by Jodi Payne
“Guess I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“Lord yes. I could eat a moose.” Sam was pink-cheeked from laughter, happy relaxation written all over the man.
“Excellent.” He took Sam’s arm and led him across the street to a vendor cart and bought two foot-long hot dogs. “Do you want anything on it? There’s sauerkraut, chili, cheese, onions, relish, ketchup, mustard…?” He got a little chili and some cheese on his.
“Mustard is good for me. Look at that monster. That’s a mouthful.”
“I can handle it.” He grinned and put mustard on Sam’s hot dog for him. “Come on, I know some great seats.”
He led Sam across the street to Duffy Square. “They call these the red steps. I suppose because…they’re red.” He snorted.
“The logic works for me. I would have concerns if y’all called them the red steps and they were blue.”
“You never know in New York.” They climbed the steps as the sun was going down and Broadway was starting to light up as bright as the day and found a spot to sit near the top. “You haven’t been to Times Square yet either? At night? Watch it light up.”
“Nope.” Sam was wide-eyed, all grins. “What a good day, huh? I’ve been having a blast.”
“It has been good, hasn’t it? Just goofing off and having fun? You’re terrific company.” It wasn’t bullshit either. Sam threw himself into everything—silly, goofy, ridiculous, wild. It was refreshing as hell.
It reminded him that he hadn’t been born with this rod up his ass.
“I was hoping after our hot dogs, and once you’ve had your fill of the lights, that you might…would you like to join me at the club? Saturday nights are their own sort of adventure.”
“Really? I thought I’d…well, I thought I’d sorta fucked up bad, especially with you.”
“You can’t fuck up if you’re being honest. Your reaction to those men was absolutely your truth.” He looked at Sam. “I wouldn’t ever ask more of you than that.”
“Thanks. I’m trying to figure shit out. This is…new.” Sam snorted, rolled his eyes dramatically. “And if that wasn’t the understatement of the year, I don’t know what was.”
“Sam, you have a lot to sort through. I’ve been listening. I want to help. New is just another adventure, right?”
He wasn’t sure what was more complicated, understanding Sam or knowing what the hell to do about him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think we’ve figured a couple things about each other. You’re a good man. A little weird, but good.” Oh, look at that evil grin.
“I am. I’m a little weird. Are you good?” He dropped his voice low, grinning back. “Are you a very, very good boy?”
“Fuck, no. I’m a shithead; just ask me, I’ll tell you.” Sam hooted, but there was a flash of energy, a hum.
He laughed. God, he hadn’t laughed so much in one day in…he honestly couldn’t remember. He looked around. It was past dark now, though you’d hardly know it. “Would you like to head for the club?”
“Why not? I can’t do worse than last time.” Sheepish. That was the look.
He stood and offered Sam a hand up. “Well, let’s see. You didn’t tell anyone off, you didn’t get drunk, and you didn’t throw any punches. I think you did pretty damn well.”
“Thanks. I like to think I can act like I was raised right, given the opportunity.”
“I was impressed.”
The club was walking distance from the square, and Thomas enjoyed the trip. He and Sam walked close together. Though whether that was because it had gotten cool out or more because they had grown comfortable with each other’s presence, it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he liked it.
“Looks like we made it.” He reached for the door handle.
“Yeah. Come on. I’m sure not gonna get less nervous standing here like a moron.”
“It won’t change the way you’re feeling in this moment, I know, but there’s no need to be nervous.” He took Sam firmly by the hand. “Does this make it better or worse?”
Sam’s fingers wrapped around his, holding on. “Is it bad if I say better? No one ever touches anyone here.”
He took a deep breath. That was it. Even if all Sam could manage was to walk into the club and walk out again, it wouldn’t matter because he’d just earned his gift. He squared his shoulders, and he felt his chest expand a little. “It’s very good, Sam. Really good. It doesn’t matter what everyone else does, only what we do.”
They went into the busy club together. The music was louder than it had been the other day, though not so loud you couldn’t have a conversation over it. There were men dancing in club lighting, and the bar had a man on nearly every stool.
“Welcome, Sir!” Scotty called from behind the bar. “Hey, Sam! Good to see you again.”
“Howdy. Pleased.” Sam tipped his hat. “How goes it, Mister Scott?”
Thomas kept a firm hold of Sam’s hand, partly for Sam, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it was also partly for show. This part of the club was often about the show.
“Stellar, my friend. Are you drinking?”
Thomas spoke for both of them. “No, thank you. Just two bottles of water, please.”
Scotty handed them both to Sam.
“What do I owe you, sir?” Sam asked.
“Nothing, Sam. Enjoy your night.”
He let Sam figure out how to balance two bottles of water in one hand, and led him slowly along the bar. He’d reserved the room four days ago to make sure there would be something available for them. He knew it would be open and the key in it for him.
“Do you dance, Sam?”
“I can two-step and waltz, polish belt-buckles. Never with another guy. I mean, how do you work out who leads? Is it always the taller feller?” It fascinated him, how Sam’s accent deepened when he was nervous. It was a lovely tell.
He reminded himself to ask, flat-out, why Sam was nervous. It seemed like the man sometimes did better with a straight-up question than a casual conversation.
