I’ll be at mom’s for dinner. If you get off, you could come over. That is if you’re feeling up to facing the dragon.” (Long thoughtful pause) “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’m going at all. She’s still pissed about Ben’s leaving. I’d rather finish cataloging my inventory ‘coz I’ve got an order due in soon.” (Awkward breath) “How about breakfast tomorrow, okay. See you then. Bye.”
The call, the sound of Michael’s voice - all of it told Brian that his friend was still slightly panicked at seeing him. He knew Michael was using the offer of having breakfast to try and buffer embarrassment - public place, Ted and Emmett. It wasn’t a leniency Brian was willing to provide. He was tired, and he was determined to see Michael as soon as he could. All the more reason to show up unannounced once he’d finished up a few last minute details, Brian thought.
It was well past time they talked.
Brian had stopped by the loft, with the purpose of showering and changing his clothes. He was exhausted from the ordeal of the past few days, but he had planned to push on through - find his fifth or sixth wind and go find Michael. But best laid plans dissolved as he hit the shower.
The warmth of the water, the feeling of tension tight muscles giving into the heat – it all warred against Brian’s resolve to avoid sleep. Once the shower was done, he was weary and barely conscious. The few tendrils of thought he could manage were lying to him, a seductive whisper passing through his brain. “A few minutes, an hour. Just close your eyes.” It was the last suggestion that won the war, as Brian lay back on his bed, naked and wet – letting sleep pass over him with speed.
Hours later, the morning sun pierced through the expanse of the loft. It shone through the slats that formed the walls of Brian’s bedroom; he’d left them open the night before – acting as his alarm. Brian flinched back into the wakefulness, cursing as he rolled away from the light, only to see the clock glaring back at him with news that he was missing breakfast at the diner.
Throwing on some jeans once he’d finished his morning clean up routine, Brian jerked on a denim button-up shirt and pulled on his shoes and coat quickly before leaving for the diner. He got there just as Ted and Em were settling up, dirty plates for only two on the table in front of them. The two lovebirds were giddy with each other still, only days into their new relationship. Just watching them make goo-goo eyes at each other was enough to make Brian queasy. “Where’s Michael?”
Em smiled in welcome even as Ted frowned at Brian’s abruptness. He opened his mouth to give Brian a good morning, only to be cut off by Ted, “Why good morning to you too, Brian? Em and I are doing well, and you?” His sarcasm was vibrant and hit at Brian’s impatience.
Looking to Em, blatantly ignoring Ted, Brian repeated, “Michael?”
Em hugged an arm around Ted’s shoulders in affection as he answered, “He didn’t show for breakfast. He’s probably already at the store.”
Brian turned to leave after a quick wave to Em, only to be waylaid in the wake of one Debbie Novotny. She took one look at him, and proceeded to insist he plant his ass in a chair because he WAS going to eat breakfast. Brian’s beginning protest didn’t yield him much ground as she all but hip-butted him into the booth, much to Ted and Em’s amusement. He figured it was just his luck to run into her when she was in mother-hen mode, but from long history he knew to just grit his teeth and dig in to whatever she put in front of him.
Finally escaping before she could shove a second helping of breakfast for champions in front of his face, Brian frowned at his watch as he pulled out into traffic. He managed to find a parking space down the block from Michael’s store.
Locked with a closed sign on the door.
“Fuck.” Brian yanked his cell phone from his pocket, speed-dialing Michael’s in turn. Still with the fucking voicemail. And again with the answering machine at home. Fine. If the man was running an errand, Brian had the time to wait. And if Michael was trying to avoid confrontation, then Brian would bring it right to his door. Or through his door, he thought - privately amused as he pulled his keys out and inserted his infrequently used spare key to Michael’s store.
Shutting the door, Brian turned the lock back into place as the sound of the bells died down. Throwing his coat on the counter, he went to sit on the couch, intending to stay until Michael showed - but he abruptly stopped as he saw what was on the sofa. Or rather, who was on it.
Michael.
Huddled up, lying on his side facing the couch with his back to the room - he was curled into its lumpy surface, asleep. He was dressed in black drawstring pants made of the soft cotton that looked more like pajamas than street wear, but Brian knew they were workout pants; he’d teased Michael more than once about the necessity of making a pit stop at one’s closet before rolling out of bed for the gym. Topping the outfit, Michael wore a red long sleeve tee - complete with turtleneck.
Brian would have thought his friend would be cold in those clothes, except for one thing. The heat was on full blast in the store; it was on high and the longer Brian stood there looking, the hotter he grew. Frowning, Brian sat at the end of the couch in the small section left by Michael’s up-drawn legs. Leaning over, he touched Michael’s forehead lightly to check for fever - something to explain the temperature, Michael’s clothing and why he was sleeping this late at the store of all places.
Michael’s skin was cool and he shifted a bit at the touch, coming closer to consciousness. With a smile, Brian decided to help Michael’s progress to wakefulness along.
Rising through the fog of sleep, Michael shifted as he felt the press of something warm and soft against his cheek. He moved into it, only to draw in a quick breath as his body protested the unwelcome motion. The sensation, the pleasure against his skin mixed with a glaring reminder of why he was asleep - of why he had wanted to chase clarity away and hide. Caught between a grimace and a groan, he turned into the touch - still half asleep, but aware enough now to realize what the press and slide over and against his mouth was.
He was being kissed.
Eyes still closed, mind still foggy - Michael didn’t question who it was. The touch was so familiar, and he only knew who he wanted it to be…. Opening his mouth, he returned the sweet caress - murmuring into the kiss as he opened his eyes, one name passing between them. “Brian, what…. What are you do…”
Cutting off Michael’s quiet question, Brian suppressed a grin as he leaned further down to speak in his friend’s ear. “Ribbit, ribbit.” He pulled back quick enough to catch Michael’s sleep-filled eyes shoot open as his eyebrows raised; his expression one that said Brian was crazy.
Brian laughed, “Just checking to see if you were dreaming of frogs or princes.” He laughed again as Michael frowned and tried ineffectually to shove him back.
Michael’s mood quickly started to plummet as he snapped, “I guess that makes me the toad.” He was feeling insecure enough; any hint of a slight stung with almost the same power as his aching body. Almost, but not as much, Michael winced as he managed to twist up off the sofa and away from Brian. The movement made him feel like an eighty year old man. He bit down to catch the groan that threatened to escape as he slowly walked to the checkout counter.
Brian’s response changed from amusement to concern as he watched Michael’s stilted journey. The question it brought to his mind caused his words to sound deeper, more intimate than he’d initially intended. “More like sleeping beauty.” He followed Michael, standing at his back as he added, “It’s not in my makeup to kiss frogs, Michael. Only princes.” At Michael’s soft, albeit nervous laugh, Brian turned him around until they were chest to chest. “You feeling okay?”
The question was more loaded than Brian knew. Michael cleared his throat, looking at a point just over Brian’s shoulder and not into the taller man’s eyes as he gave a small smile and lied. “I’m fine, had a late night working here. The couch just did a number on me.” He bit his lip, finally looking at Brian as he remembered, “Shit. I slept through breakfast. I’m sorry.”
