by Jodi Payne
“I never have a bad day, my friend. Thomas, can you clear all that ice, please? Really don’t want too much ice on a break until after it’s set.”
“Oh. Of course.” Thomas got to work.
Angel pushed Thomas’s ropes off the bench and put a big black backpack on it. “So tell me what happened.”
“I got into a scuffle with a wall. The wall won.”
“I do understand that. I’ve been there. Hit between the studs.”
“Yessir. No shit on that.”
Angel unwrapped him, and Thomas made a soft sound. He didn’t look. He’d seen it already. “Superglue, hmm? You did a decent job of it.”
“Yeah. I patched it up best I could.”
“It’ll do. I’ll just clean it up a little. Ring finger’s fucked up and maybe the little finger too, but not from the hit. You know how to throw a punch, at least. What did you do, yank it out of the wall? You gotta watch that in the city. There’s a lot of plaster in those older buildings.”
“Yep. I got stuck and couldn’t get it out.” Maybe he’d panicked a bit.
He rolled his toes, clenching and unclenching. Vince Nedders had taught him that on his first bad fall from a bull while he was waiting for someone to pop his arm back in. Roll your toes and it’ll help, son.
Angel fucked with his skin, then grabbed his fingers. “This isn’t going to feel good.”
“I’m cool.” Icy, even. Like a snow cone.
“You know what my favorite joke is, man?” Angel asked, and he shook his head. “What did the sadist say when the masochist begged, ‘Beat me’?”
“I got no idea.”
Angel winked at him. “No.”
Then he pulled, and the world went white-hot for a screaming second, and it took all his willpower to be still and silent and cowboy up.
Roll your fucking toes, son.
“Jesus.”
“Whoops, hang on.” Angel disappeared from his blurry vision for a second. There was a solid thunk; then the big guy laughed. Hard. “You okay, Tommy?”
“Fine. Fuck you. Get to work.”
Angel laughed again, and he was back. “You did better than your Master did. I give you permission to bust his chops when you can sit up again.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo. Feels better.” It always did, when they were in place.
“Yeah.” Angel wrapped his hand loosely in gauze, put on a soft splint that covered his last three fingers, held them still. “Don’t make it too tight, huh? You’ve got to give the swelling room. Watch for infection. If pieces of plaster work out, just clean it real well.”
“Fair enough.” He’d made sure the blood ran clear before he glued it shut. “Is he okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Angel laughed and gave him a wink, then started cleaning up. “Big badass Dom.”
“Thank you, Angel. I very much appreciate the emergency assist.”
“That’s my cue.” Angel gave his hand one more look. “Good thing we understand each other. I know I’ll be seeing you again.”
“Yes, sir.” He was a bit of an accident waiting to happen, and he knew it. “I owe you.”
“No, Tommy here does, but the thought is kind.”
Tommy. That just didn’t suit.
When Thomas appeared alongside the platform, he looked totally fine, and walked Angel over to the door. “Really, thank you. Let me know how you want to settle up.”
“I’ll think of something. If he needs anything, give him a couple Tylenol. It should throb, but it’s going to feel a shit-ton better already.” Angel grinned. “He’s a tough little stud. Lucky man. See ya.”
“Take care. Have a beer on me on your way out.”
“Sounds good.”
The door closed, the lock turned, and Thomas was back, smiling at him. “Better?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to repeat the experiment right now, but yes. Thank you for the help.”
“I’d prefer that as well.” Thomas rested a hand on his chest. “I’d had a slightly different plan for the evening, but it will keep.”
He could feel every single one of Thomas’s fingers; he could feel Thomas’s heartbeat. “I’m sorry. I seem to fuck up your plans pretty regular.”
“Nothing to worry about. My most important plan is you.” Thomas’s fingers traveled under the hem of his T-shirt and settled on his belly.
His abs rippled like they had a mind of their own, responding to Thomas’s touch instinctively.