“Not necessarily. It can be a negotiation.” He grinned and kept moving, leading Sam toward the long private hall. “I love dancing. I’ll take you out on the dance floor sometime. It’ll be fun.”
Inside he was chuckling, knowing that if they did head for the floor, there wouldn’t be any negotiation about who was leading. He wondered, amused, how Sam would manage following.
“They have after-parties sometimes, after the big events. There’s dancing then; the fans love it.” Oh, Sam followed him like a dream, at least right now. “So where are we heading?”
He’d hoped not to have to answer that question directly, but their room was way down at the quiet end of the corridor and not answering would just make Sam more nervous. Keep it simple and straightforward, he reminded himself.
“I reserved a private room for us to use for a while. I know you’re curious. I thought you might enjoy a very small taste of all of this.”
Sam shot him a look but nodded and stayed with him, still holding his hand. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to be, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, yeah.”
He smiled outwardly this time; he couldn’t help it. “You will learn over time that there are no expectations here beyond the ones we set for ourselves. There is no ‘supposed to be.’ There’s no way to absorb it all at once. You just have to follow your natural inclinations, pay attention to your desires.”
He stopped by the door and turned around, backed into the room and pulled Sam with him. “And most importantly, remember you’re safe.”
Sam’s head tilted sharply, and he got a frown. “That’s the sort of thing someone says before he knocks you out with a tire iron.”
He laughed and let go of Sam’s hand, leaving Sam in the doorway and walking farther into the room. “If you truly believe I have any intention of injuring you in any fashion whatsoever, I am not standing between you and the door, Sam.”
“No. No, man. I just…you know how it is when someone tells
you it won’t hurt and you’re going…wait.” Sam snorted, visibly shaking off whatever demon he had before following him in, then handed him a water. “I trust you, man, as much as I trust anyone.”
“Thank you. I thought so, but I am relieved to hear you say it expressly. What I have in mind is meant to be…enlightening. A new experience. Something to think about.” He walked toward the door and turned the lock, making sure Sam saw him do it. “That’s so we don’t get interrupted, not so you can’t get out. You understand?”
“Sure. I get it.” Sam patted his front pocket, then shook his head. “I been quit for two years, and sometimes still I want a drag when I’m…I guess that’s why they call it addiction.”
“Anxious? Nervous?” The walls in the room were painted black. There was a single black chair in one corner and a small credenza along one wall. Otherwise the room was empty but for soft, indirect overhead lighting. He crossed slowly to the chair and sat down. “Is that right? What exactly is making you feel that way?”
“Who the fuck knows, honey?” That wall of bravado popped up like a switch had been thrown. Sam leaned against the wall, refusing to look away from him.
Well, he’d gotten as far as locking the door. “It doesn’t bother you that you don’t know? Or do you know, but you just don’t want to share it with me?”
“You got this habit of asking questions I don’t know the right answers to.”
“Ah. And you have a tendency to assume that there is a right or wrong answer to the things that I ask you. I have no expectations when I ask you something, Sam. I don’t like tests. I won’t ever put one before you.”
“Sometimes I think everything’s a test. Don’t you?” Sam took a deep breath, watching him from under the brim of his hat. “It’s just fucked up, sorting through all this shit.”
He’d had a slightly different plan, but Sam volunteered so little that he didn’t want to stop the man talking. Not that Sam had actually said anything yet, other than answering questions with questions and diverting the conversation. Sam had impressive skills in that arena.
He could follow a runaway train. “Sorting through all what shit?”
Sam waved one hand, the motion dismissing—not him, he imagined, but Sam’s own emotions. “I…I told you the day after I was here last. I don’t do so good with working out all the worries in my head. I don’t know that’s a strange thing. It’s part of being a guy.”
Ah. Who knew? “Oh. Is it? I wasn’t aware of that. I appreciate you filling me in.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “In that cabinet in front of you are three objects. Open it up and pick the one that interests you the most. This isn’t a test. I’m passing no judgment, nor am I drawing any conclusions from your decision.”
Hopefully the staff had done as he’d asked. If Sam decided to open the doors, which Thomas wasn’t counting on, he’d be choosing between a soft leather blindfold, a pair of sturdy fur-lined cuffs with a short chain between them, and a dense, stiff feather.
“First, it sure sounds like a test. Before I open anything, though, I got to say I don’t appreciate your tone. I’m not making fun of you or how you are. You don’t get to be snarky to me because you don’t like something about me. No one made you ask me to come here with you.”
How I am?
He wasn’t offended. It took a great deal more than that to actually insult him, and he was, by training and instinct, a very good judge of intent.
But the use of judgmental language was insight into Sam’s feelings about what and who he believed himself to be.
“I asked you to come here with me because I wanted to spend the evening with you. You’re uncomfortable with talking, so I thought perhaps I would move past words and discussion. What you will see in that cabinet are three of my favorite tools. I don’t care which one you pick—assuming you even decide to look, which is also your own decision—and if you are uncomfortable with choosing, I will happily choose for you.”
Keeping his tone even and his voice low, he leaned forward in his chair.