Looking at his friend, gauging the truth of his explanation - Brian gave a small nod. He admitted, “I almost did too; slept like the dead last night.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against Michael’s - the gesture long established between them, whether it signaled connection, comfort or conspiracy. Today it was conspiracy as Brian grinned, “You missed the Temmett show.”
Michael laughed, albeit nervously - hyper responsive to Brian‘s closeness. He was very much aware, now, of his own awkwardness as the memories of their last meeting came flaring back through his mind. Shifting a bit, he tried to escape the warmth of Brian’s arms for fear of yet again making himself look the fool - only to have Brian press him back against the counter, trapping him with an arm on either side. Michael tried to maintain the façade of oblivion by shaking his head as he chastised, “Don’t tease them too badly, Brian. I’m glad they’re happy. They deserve it.”
The wistful, sad tone of those words from Michael - the emphasis, even subconsciously, on the word “they,” had Brian pulling back just a bit to see his friend. He caught a look that was almost mournfully resolute flash across those dark eyes. Fuck. “And what does Mikey deserve?” His words a push, both serious and seductive.
The question invoked a long standing response in Michael; one he hadn’t showcased in more time than Brian could remember. Arms quickly lifted, hugging his own waist - a self-securing gesture in the wake of insecurity, Michael stood quiet without a response. Maybe for fear of being drawn into a trap of words, maybe from fear of what he may say in return - he chose to say nothing other than, “I have to open the store.”
The silence passed into an awkward pause, until Brian sighed and stepped back. “Okay, so tonight at eight.” Michael looked up in question. Brian smiled, once again the persuader as he added, “Woody’s.” When Michael started to shake his head, mouth opened to say something as an excuse, Brian didn’t give him the option to continue, “There’s a couple of pool cues with our names on them, Mikey. Don’t be late.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Michael’s lips before grabbing his coat and leaving.
Perhaps they’d be better suited to get past the questions and doubts if they played on a more public field.
- - - - - - -
There are moments when the line in the sand can become obscured by the temptation of what lies across the known boundaries of a familiar past. Who’s to say then when one has stepped too far on the promise of a better or more bountiful tomorrow?
It was a question both Brian and Michael would be asking themselves and each other.
- - - - - - -
The longer Michael stood in the doorway peering inside through the crowd as he stayed in the shadows, the louder the sound grew in his mind - the ticking of a clock, menacing and weighted. He knew he was late; he knew he was delaying the inevitable by not going inside. But even the thought of taking that step forward felt like two steps back.
Woody’s on any given night was busy, serving as both a pick-up center and community corral. People came there to be themselves with their friends and family, or to be someone else’s someone for the night. A place to find or be found, in whatever form the night required. It had been both to Michael and to Brian, but for Michael and Brian - it was a place to relax and have fun. Together.
But tonight, tonight it was a breeding ground for every insecurity Michael felt inside. He felt so tired; tired of thinking, tired of questioning and tired of his own doubts. Looking now across to where Brian stood, Michael felt torn by the desire to stay and the rush of wanting to run. He watched as men, one after the other, made their way to Brian’s side. He watched as each was turned away in kind.
Seeing that, knowing that Brian was waiting for him…. It was wonderful and it was overwhelming when mixed with the memories of what had happened to him, and between them only days before. So close, they’d been so close. And even though he’d left then, he’d allowed himself a moment to hope.
Hope…. For more with Brian.
It was a luxury Michael had denied himself for years. Something he’d tried to grow past, to dampen down in the wake of other loves. It was dangerous. And now, in the wake of newer truths - he couldn’t help but fear. To doubt….
If he went inside, what would happen? They’d go on as before? Make it another moment to hold inside, but deny as anything but play? Or would they continue to move towards newer things, newer moments shared together?
And what of the questions he was now facing about himself? After standing so close to the flame of something he’d tried to deny inside, after giving in and losing himself in the fire and in Brian’s arms - what was next?
Michael shook his head. Could he merge what he wanted with what he needed most? And was having both together even an option? Was it even a choice that was his to make? He didn’t know. All Michael knew was that he couldn’t cross into that room and have things be passed over, have things become as they’d been.
So he took the path that meant less struggle, less likelihood of loss. He decided to go with the question he felt, albeit ironically, safer finding the answer to - thinking that if he could know himself more fully, that he would be braver to face the what-if’s that hoping was prone to shine a light on.
One last look at the man that represented more than half his life, and then Michael turned away. One foot in front of the other, a step down and then another until he turned down the sidewalk and was gone.
- - - - - - -
“Damn it, Michael.” Brian slapped his cell closed, shoving it into his pocket as he stomped down Liberty Avenue. He was at his patience’s end. Over two fucking hours he’d waited. He’d played a few games of darts, a couple rounds of pool and turned down at least seven blatant offers to suck his cock or to fuck. And Michael didn’t show. He wasn’t answering the phone again; cell, home or store. And Brian would be fucked before he tried to call anyone else of their Liberty brood to ask if they knew where his best friend was.
He was tired of waiting and tired of being the one stretching out his hand, only to end up empty handed. What he wanted most was for Michael to be there with him tonight, not playing chicken in his apartment or elsewhere. But since he didn’t have what he wanted, Brian was hard pressed not to go for the second thing on his list of wants. He hadn’t gotten off with anyone since before their night at the Leather Ball; he’d left shortly after Michael had run - going home to the touch of his own hand, the memories of their experience still fresh even as his disappointment that more hadn’t followed still lingered in the aftermath of his own self-induced pleasure.
All he’d had for days now was work and Michael on the brain till he was pulled taunt like a bowstring about to pop. The tension felt like a living thing, gripping him so he could hardly see past the desire that was merging in his brain with the man who had left him waiting high and dry. Or rather sober and dry, the little shit.
Well, fuck him.
Brian would just have to solve one problem at a time; though he couldn’t resist the thought that it would have been sweeter if only Michael….
Sighing, he tuned his thoughts away from dangerous paths and decided to focus instead on his restlessness. He passed one bar after another, thinking no and not that one. Indecision leading him further down the street than he was usually want to go, Brian stopped to look around. He was at a turnoff from Liberty, a side street that was more alley than anything else. Smiling at memories long untouched, Brian took in what used to be the “Meat Hook.” Leather bar with a bad reputation, or used to be until it was closed and sold to new management over a year back.
“Dominion” shown back through the darkness, red neon splitting through the veil of night. The sign wasn’t large or glaringly obnoxious. But it was the only calling card to the entrance of Pittsburgh’s own answer to the larger leather clubs like those found in New York or LA. It was also the main haven for most of those who spilled into Babylon in chaps and chains on the one night a year that the dance club celebrated the alternative lifestyle of BDSM, i.e. the Leather Ball.
Brian had visited the bar only a handful of times since its change of ownership, on the odd night when he’d wanted a change of spice and scene. When he’d wanted rougher play than was on tap for most at Babylon. Mostly when he wanted to chase away a darker moment in his life by taking control of someone else for awhile.
His early days on Liberty Avenue had met with a visit to the “Meat Hook” only a time or two. At first he’d enjoyed the rush of his own popularity, only later to realize that anyone who looked like him and who was on the younger side of life was seen as anyone’s boy. One too many Daddy Doms in his face had squelched Brian’s visits for several years thereafter. It wasn’t until he was older, more experienced and looked like he could hold his own that he’d entered the placed again later in life.