Thomas was quiet and looked thoughtful for a bit, those warm fingers spreading wide across his belly. “The other day when I took your hand, you told me no one touches in this city. Is that right? Am I remembering that correctly?”
“Yeah.” At home, there was constant contact—hugs and slaps on the back, rubbing elbows, high-fiving, handshakes, playful punches. He ached for it sometimes. Stupid, but true.
“And since you’ve been in the city, you’ve had a hug or two from me and…a fistfight? Is that all?”
“The hostess this morning. The teachers at James’s school hugged me when I went to see his classroom.” He remembered every one.
The temptation to lift his head and see Thomas’s hand on his belly was huge, but he didn’t, because it might make Thomas stop.
Thomas smiled. “You remember them all. Touches are important to you? They are to me too. Is this okay? Would you be comfortable removing your shirt? If not, that’s fine.”
“I want to.” God, that was—he was— Breathe. Breathe. He was going to hell one way or the other, right? He huffed out a shaky breath. “Hell, I just want you to stay here with me.”
Yeah. Totally burning in hell for eternity. Brimstone. Pitchforks. Demons tap-dancing on his eyeballs.
Worth it.
“I’ll stay here. We’ll stay as long as you like.” Thomas pushed up his shirt, then patiently helped him work the left sleeve over his hand and the other side around his bum shoulder. “Okay?”
“Yessir.” He rolled up a little to help Thomas slip the shirt off, grateful for his three hundred crunches a day.
He was not going to think about how he was mostly naked with a man who made him willing to— Nope. No thinking. Breathing. In and out.
He watched Thomas neatly fold his T-shirt and put it aside. “What kind of touch makes you the most happy?”
He made himself answer, testing Thomas’s promise of no judgment. “There are at least a hundred answers to that question, and my answer right now would be…yours.”
Oh. That smile. Thomas seemed…well, touched. Happy. He could see it in the set of the man’s shoulders and the light in those clear brown eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Grateful, like he’d given the man a gift.
Thomas’s hands started to move over his skin, the touch warm and light in some places, firmer and more purposeful in others. The expression on Thomas’s face was intense, eyes following along like they were looking for something.
No, not looking…learning.
“Such a treasure.”
He didn’t have an answer in words, so he just stroked Thomas’s arm in thanks.
His cock was heavy, but not embarrassing, so he focused on Thomas’s hands. The man knew he liked guys, had to know he thought Thomas was fine, so they were just going to have to ignore it together.
Thomas spent some time on his shoulder, working his fingers around the joint, across to the base of his neck, down into his armpit, and around to his back, lifting him slightly off the platform and setting him down.
“I understand what caused this one. But I want to know about this scar.” Thomas rubbed the little bare spot above his nipple.
“Oh, God.” He started laughing at the memory of running around banging at his chest and screaming like a howler monkey. “You know how you can stick your hand in rubbing alcohol and set it on fire without hurting yourself? We used to do that behind the barn where Momma couldn’t see. When I was a kid—I think the summer before I was ten—Jam
es and I decided to soak cotton balls in alcohol, set them on fire, and throw them at each other. That one stuck.”
Thomas shook his head, grinning. “That sounds exactly like something my twin brothers would’ve done. I, on the other hand, had no idea you could do that. I must have been reading a book or hiding in the warehouse when they taught that lesson in How to be a Real Boy School.”
“We had Bowie. He paid James a dollar to set his dick on fire in the bathroom once.”
“Jesus.” Thomas snorted, then grinned. “Well, there didn’t seem to be any lasting damage.”
“Yeah, I was little then. Three or four.” He smiled, the memories fond. “I got lots of scars. I never get out of anything without a mark.”
“I see that. You’re also in exceptional shape.” Thomas’s fingers were still moving. They found the hollow of his throat and slid lightly down it to his sternum, then traced the curve of his lowest ribs around to his side. “You seem very content right now, Sam. This is the most relaxed you’ve been as long as I’ve known you. This might be the longest you’ve been still as well. How do you feel?”