“It’s not a test. As I told you, I don’t care for tests. They cause anxiety and feelings of inadequacy, when the goal is always confidence and a quiet heart. I don’t know how you’d like me to prove my intentions except to remind you that you told me that you trust me.”
“I bet your professors wanted to beat you sometimes. You know you come in here and you’re different?” Sam pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the cupboard and opened it.
“I do.” He had no intention of elaborating on that at the moment.
“Huh.” Sam didn’t so much as touch the feather, but the cuffs were picked up, explored, rejected; then the blindfold was carefully researched and brought over to him, placed in his hands. “Here you go.”
Sam went to stand against the wall, and Thomas had to admit, the man could work that hat, hiding his face in shadow like a champion.
Okay. So the hat was a crutch now. Time for it to go.
Thomas flipped the blindfold over in his fingers like he was thinking hard about it, which he wasn’t in the least. He knew precisely what his plans were. Finally he stood, removed his own hat, and hung it on a set of hooks on the wall.
“Might I respectfully request that you remove your…” What did James always call it? “Your cover? It will be difficult to work with the blindfold otherwise.”
Sam’s fingers clenched into fists, then relaxed. “I’m putting a lot of faith in the belief you won’t screw with me, man.”
Oh for the love of Pete.
“I’m going to ask you to stand in the center of the room and instruct you that you need only say stop and I’ll take it off. Also, you will understand that I have no intention of stopping you should you decide to remove it yourself. Then I’m going to put it over your eyes and ask you to stay still and quiet, or, if you prefer, you can tie it on yourself. We’ll have to work through together whatever comes up after that. That’s the plan. I care about you. I want you to succeed. I want you to have a good experience. I have no reason or desire to ‘screw with you.’ ”
“Right.” Sam carefully hung up his hat before moving to the center of the room and standing there, calm as a cloudless sky.
Maybe he should have shut his mouth and let Sam go on faith. He could try that next time. Sam’s reaction might as well be a coin flip anyway.
“I want you to like it here, Sam. I want it to become your second home, as it is mine. I accept that might not be in your stars, but as long as you’re curious and interested, I’m happy to have you here and teach you anything you like. Perhaps it will help you to know that I am not unaccountable. Members look out for each other, for the subs, the staff. Any one of those people will have your back if you walk out of this room and tell them I’m not to be trusted, regardless of my history here. You have that power.”
He held out the blindfold. “Do you want to do this yourself?”
“I can’t.”
“What?”
One of Sam’s eyebrows went up, his lips quirked; then he lifted his arms—the left went up, the right got to shoulder height and stopped short. “Two rotator cuff surgeries in three months.”
Oh. Damn. They were going to have to have a very serious conversation about physical limitations before they got into anything involving restraints. Good thing the St. Andrew’s Cross wasn’t high on his list of favorite apparatus. There were adaptive possibilities if it turned out to be something Sam needed, but…
Whoa, Tiger. Cart. Horse.
Blindfold.
“Allow me.” He stayed in front of Sam and held it up just below eye level. “Sometimes we find the most unlikely things to be stressful. It’s not a failure. It’s never a failure. There’s no right or wrong in truth.”
Thomas reached around Sam and tied the narrow blindfold in place, then slid hands over Sam’s shoulders, feeling the difference between the two, down his arms, and took hold of both of his hands.
Sam’s nos
trils flared, the look oddly like a fractious horse, and the urge to comfort Sam was huge, but he didn’t pull away or move at all.
The exercise now was to stay quiet, make sure Sam knew he was there, and wait this out. Sam already told him still and quiet wasn’t easy, and he understood why, given the barrage of thoughts and emotions the man was dealing with. He gave both hands a light squeeze but otherwise offered Sam little but the sound of his own breathing.
Sam’s thumbs began to move, just the barest bit, and Thomas realized Sam had found the bass of the music, had latched on to that.
Okay. So that wasn’t pushing a boundary, but maybe…Thomas pulled his hands away.
Sam swayed a bit but held his balance. One eyebrow went up, the question clear, before Sam rested his hands on his hips.
Thomas watched Sam carefully and started pacing a slow rhythm, making sure his steps were audible. He measured the rise and fall of Sam’s chest, the set of Sam’s shoulders, the tension in the man’s fingers.
And he just kept pacing.
“What exactly do you want, man?” Sam’s thumbs were pressing so hard into his waist that there were going to be deep bruises.
“Shhh.” Thomas hushed him gently, as if soothing a fussing child. “Just quiet. I’m right here. I won’t leave the room. You won’t be alone at any point.”
Sam pursed his lips, and the muscle in that angular jaw began to twitch.
He hadn’t bothered to discuss safe words with Sam because he knew damn well Sam wouldn’t use it if he had one. Not yet. Just as he knew that what Sam was enduring at this moment might seem to be about not disappointing him, but was likely more about Sam trying to prove something to himself.
Regardless, this was an exercise in trust, not in pushing beyond any real boundaries, so Thomas stepped up behind him and covered Sam’s hands with his own. “I’m right here.”
Sam leaned into Thomas, sighing softly as they connected, the sound unbearably satisfied.