Still and all, the “Meat Hook” had been seedier than most, becoming a place to avoid unless you were looking for trouble. And though there were nights when it fit the bill, Brian had only allowed himself inside when the need to forget overrode his need for anything else.
Walking inside, Brian quickly paid for entrance from the large bearded hulk at the door before entering the bar. “Dominion” was the complete opposite in style from its predecessor; whereas the former had been nothing but a hole in the wall with a bar, all bare wood and dark shadows - the new décor spoke to money and taste. Old world mixed with new, it shone with the gleam of recessed lights reflected off black leather and chrome.
The space remained small, intimate and enclosed but allowed for more room to move now that the bar had been centered so that it could be approached from all sides. Surface slicked to shine; the bar looked almost like it was made of black onyx framed by a polished silver chrome rail. The walls were covered in padded leather, studded in a large diamond design so that it reminded one of expensive upholstered leather furniture. A pattern drawn through to the matching bar stools and the wall booths that outlined the space for added privacy. The floor was painted black as was the ceiling, but the angled lighting from above and below gave the room a warm presence that beat back the menacing energy of possibility that could have taken over and scared away those new to the art of looking to be caught.
Brian had seen the place busier, but for a Thursday night the crowd was fair. There were enough people there to give the illusion of a crowd, but not enough to make one feel crowded. He leaned against the wall, close to the door and let his eyes wander. Watching each man that passed him, Brian noticed a couple of men that would have done if he’d been willing to make due. But settling for second best wasn’t his style.
So he waited. Waited to see if any of the others would rise to the bar he’d set less than a week before….
The longer he looked without making a choice, the more he doubted any of those who hopefully caught his eye would be able to hold his interest. It was almost like he didn’t want to decide, didn’t want to choose.
What he missed in his frustration was that subconsciously, he’d already chosen.
Bodies milling towards him and back, still Brian stood – a dark look on his face, more unwelcoming than he’d probably intended as he shook off the next couple of offers that were made with a shake of his head. Unreasonably, he was getting increasingly more tense with each man who approached because none of them were what he needed. Large or short, firm or soft, hairy or smooth…. They didn’t hold the right cards in the deck he was dealing for himself that night.
Finally giving in to the call of a full bladder, Brian escaped the warmth of the room to find the bathroom at the back. Unlike Babylon’s cavernous restroom, Dominion had only two stalls - a small space that was clean but hardly room for anything else than answering the call of nature. Usually that made for a quicker in and out - mind out of the gutter please. So it wasn’t long before Brian was re-entering the main room.
Figuring he’d give it a few more minutes, Brian headed to the bar for a drink. His path was abruptly barred when another man stormed past him, heading in the same direction. The guy’s whole body seemed to radiate anger, showcased by his lack of regard for anyone he knocked into on the way. Feeling pissed himself, Brian watched the stranger to see what could have caused the rush.
The guy who had brushed past Brian stopped when he met up with his prey. The two of them were perfect contrasts. The one standing was tall; his large frame filled out with muscles, skin tanned and his hair was a sandy gold. He was an intimidating presence before he’d even opened his mouth to speak. His voice was loud, laced with venom barely held in check. “You didn’t have permission to leave last night, boy.”
The one he was baring down on jerked at the sound of his voice. Small, compact and about half the other man’s size - the “boy,” or rather man in question, reacted jarringly to the surprise of the other’s appearance. It wasn’t a happy hunch in his bowed shoulders; he seemed to sink into himself, innately trying to make himself smaller so he wouldn’t be any closer to his reprimander.
Brian couldn’t make out anything about the smaller man’s appearance since his back was to him. But he could tell instantly that the brute that towered over the guy was getting increasingly more furious with the silent treatment. Wincing himself, Brian continued to play witness along with the rest of the bar to the tense drama unfolding as the large stranger cuffed the one sitting at the bar; a large gripping hand at the back of the frightened man’s neck.
He jerked at the touch, trying to turn away, to escape with a quick dodge to the side but his attempt was stopped as he was grabbed and held against the bar. Trapped within the circle of the taller man’s arms, he tried to push against them but gained no ground.
“You owe me an explanation, boy. Now!”
Brian’s view of the two was obscured by the larger man’s body, but he could see the helpless struggling that continued from the guy who was held fast. It wasn’t his business, and normally he wouldn’t have interfered directly – especially considering the kind of bar they were in where such a scene may be exactly that, a scene being played by mutual consent. But all sense of normal hit the skids when the one who was being manhandled managed to break free with a stomp kick to the other’s foot along with a desperately thrown elbow to his gut, and turned so that Brian saw his face for the first time.
“Michael?”
Attention jerked abruptly from the focus of escape, Michael hesitated too long at the sound of his name and the shock of seeing Brian there before him. His abuser made a grab for him, managing to snag the back of Michael’s shirt as he tried to pull him back so he couldn’t leave.
Rushing forward, Brian caught Michael around the waist and twisted him to the side. The move caused the neck of Michael’s shirt to tear, but it worked to free him so that he was at Brian’s back, with his best friend standing between him and his attacker. When the guy made to come closer, Brian pushed him back with a shove to the man’s chest. Backing both himself and Michael up, Brian snapped, “He doesn’t want to play, so fuck off.”
A snarl on his face and sounding in his voice, the man gave a harsh, “He doesn’t play, my ass.” Leaning in, he snidely continued, “He was playing just fine with my dick up his ass last night. On his knees, my cuffs on his wrists, begging for more. Loving it so much he screamed when I let him come.“
Brian’s gut clenched, anger glinting sharply in his eyes. He felt Michael go still, so perfectly still behind him. Turned to see him frozen, head down looking anywhere but up as his face grew pale. Brian was about to reach out, to touch him when the oaf in front shoved his hand down before he could touch Michael.
“He’s mine till I say otherwise, fucker. Why else do you think he came back?”
The words ‘came back’ echoing in his head, Brian looked past his questions and turned back to the asshole that had no business trying to stand in his way. No business treating Michael as less, when he was and would always be so much more. “He’s with me, now back off.” Feeling his hands curling into fists, Brian widened his stance - bracing himself in case he had to take it to the next level.
The man was advancing, ready to lay in on what he assumed would be an easy target when a loud striking slap sounded through the bar - silencing everyone as the harsh sound echoed. Brian risked only a glance at the bar, afraid to let his eyes or attention shift from the man before him. What he saw was the bartender holding a black lacquered police baton; the sound having been the whack of it hitting the bar rail in warning.
“Enough, Dylan. The pissing contest is over, ease down or I’m calling the cops.” When the man hesitated, letting his anger war against what would have been the practical course, the barman added in a firm voice, “Last warning, man. This is done now, or you’re banned from the bar.”
Not answering back to the threat, Dylan stood his ground. His eyes passed from Brian to Michael, then back. “Prove it.” The words dripped with challenge, still angry.
“Dylan….” The bartender started to break in, but was quickly cut off as Dylan continued.
“If he’s here with him, I’ll stand down. But he’s got to prove it.” Looking at Brian with contempt, Dylan jutted his chin in Michael’s direction. “Go ahead, asshole. Prove to me that he’s yours.”
Pulse already raising, energy racing through his nerves on an adrenaline high, the last words still managed to settle around Brian’s consciousness like a blanket of calm. Because he knew. He knew and Michael was about to find out….