Sam sorted through answers—relaxed, present, happy, settled, welcome, warm, buzzed—and he settled on “Real good.”
“I’m glad. I have to tell you again how relieved I was to hear you want to stay in New York. I would have missed you. I think you belong here. I believe you can find friends, and I am hopeful that you and I can keep working together, as it seems to be benefiting us both.”
Those hands seemed to grow hot against his abs as Thomas spoke, searing into skin and muscle.
He sucked in a breath and curled up, shoulders leaving the couch.
“Shhh.” Thomas pressed him gently back down. “Too sensitive? Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” He blinked at himself. Okay, stop that.
Thomas arched an eyebrow, but he was smiling. “All right. Perhaps another spot, then.” Those hot hands landed on his thigh, the one that didn’t get stomped on, Thomas’s fingers working into the muscle. “Are you able to kneel at all?”
“Yessir.” He thought. How often did that come up in life? Kneeling? “I mean, I clean the bathtub and all. I never think of the leg unless I’m cold and it throbs. The frozen shoulder is way more of a bitch.”
“Wonderful. Not about your shoulder, but that you’ll be able to kneel for me.” Thomas bent his knee up and worked fingers into his calf. “Are you ticklish?”
He had been when he was a kid, but he had learned to clamp that shit down. Being tickled until you pissed yourself was a torture no one needed. “I am not.”
“Also good. That can be a painful surprise if I’m not expecting it. It’s much easier not to have to worry about it. Do you have any food allergies? Allergies to medications? Latex? Anything like that?”
“Feathers. They make my eyes swell up like whoa. It’s gross. Also, scorpions and me? We’re not friends.”
“Feathers?” Thomas laughed. “Oh, that was a poor choice the other day, then, wasn’t it? I apologize. Is it all feathers? Synthetic feathers are okay, or not?”
“There’s synthetic feathers? No shit? Why would anyone have those?” Maybe for…uh…dreamcatchers? Costumes? Art projects in schools?
“Well, so…” Thomas squinted at him, then headed for a cabinet that hung on the wall. “Roll over. Let me know if you need my assistance.”
“Okay…” Huh. Weird. He sat up easily before he turned over, trying to figure out what to do with his arms. He ended up with his elbows bent, hands at his shoulders like he was in a push-up.
“Hm. Are you able to just put your arms down at your sides? Will your shoulder do that?”
He rolled from one side to the other, extricating his hands. Oh. Better. “Yeah. Yeah, this is cool.”
“Good, I want you to be comfortable.” His head was turned the other way, but he heard Thomas come back over. “So synthetic feathers come in several different textures. This one tends to be a popular one.”
He felt a light touch at the base of his spine that made its way slowly up to between his shoulder blades and fanned out across one, then the other. Thomas repeated the same motion slowly.
“It’s not really about the initial touch. That’s not typically very exciting, but it sensitizes the skin when you repeat the same thing, again and again.”
“Like Chinese water torture, but not bad?”
“Exactly. Pleasurable torture. So well put, sweetheart.” Thomas continued fanning the feather across his shoulder blades. “So what you might find after a while is that this feels nice, maybe relaxing, maybe gets boring. Everyone is different. But after a while when I switch to something else, it might have a surprising effect. Maybe not, not everything works on everyone’s skin. These might be too subtle for you with your various scars back here, especially that hoof print.”
Thomas took that feather away and blew cool air across the skin where the feather had been.
His toes curled, and goose bumps popped up all over his back, his nipples going rock hard. Oh. Fuck, that was weird. Like walking into air-conditioning after working in the sun all day.
“Mmm. Pretty. Maybe subtle isn’t such a bad idea after all. You’ve had a great deal of…harsh attention. How do you like this one? It’s a tiny little tickler, so simple.” Thomas barely touched the very same expanse of skin.
“Is that weird?” He wiggled, the touch more like the promise of an itch or dust blowing against him.
“Does it matter? Do you like it?”