The claim needed to be settled on a debt they’d owed to each other since their teens.
Michael’s voice, shaky and hesitant, sounded from behind him. Just the beginnings of his name, the “Bri…” barely started and Brian turned on him - a hand carding through the hair at Michael’s neck, pulling his face up until they were separated by only the space of an inch and Brian growled, “Not a fucking word.” Eyes dropping from the dark shock of Michael’s own, Brian ghosted a last phrase, “Unless it’s, ‘Please’,” before he took Michael’s mouth with his….
It was a two fold move, the kiss. It was a welcome; it was a claim. Possessive, fierce but mindful of the more it all could lead to; the more that they had touched only in small ways before now. Brian pulled Michael to him, yanking Michael’s hand behind his own body until it was pressed to Michael’s back. Caging him with his hands until there was no space to separate them, and still the kiss continued. Lips parting, Brian’s tongue took the invitation of Michael’s gasp and pushed inside to taste even as he was tasted. The hunger curling through each of them until Michael was moving against him, clutching at Brian’s body with his one free hand.
Air on desperately short supply, Brian pulled back from Michael’s mouth - watching him as they both panted and stared. His leg pressed into the hardened length of Michael against his thigh; Brian circled his own paralleling response against Michael’s body. Breathing hot across the wet bruised fullness of his friend’s mouth, Brian whispered low - the sound whipping through Michael’s scattered senses like a cat of nine, “Say it. Mean it.”
Held in hazel fire, Michael spoke. “Please.” Without thought, it was the only answer Michael had in the rush of his own blood. His eyes widen a moment after he said it, realization hitting him as the weight of meaning it unfurled the worry his nature was prone to shroud his choices in. On the brink of stepping back, of trying to gain the ground he feared he’d lost - Michael was held fast as Brian stood firm.
Stood firm as he pulled Michael’s face closer, as he hovered over the full lips he’d taken but a moment ago. The lack of closure a tease, Brian waited as he let the need - no, the demand for another touch pass through his eyes. Silence hung in the gulf as he waited, seconds falling in the divide between them - until with a knowing look, Brian’s quiet insistence that Michael offer up the kiss they both wanted was met by Michael as he pressed his mouth to Brian’s own.
Brian let Michael lead the kiss, let him reach up into the feel of it for the span of a moment before Brian let loose with a hunger that made Michael stumble and cling in return. A beat, a pulse and then Brian pulled back again to see Michael’s face.
Eyes closed, face flushed and mouth slick; Michael was caught in the aftermath, unmoving with his breath held as if it would all disappear if he tried to do a thing but exist as he was. And then Brian’s voice reached him through the haze, “Breathe, Mikey. Breathe.”
Opening his eyes, Michael did as told, his lungs burning at the sudden rush of air. But his breath threatened to catch again at the look in Brian’s eyes. Hunger with anger to mix. The combination darkened Brian’s eyes until Michael wondered if it was Brian’s need or his own reflecting there. Or the two, together.
Abruptly, their attentions were drawn from each other by the bartender’s call. “Dylan, I’d say that decides it. Now you can leave, or….”
Brian cut through, glancing to the side to see the other’s face - seeing that he looked even angrier than he had before because his anger was now mixed with resentment at seeing something in their show that he’d missed out on or been denied in his time with Michael the night before. “Don’t bother. We’re leaving.”
He directed Michael, who made a quick grab for his coat off the barstool, to the exit with a leading hand, keeping himself at Michael’s back so he could watch the room as they left. So he could keep an eye on Dylan as the man stared them down on the way out. Once outside, Brian took Michael’s hand and practically pulled him down the alley to the main street. He was angry again, angry at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been there and angry at the thought of the dangerous choice Michael had made to have left with Dylan in the first place.
It was a short walk back to Liberty, but the longer they remained in silence the more apprehension seemed to cloud Michael’s mind. He tried to remove his hand from Brian’s hold with a nervous jerk, only to have the larger man’s grip tighten till it skirted pain. “Brian, what….”
They were half a block from Woody’s now, just this side of where Brian had parked the Jeep. Close enough to escaping the noise, lights and people surrounding them that Brian didn’t want to stop. He was like a live wire radiating too close to open water, anything could spark the explosion of emotion that threatened to break through his walls.
Turning sharply, he got into Michael’s face. Keeping his voice low, restraining his impulse to yell, Brian warned, “Just shut up, Michael. If you say anything to me right now, I’m going to have to shut you up. Intimately.” His eyes fell from the shock of Michael’s own to stare at his friend’s mouth. “Do you want me to do that here, on the street?”
When Michael shook his head, face lit with an awed hesitance and a look that said more about his own level of arousal than words could had they not been dangerous - Brian leaned into him and spoke against Michael’s ear. “Jeep, loft. In that order. Now.”
He could feel the shiver his words caused in Michael and it only helped to satisfy a small portion of the want that was screaming through his head. Screaming in equal portion with the fury he felt inside as the image of Dylan putting hands on Michael flashed through his brain. Brian stepped to the side, hand out to indicate Michael should move it, as he again said, “Now, Michael.”
It was a moment of grace in a sea of harsh tides that Michael did as he was told….
tbc... in Part 3.
hugs
xof
Title: “Encompassed…” - Part 2
Author: xof
Feedback: xof1013@gmail.com
Rating: NC-17 (Very, very….lol)
Pairing: Brian/Michael, Declan/Ashton (OMC/OMC)
Genre: First Time, Drama, Angst
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, but damn it’s fun imagining I do…. My two OMC’s are mine, even though Alexis would like it very much if I’d allow them to visit her house…lol.
Status: Complete, but will be posted in 11 parts. (over 126 pages total )
Archive: ATP, Always, yes.
Summary: An exploration of Michael’s submissive nature, and Brian’s resulting claim. With a little help from two new friends….
Timeline: Set after the finale of Season Two, 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 baby took 8 months to write, and is in fact my 50th posted story. Its length and those facts are all milestones for me, so I hope you enjoy. It drove me crazy, it wore me down and built me back up again. Tremendous gratitude to Alexis for being there through its creation, always encouraging and giving her two cents - and for the fabulous beta and preface. Thanks to Mistress Teri, for letting me pick her head and helping me round out the concept at the beginning. And to the ladies who had a very small peek early on, hope you like the end result, hugs.
Additional Notes: To be found at the end of the fic. Will include links to name origins, and to pictures I found inspiring - including clothing and toys.
Warnings: Deals with the subject of Dominance/submission, and bondage. However, it is a story of love and sensual play. There is no S/M activity between Brian and Michael, which means no PAIN. There is one scene in part one that does touch on S/M, but it’s built off of a scene shown in canon - nothing too heavy at all. Our boys only act as witnesses to it. So I encourage readers to take a chance and follow our boys as they rediscover each other, and themselves, in this new way.
- - - - - - -
Part 2
- - - - - - -
It should have been so simple. Just a turn of a doorknob and there he’d be…. But as Brian reached to open the door, he met with the immobile resistance that could only mean one thing. Locked.
It was almost ten in the morning. Michael usually opened at 9 o’clock, closing at six. Feeling impatient at the mystery of Michael’s whereabouts, Brian wrapped his knuckles and called out Michael’s name. No response.
Typically, Brian would have assumed Michael was just running an errand or that he had an appointment. But nothing had been typical since last weekend’s visit to Babylon. They hadn’t talked or seen each other at all the day afterwards; not that Brian hadn’t tried to call. He’d stopped trying after the third redirect to voicemail in a six hour period.
If Michael wanted to avoid their confrontation, then so be it. For now. Brian’s sense of reasonableness on sort supply as it usually was anyway, had quickly started to dry up on Monday with Michael as a no show - first at the diner for breakfast, then later that day at the gym. Heading back to the office, any plans Brian may have had to leave early to go to Michael’s store had been derailed by Ryder’s appearance at Brian’s office door. Having one of his biggest clients being courted with aggression by their competition wasn’t something Brian could ignore or wish away.
The next three days were almost a blur. Meetings, brainstorming sessions, working and reworking ad specs until everything was perfect - it was havoc. Brian’s office smelled of barely touched delivery and he’d managed to work through using both of his spare dress shirts; sleeping only a couple hours here and there as he could.
Cynthia had managed to reach Michael at the store, only to have Michael ring off after he explained he had to settle some purchases for a line of customers. He’d said he would call Brian back. She said he’d sounded tired; or rather she’d said that Michael had sounded the way Brian looked . . . worn out.
Michael did call back. Brian missed it because he was on a conference call with his client, trying to talk them down from the ledge - all the while feeling as though he were teetering on one himself. Cynthia directed the call to Brian’s voice mail, but it was well after dark before Brian was free to listen.
“Hi, it’s me.” (Pause) “Cynthia called earlier, but things were busy. Kids and geeks all over. Anyway. Sorry I missed your call. She said it’s been murder on your end, so I guess I can dispel the rumors Em and Ted have been putting out that you’ve left the Pitts for greener pastures; that or you’ve been at one of those celebrity in-and-out plastic surgery clinics.” (Soft, but nervous chuckle.) “Uhmm…. So, I…. I’ll be at mom’s for dinner. If you get off, you could come over. That is if you’re feeling up to facing the dragon.” (Long thoughtful pause) “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’m going at all. She’s still pissed about Ben’s leaving. I’d rather finish cataloging my inventory ‘coz I’ve got an order due in soon.” (Awkward breath) “How about breakfast tomorrow, okay. See you then. Bye.”
The call, the sound of Michael’s voice - all of it told Brian that his friend was still slightly panicked at seeing him. He knew Michael was using the offer of having breakfast to try and buffer embarrassment - public place, Ted and Emmett. It wasn’t a leniency Brian was willing to provide. He was tired, and he was determined to see Michael as soon as he could. All the more reason to show up unannounced once he’d finished up a few last minute details, Brian thought.
It was well past time they talked.
Brian had stopped by the loft, with the purpose of showering and changing his clothes. He was exhausted from the ordeal of the past few days, but he had planned to push on through - find his fifth or sixth wind and go find Michael. But best laid plans dissolved as he hit the shower.
The warmth of the water, the feeling of tension tight muscles giving into the heat – it all warred against Brian’s resolve to avoid sleep. Once the shower was done, he was weary and barely conscious. The few tendrils of thought he could manage were lying to him, a seductive whisper passing through his brain. “A few minutes, an hour. Just close your eyes.” It was the last suggestion that won the war, as Brian lay back on his bed, naked and wet – letting sleep pass over him with speed.
Hours later, the morning sun pierced through the expanse of the loft. It shone through the slats that formed the walls of Brian’s bedroom; he’d left them open the night before – acting as his alarm. Brian flinched back into the wakefulness, cursing as he rolled away from the light, only to see the clock glaring back at him with news that he was missing breakfast at the diner.
Throwing on some jeans once he’d finished his morning clean up routine, Brian jerked on a denim button-up shirt and pulled on his shoes and coat quickly before leaving for the diner. He got there just as Ted and Em were settling up, dirty plates for only two on the table in front of them. The two lovebirds were giddy with each other still, only days into their new relationship. Just watching them make goo-goo eyes at each other was enough to make Brian queasy. “Where’s Michael?”
Em smiled in welcome even as Ted frowned at Brian’s abruptness. He opened his mouth to give Brian a good morning, only to be cut off by Ted, “Why good morning to you too, Brian? Em and I are doing well, and you?” His sarcasm was vibrant and hit at Brian’s impatience.
Looking to Em, blatantly ignoring Ted, Brian repeated, “Michael?”
Em hugged an arm around Ted’s shoulders in affection as he answered, “He didn’t show for breakfast. He’s probably already at the store.”
Brian turned to leave after a quick wave to Em, only to be waylaid in the wake of one Debbie Novotny. She took one look at him, and proceeded to insist he plant his ass in a chair because he WAS going to eat breakfast. Brian’s beginning protest didn’t yield him much ground as she all but hip-butted him into the booth, much to Ted and Em’s amusement. He figured it was just his luck to run into her when she was in mother-hen mode, but from long history he knew to just grit his teeth and dig in to whatever she put in front of him.
Finally escaping before she could shove a second helping of breakfast for champions in front of his face, Brian frowned at his watch as he pulled out into traffic. He managed to find a parking space down the block from Michael’s store.
Locked with a closed sign on the door.
“Fuck.” Brian yanked his cell phone from his pocket, speed-dialing Michael’s in turn. Still with the fucking voicemail. And again with the answering machine at home. Fine. If the man was running an errand, Brian had the time to wait. And if Michael was trying to avoid confrontation, then Brian would bring it right to his door. Or through his door, he thought - privately amused as he pulled his keys out and inserted his infrequently used spare key to Michael’s store.
Shutting the door, Brian turned the lock back into place as the sound of the bells died down. Throwing his coat on the counter, he went to sit on the couch, intending to stay until Michael showed - but he abruptly stopped as he saw what was on the sofa. Or rather, who was on it.
Michael.
Huddled up, lying on his side facing the couch with his back to the room - he was curled into its lumpy surface, asleep. He was dressed in black drawstring pants made of the soft cotton that looked more like pajamas than street wear, but Brian knew they were workout pants; he’d teased Michael more than once about the necessity of making a pit stop at one’s closet before rolling out of bed for the gym. Topping the outfit, Michael wore a red long sleeve tee - complete with turtleneck.
Brian would have thought his friend would be cold in those clothes, except for one thing. The heat was on full blast in the store; it was on high and the longer Brian stood there looking, the hotter he grew. Frowning, Brian sat at the end of the couch in the small section left by Michael’s up-drawn legs. Leaning over, he touched Michael’s forehead lightly to check for fever - something to explain the temperature, Michael’s clothing and why he was sleeping this late at the store of all places.
Michael’s skin was cool and he shifted a bit at the touch, coming closer to consciousness. With a smile, Brian decided to help Michael’s progress to wakefulness along.
Rising through the fog of sleep, Michael shifted as he felt the press of something warm and soft against his cheek. He moved into it, only to draw in a quick breath as his body protested the unwelcome motion. The sensation, the pleasure against his skin mixed with a glaring reminder of why he was asleep - of why he had wanted to chase clarity away and hide. Caught between a grimace and a groan, he turned into the touch - still half asleep, but aware enough now to realize what the press and slide over and against his mouth was.
He was being kissed.