“I don’t know if it matters. Sometimes that matters.” Sometimes it was good to be like everyone else because being different was fucking lonely. He thought that people that said it was better to march to your own drummer were just trying to make themselves feel better. Hell, he was a gay rodeo cowboy with a master’s in art history who just decided to stay in New York City because he was fascinated with his murdered brother’s boyfriend.
“Here it is literally you, me, and four walls that don’t talk. The only thing that matters is what we want, what we need, and what we like.” Thomas blew across his skin again.
“That’s…” He’d never felt that before in his whole life. Never. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
“Good? It’s okay, Sam. You don’t need words. I’m listening. You’ll tell me you want more, less, or to stop if you’re not into it. All right? That’s all you need for now.”
He nodded and squeezed his eyes closed. Big. It was big. How was something so little so big?
“I’m going back to the big feather. It’s rougher, and your skin is more sensitive now; you’ll have to let me know how intense it is and whether you want me to stop.”
Thomas gently fanned the feather across one shoulder blade as he had before, only this time it felt like a million little tiny pinpricks, like being stung by a hundred tiny wasps all at once.
He jerked away, his eyes flying open. It was like getting ink, but so much more immediate—less a line of fire than a wash of burn.
“Shhh.” Thomas moved around to where Sam could see him and held up the feather. “That was this. Just a synthetic feather. Too much? I’ll stop.”
“No fucking way. That burned like fire. Jesus. Weird.” He met Thomas’s eyes. “That is messed up.”
Thomas grinned at him. “It is a bit, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have believed me if I’d explained it to you. You needed to experience it. Right? A lot of what happens here is about learning yourself, your true needs, your deepest desires, and how liberating that understanding is. Big concept, one very small example.”
Thomas started cleaning up the room, putting the feathers on top of the credenza, tidying up the ropes he hadn’t used.
“You want some help, man?” He wasn’t broke. Well, a little, but he had one hand and two free fingers and a thumb.
“Sit up and prove to me you’re not light-headed first.” Thomas winked at him.
He swung himself up, the world spinning like he’d been on a good ride.
Oh, he fucking loved that little rush.
Thomas watched him. “You should see your pupils. You’d think the room was dark. You just sit there a second, please, and let the blood make it back down to your toes. Oh, and be careful when you put your T-shirt back on. It might sting.”
“Yeah. It feels like you cut me a little.”
“I promise I did not. But every little nerve ending is firing off at once. The nice thing is it will fade very quickly, in just a few minutes really, and it doesn’t leave any kind of mark or raw spots. But you get all that sensation. It can really help you find the right headspace.”
Thomas lifted his clothes and set them on the platform beside him. “So typically after spending time together, working, playing, a scene, whatever we’re doing, I like to give my subs time to reorder their thinking. It’s loud out there. This room is soundproofed. The lighting and the crowd, it can be a lot. So I’ll give you a second to breathe, get dressed, and when you’re ready, you bring me the key to the room and meet me at the bar. Sound good?”
“You got it.”
As soon as Thomas left, he sighed, grinned at himself. A second to breathe. Right.
It was going to take him half an hour to fasten his buckle. He might get his boots on by tomorrow morning.
He started laughing at himself and this insane fucking day. God help him.
15
“Ally. Ally, there’s a typo in the flyer for that new Russian doll exhibit. They spelled the sponsor’s foundation wrong.”
Thomas flung the brochure on his assistant’s desk.
“Oh…is that…? I’m sure I had it right.”
“You did. It’s not you, Al. It’s media. Just get them to fix it.” Thomas sighed. “Please. And thank you. And have I told you how much I appreciate you today? I need more coffee.”
Ally laughed. “On it. Not the coffee, you can get that for yourself.”
Thomas snorted. He adored her.
That opening was scheduled for Friday. Four thousand full-color brochures in three days? Good luck. He was glad he wasn’t in that department. He breathed a sigh of relief to discover he was alone in the break room. He wasn’t up for water cooler nonsense right now.