Eyes still closed, mind still foggy - Michael didn’t question who it was. The touch was so familiar, and he only knew who he wanted it to be…. Opening his mouth, he returned the sweet caress - murmuring into the kiss as he opened his eyes, one name passing between them. “Brian, what…. What are you do…”
Cutting off Michael’s quiet question, Brian suppressed a grin as he leaned further down to speak in his friend’s ear. “Ribbit, ribbit.” He pulled back quick enough to catch Michael’s sleep-filled eyes shoot open as his eyebrows raised; his expression one that said Brian was crazy.
Brian laughed, “Just checking to see if you were dreaming of frogs or princes.” He laughed again as Michael frowned and tried ineffectually to shove him back.
Michael’s mood quickly started to plummet as he snapped, “I guess that makes me the toad.” He was feeling insecure enough; any hint of a slight stung with almost the same power as his aching body. Almost, but not as much, Michael winced as he managed to twist up off the sofa and away from Brian. The movement made him feel like an eighty year old man. He bit down to catch the groan that threatened to escape as he slowly walked to the checkout counter.
Brian’s response changed from amusement to concern as he watched Michael’s stilted journey. The question it brought to his mind caused his words to sound deeper, more intimate than he’d initially intended. “More like sleeping beauty.” He followed Michael, standing at his back as he added, “It’s not in my makeup to kiss frogs, Michael. Only princes.” At Michael’s soft, albeit nervous laugh, Brian turned him around until they were chest to chest. “You feeling okay?”
The question was more loaded than Brian knew. Michael cleared his throat, looking at a point just over Brian’s shoulder and not into the taller man’s eyes as he gave a small smile and lied. “I’m fine, had a late night working here. The couch just did a number on me.” He bit his lip, finally looking at Brian as he remembered, “Shit. I slept through breakfast. I’m sorry.”
Looking at his friend, gauging the truth of his explanation - Brian gave a small nod. He admitted, “I almost did too; slept like the dead last night.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against Michael’s - the gesture long established between them, whether it signaled connection, comfort or conspiracy. Today it was conspiracy as Brian grinned, “You missed the Temmett show.”
Michael laughed, albeit nervously - hyper responsive to Brian‘s closeness. He was very much aware, now, of his own awkwardness as the memories of their last meeting came flaring back through his mind. Shifting a bit, he tried to escape the warmth of Brian’s arms for fear of yet again making himself look the fool - only to have Brian press him back against the counter, trapping him with an arm on either side. Michael tried to maintain the façade of oblivion by shaking his head as he chastised, “Don’t tease them too badly, Brian. I’m glad they’re happy. They deserve it.”
The wistful, sad tone of those words from Michael - the emphasis, even subconsciously, on the word “they,” had Brian pulling back just a bit to see his friend. He caught a look that was almost mournfully resolute flash across those dark eyes. Fuck. “And what does Mikey deserve?” His words a push, both serious and seductive.
The question invoked a long standing response in Michael; one he hadn’t showcased in more time than Brian could remember. Arms quickly lifted, hugging his own waist - a self-securing gesture in the wake of insecurity, Michael stood quiet without a response. Maybe for fear of being drawn into a trap of words, maybe from fear of what he may say in return - he chose to say nothing other than, “I have to open the store.”
The silence passed into an awkward pause, until Brian sighed and stepped back. “Okay, so tonight at eight.” Michael looked up in question. Brian smiled, once again the persuader as he added, “Woody’s.” When Michael started to shake his head, mouth opened to say something as an excuse, Brian didn’t give him the option to continue, “There’s a couple of pool cues with our names on them, Mikey. Don’t be late.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Michael’s lips before grabbing his coat and leaving.
Perhaps they’d be better suited to get past the questions and doubts if they played on a more public field.
- - - - - - -
There are moments when the line in the sand can become obscured by the temptation of what lies across the known boundaries of a familiar past. Who’s to say then when one has stepped too far on the promise of a better or more bountiful tomorrow?
It was a question both Brian and Michael would be asking themselves and each other.
- - - - - - -
The longer Michael stood in the doorway peering inside through the crowd as he stayed in the shadows, the louder the sound grew in his mind - the ticking of a clock, menacing and weighted. He knew he was late; he knew he was delaying the inevitable by not going inside. But even the thought of taking that step forward felt like two steps back.
Woody’s on any given night was busy, serving as both a pick-up center and community corral. People came there to be themselves with their friends and family, or to be someone else’s someone for the night. A place to find or be found, in whatever form the night required. It had been both to Michael and to Brian, but for Michael and Brian - it was a place to relax and have fun. Together.
But tonight, tonight it was a breeding ground for every insecurity Michael felt inside. He felt so tired; tired of thinking, tired of questioning and tired of his own doubts. Looking now across to where Brian stood, Michael felt torn by the desire to stay and the rush of wanting to run. He watched as men, one after the other, made their way to Brian’s side. He watched as each was turned away in kind.
Seeing that, knowing that Brian was waiting for him…. It was wonderful and it was overwhelming when mixed with the memories of what had happened to him, and between them only days before. So close, they’d been so close. And even though he’d left then, he’d allowed himself a moment to hope.
Hope…. For more with Brian.
It was a luxury Michael had denied himself for years. Something he’d tried to grow past, to dampen down in the wake of other loves. It was dangerous. And now, in the wake of newer truths - he couldn’t help but fear. To doubt….
If he went inside, what would happen? They’d go on as before? Make it another moment to hold inside, but deny as anything but play? Or would they continue to move towards newer things, newer moments shared together?
And what of the questions he was now facing about himself? After standing so close to the flame of something he’d tried to deny inside, after giving in and losing himself in the fire and in Brian’s arms - what was next?
Michael shook his head. Could he merge what he wanted with what he needed most? And was having both together even an option? Was it even a choice that was his to make? He didn’t know. All Michael knew was that he couldn’t cross into that room and have things be passed over, have things become as they’d been.
So he took the path that meant less struggle, less likelihood of loss. He decided to go with the question he felt, albeit ironically, safer finding the answer to - thinking that if he could know himself more fully, that he would be braver to face the what-if’s that hoping was prone to shine a light on.
One last look at the man that represented more than half his life, and then Michael turned away. One foot in front of the other, a step down and then another until he turned down the sidewalk and was gone.
- - - - - - -
“Damn it, Michael.” Brian slapped his cell closed, shoving it into his pocket as he stomped down Liberty Avenue. He was at his patience’s end. Over two fucking hours he’d waited. He’d played a few games of darts, a couple rounds of pool and turned down at least seven blatant offers to suck his cock or to fuck. And Michael didn’t show. He wasn’t answering the phone again; cell, home or store. And Brian would be fucked before he tried to call anyone else of their Liberty brood to ask if they knew where his best friend was.
He was tired of waiting and tired of being the one stretching out his hand, only to end up empty handed. What he wanted most was for Michael to be there with him tonight, not playing chicken in his apartment or elsewhere. But since he didn’t have what he wanted, Brian was hard pressed not to go for the second thing on his list of wants. He hadn’t gotten off with anyone since before their night at the Leather Ball; he’d left shortly after Michael had run - going home to the touch of his own hand, the memories of their experience still fresh even as his disappointment that more hadn’t followed still lingered in the aftermath of his own self-induced pleasure.
All he’d had for days now was work and Michael on the brain till he was pulled taunt like a bowstring about to pop. The tension felt like a living thing, gripping him so he could hardly see past the desire that was merging in his brain with the man who had left him waiting high and dry. Or rather sober and dry, the little shit.
Well, fuck him.
Brian would just have to solve one problem at a time; though he couldn’t resist the thought that it would have been sweeter if only Michael….
Sighing, he tuned his thoughts away from dangerous paths and decided to focus instead on his restlessness. He passed one bar after another, thinking no and not that one. Indecision leading him further down the street than he was usually want to go, Brian stopped to look around. He was at a turnoff from Liberty, a side street that was more alley than anything else. Smiling at memories long untouched, Brian took in what used to be the “Meat Hook.” Leather bar with a bad reputation, or used to be until it was closed and sold to new management over a year back.
“Dominion” shown back through the darkness, red neon splitting through the veil of night. The sign wasn’t large or glaringly obnoxious. But it was the only calling card to the entrance of Pittsburgh’s own answer to the larger leather clubs like those found in New York or LA. It was also the main haven for most of those who spilled into Babylon in chaps and chains on the one night a year that the dance club celebrated the alternative lifestyle of BDSM, i.e. the Leather Ball.
Brian had visited the bar only a handful of times since its change of ownership, on the odd night when he’d wanted a change of spice and scene. When he’d wanted rougher play than was on tap for most at Babylon. Mostly when he wanted to chase away a darker moment in his life by taking control of someone else for awhile.
His early days on Liberty Avenue had met with a visit to the “Meat Hook” only a time or two. At first he’d enjoyed the rush of his own popularity, only later to realize that anyone who looked like him and who was on the younger side of life was seen as anyone’s boy. One too many Daddy Doms in his face had squelched Brian’s visits for several years thereafter. It wasn’t until he was older, more experienced and looked like he could hold his own that he’d entered the placed again later in life.
Still and all, the “Meat Hook” had been seedier than most, becoming a place to avoid unless you were looking for trouble. And though there were nights when it fit the bill, Brian had only allowed himself inside when the need to forget overrode his need for anything else.
Walking inside, Brian quickly paid for entrance from the large bearded hulk at the door before entering the bar. “Dominion” was the complete opposite in style from its predecessor; whereas the former had been nothing but a hole in the wall with a bar, all bare wood and dark shadows - the new décor spoke to money and taste. Old world mixed with new, it shone with the gleam of recessed lights reflected off black leather and chrome.
The space remained small, intimate and enclosed but allowed for more room to move now that the bar had been centered so that it could be approached from all sides. Surface slicked to shine; the bar looked almost like it was made of black onyx framed by a polished silver chrome rail. The walls were covered in padded leather, studded in a large diamond design so that it reminded one of expensive upholstered leather furniture. A pattern drawn through to the matching bar stools and the wall booths that outlined the space for added privacy. The floor was painted black as was the ceiling, but the angled lighting from above and below gave the room a warm presence that beat back the menacing energy of possibility that could have taken over and scared away those new to the art of looking to be caught.
Brian had seen the place busier, but for a Thursday night the crowd was fair. There were enough people there to give the illusion of a crowd, but not enough to make one feel crowded. He leaned against the wall, close to the door and let his eyes wander. Watching each man that passed him, Brian noticed a couple of men that would have done if he’d been willing to make due. But settling for second best wasn’t his style.
So he waited. Waited to see if any of the others would rise to the bar he’d set less than a week before….
The longer he looked without making a choice, the more he doubted any of those who hopefully caught his eye would be able to hold his interest. It was almost like he didn’t want to decide, didn’t want to choose.
What he missed in his frustration was that subconsciously, he’d already chosen.
Bodies milling towards him and back, still Brian stood – a dark look on his face, more unwelcoming than he’d probably intended as he shook off the next couple of offers that were made with a shake of his head. Unreasonably, he was getting increasingly more tense with each man who approached because none of them were what he needed. Large or short, firm or soft, hairy or smooth…. They didn’t hold the right cards in the deck he was dealing for himself that night.
Finally giving in to the call of a full bladder, Brian escaped the warmth of the room to find the bathroom at the back. Unlike Babylon’s cavernous restroom, Dominion had only two stalls - a small space that was clean but hardly room for anything else than answering the call of nature. Usually that made for a quicker in and out - mind out of the gutter please. So it wasn’t long before Brian was re-entering the main room.
Figuring he’d give it a few more minutes, Brian headed to the bar for a drink. His path was abruptly barred when another man stormed past him, heading in the same direction. The guy’s whole body seemed to radiate anger, showcased by his lack of regard for anyone he knocked into on the way. Feeling pissed himself, Brian watched the stranger to see what could have caused the rush.
The guy who had brushed past Brian stopped when he met up with his prey. The two of them were perfect contrasts. The one standing was tall; his large frame filled out with muscles, skin tanned and his hair was a sandy gold. He was an intimidating presence before he’d even opened his mouth to speak. His voice was loud, laced with venom barely held in check. “You didn’t have permission to leave last night, boy.”
The one he was baring down on jerked at the sound of his voice. Small, compact and about half the other man’s size - the “boy,” or rather man in question, reacted jarringly to the surprise of the other’s appearance. It wasn’t a happy hunch in his bowed shoulders; he seemed to sink into himself, innately trying to make himself smaller so he wouldn’t be any closer to his reprimander.
Brian couldn’t make out anything about the smaller man’s appearance since his back was to him. But he could tell instantly that the brute that towered over the guy was getting increasingly more furious with the silent treatment. Wincing himself, Brian continued to play witness along with the rest of the bar to the tense drama unfolding as the large stranger cuffed the one sitting at the bar; a large gripping hand at the back of the frightened man’s neck.
He jerked at the touch, trying to turn away, to escape with a quick dodge to the side but his attempt was stopped as he was grabbed and held against the bar. Trapped within the circle of the taller man’s arms, he tried to push against them but gained no ground.
“You owe me an explanation, boy. Now!”
Brian’s view of the two was obscured by the larger man’s body, but he could see the helpless struggling that continued from the guy who was held fast. It wasn’t his business, and normally he wouldn’t have interfered directly – especially considering the kind of bar they were in where such a scene may be exactly that, a scene being played by mutual consent. But all sense of normal hit the skids when the one who was being manhandled managed to break free with a stomp kick to the other’s foot along with a desperately thrown elbow to his gut, and turned so that Brian saw his face for the first time.
“Michael?”
Attention jerked abruptly from the focus of escape, Michael hesitated too long at the sound of his name and the shock of seeing Brian there before him. His abuser made a grab for him, managing to snag the back of Michael’s shirt as he tried to pull him back so he couldn’t leave.
Rushing forward, Brian caught Michael around the waist and twisted him to the side. The move caused the neck of Michael’s shirt to tear, but it worked to free him so that he was at Brian’s back, with his best friend standing between him and his attacker. When the guy made to come closer, Brian pushed him back with a shove to the man’s chest. Backing both himself and Michael up, Brian snapped, “He doesn’t want to play, so fuck off.”
A snarl on his face and sounding in his voice, the man gave a harsh, “He doesn’t play, my ass.” Leaning in, he snidely continued, “He was playing just fine with my dick up his ass last night. On his knees, my cuffs on his wrists, begging for more. Loving it so much he screamed when I let him come.“
Brian’s gut clenched, anger glinting sharply in his eyes. He felt Michael go still, so perfectly still behind him. Turned to see him frozen, head down looking anywhere but up as his face grew pale. Brian was about to reach out, to touch him when the oaf in front shoved his hand down before he could touch Michael.
“He’s mine till I say otherwise, fucker. Why else do you think he came back?”
The words ‘came back’ echoing in his head, Brian looked past his questions and turned back to the asshole that had no business trying to stand in his way. No business treating Michael as less, when he was and would always be so much more. “He’s with me, now back off.” Feeling his hands curling into fists, Brian widened his stance - bracing himself in case he had to take it to the next level.
The man was advancing, ready to lay in on what he assumed would be an easy target when a loud striking slap sounded through the bar - silencing everyone as the harsh sound echoed. Brian risked only a glance at the bar, afraid to let his eyes or attention shift from the man before him. What he saw was the bartender holding a black lacquered police baton; the sound having been the whack of it hitting the bar rail in warning.
“Enough, Dylan. The pissing contest is over, ease down or I’m calling the cops.” When the man hesitated, letting his anger war against what would have been the practical course, the barman added in a firm voice, “Last warning, man. This is done now, or you’re banned from the bar.”
Not answering back to the threat, Dylan stood his ground. His eyes passed from Brian to Michael, then back. “Prove it.” The words dripped with challenge, still angry.
“Dylan….” The bartender started to break in, but was quickly cut off as Dylan continued.
“If he’s here with him, I’ll stand down. But he’s got to prove it.” Looking at Brian with contempt, Dylan jutted his chin in Michael’s direction. “Go ahead, asshole. Prove to me that he’s yours.”
Pulse already raising, energy racing through his nerves on an adrenaline high, the last words still managed to settle around Brian’s consciousness like a blanket of calm. Because he knew. He knew and Michael was about to find out….
The claim needed to be settled on a debt they’d owed to each other since their teens.
Michael’s voice, shaky and hesitant, sounded from behind him. Just the beginnings of his name, the “Bri…” barely started and Brian turned on him - a hand carding through the hair at Michael’s neck, pulling his face up until they were separated by only the space of an inch and Brian growled, “Not a fucking word.” Eyes dropping from the dark shock of Michael’s own, Brian ghosted a last phrase, “Unless it’s, ‘Please’,” before he took Michael’s mouth with his….
It was a two fold move, the kiss. It was a welcome; it was a claim. Possessive, fierce but mindful of the more it all could lead to; the more that they had touched only in small ways before now. Brian pulled Michael to him, yanking Michael’s hand behind his own body until it was pressed to Michael’s back. Caging him with his hands until there was no space to separate them, and still the kiss continued. Lips parting, Brian’s tongue took the invitation of Michael’s gasp and pushed inside to taste even as he was tasted. The hunger curling through each of them until Michael was moving against him, clutching at Brian’s body with his one free hand.
Air on desperately short supply, Brian pulled back from Michael’s mouth - watching him as they both panted and stared. His leg pressed into the hardened length of Michael against his thigh; Brian circled his own paralleling response against Michael’s body. Breathing hot across the wet bruised fullness of his friend’s mouth, Brian whispered low - the sound whipping through Michael’s scattered senses like a cat of nine, “Say it. Mean it.”
Held in hazel fire, Michael spoke. “Please.” Without thought, it was the only answer Michael had in the rush of his own blood. His eyes widen a moment after he said it, realization hitting him as the weight of meaning it unfurled the worry his nature was prone to shroud his choices in. On the brink of stepping back, of trying to gain the ground he feared he’d lost - Michael was held fast as Brian stood firm.
Stood firm as he pulled Michael’s face closer, as he hovered over the full lips he’d taken but a moment ago. The lack of closure a tease, Brian waited as he let the need - no, the demand for another touch pass through his eyes. Silence hung in the gulf as he waited, seconds falling in the divide between them - until with a knowing look, Brian’s quiet insistence that Michael offer up the kiss they both wanted was met by Michael as he pressed his mouth to Brian’s own.
Brian let Michael lead the kiss, let him reach up into the feel of it for the span of a moment before Brian let loose with a hunger that made Michael stumble and cling in return. A beat, a pulse and then Brian pulled back again to see Michael’s face.
Eyes closed, face flushed and mouth slick; Michael was caught in the aftermath, unmoving with his breath held as if it would all disappear if he tried to do a thing but exist as he was. And then Brian’s voice reached him through the haze, “Breathe, Mikey. Breathe.”
Opening his eyes, Michael did as told, his lungs burning at the sudden rush of air. But his breath threatened to catch again at the look in Brian’s eyes. Hunger with anger to mix. The combination darkened Brian’s eyes until Michael wondered if it was Brian’s need or his own reflecting there. Or the two, together.
Abruptly, their attentions were drawn from each other by the bartender’s call. “Dylan, I’d say that decides it. Now you can leave, or….”
Brian cut through, glancing to the side to see the other’s face - seeing that he looked even angrier than he had before because his anger was now mixed with resentment at seeing something in their show that he’d missed out on or been denied in his time with Michael the night before. “Don’t bother. We’re leaving.”
He directed Michael, who made a quick grab for his coat off the barstool, to the exit with a leading hand, keeping himself at Michael’s back so he could watch the room as they left. So he could keep an eye on Dylan as the man stared them down on the way out. Once outside, Brian took Michael’s hand and practically pulled him down the alley to the main street. He was angry again, angry at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been there and angry at the thought of the dangerous choice Michael had made to have left with Dylan in the first place.
It was a short walk back to Liberty, but the longer they remained in silence the more apprehension seemed to cloud Michael’s mind. He tried to remove his hand from Brian’s hold with a nervous jerk, only to have the larger man’s grip tighten till it skirted pain. “Brian, what….”
They were half a block from Woody’s now, just this side of where Brian had parked the Jeep. Close enough to escaping the noise, lights and people surrounding them that Brian didn’t want to stop. He was like a live wire radiating too close to open water, anything could spark the explosion of emotion that threatened to break through his walls.
Turning sharply, he got into Michael’s face. Keeping his voice low, restraining his impulse to yell, Brian warned, “Just shut up, Michael. If you say anything to me right now, I’m going to have to shut you up. Intimately.” His eyes fell from the shock of Michael’s own to stare at his friend’s mouth. “Do you want me to do that here, on the street?”
When Michael shook his head, face lit with an awed hesitance and a look that said more about his own level of arousal than words could had they not been dangerous - Brian leaned into him and spoke against Michael’s ear. “Jeep, loft. In that order. Now.”
He could feel the shiver his words caused in Michael and it only helped to satisfy a small portion of the want that was screaming through his head. Screaming in equal portion with the fury he felt inside as the image of Dylan putting hands on Michael flashed through his brain. Brian stepped to the side, hand out to indicate Michael should move it, as he again said, “Now, Michael.”
It was a moment of grace in a sea of harsh tides that Michael did as he was told….
tbc... in Part 3.
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From:
tickles...
You're being very special with your feedback, darlin' ...
And I'm enjoying it VERY much!
I'm glad to know you think I'm doing well, may you still feel that way several parts from now.
Huggggggggggggggggs....
xof
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Re: tickles...