It’s not a good idea to turn down a dinner invitation from your primary investor, even if he makes you a little nervous. Especially if he makes you a little nervous.
Ash couldn’t say he disliked Mr. Prince. It was impossible to dislike the man. He was too self-possessed to be disliked. What people thought, even of him, slid off of him without making an impact. He wore his confidence as easily as he wore his tailored suits. As easily as his diamond signet ring and his slightly amused smile.
So Ash didn’t dislike him. He couldn’t even say he disliked the way the man made him feel—like the ground wasn’t quite level, like he had to continue to adjust how he stood, just to stay upright. A conversation with Mr. Prince longer than a few minutes left Ash’s muscles shivering with the tension he’d used to hold still. Left him on edge, wondering if he wished the conversation had ended sooner, or gone on just a little longer.
But Ash didn’t really mind that either.
He really didn’t have a good reason to turn down the request they meet. But he could try to direct it, to something less likely to overwhelm than dinner together. Alone.
The problem really, was that Ash wasn’t sure that “dinner” meant “just dinner.” When Mr. Prince had invited him out before, it had been with his partner. Given that Cat and he shared ownership of, and responsibility for, the bookstore, it was expected that she would be involved in any discussions related to it. Cat wasn’t quite as interpersonally inclined as Ash was, but she’d surprised him with her business acumen, and there was no way he’d take any steps without her.
And she wasn’t invited.
“Why don’t we meet at the store?” he offered, into the phone, not sure if he wanted Mr. Prince to agree or not. “That way I’d have the records right there, and the proposals. Plus all Cat’s notes, so if we needed…” there was silence on the other end of the line, and he trailed off, slightly embarrassed. He was talking too much. But it had been important. To get her name in there. To remind Prince about her. About who she was to Ash. Just in case.
“No.” The velvet voice ran a finger down the back of Ash’s neck, and he shivered. “Dinner, I think. At Arcadia. Seven, tonight.”
“All right.” his voice came out unsteady, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, more firmly. “That sounds good.”
Mr. Prince’s rich chuckle filled his ear.
Ash hung up the phone, and took several deep breaths to clear his head. It was just dinner. A business meeting. Nothing more. Still.
Cat watched him disconnect the phone, put it in his pocket. Cocked her head at him. “You’ve got that look on your face. Prince?”
He nodded, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. As shy as he did…other times.
“When’s he going to fuck you?” she asked him, dryly.
His mouth fell open. “What? Cat, I wouldn’t…with him…what?”
“With him? But you would with someone else?” She said it critically, and it hung between them long enough he was tempted to start apologizing. But then she swung around to him with a snort, shaking her head, and he realized he was being stupid. “Ash. When you talk to him, you look like someone hit you with a baseball bat. When he talks to you, I expect him to just throw you down right there.”
He blushed harder, ashamed he’d made her feel that he could possibly want anyone else. Even though they’d talked about that nearly endlessly in the first months of their relationship, about his wants and hers and where they intersected and diverged. “I wouldn’t…if it would bother you.”
She snorted again, her lip curling into a smile. On someone else, it would have been sarcastic and angry. On Cat, it was sarcastic and amused. Comfortable. “It wouldn’t.”
“But it might.”
She hummed.
“It might!”
She let the smile out, the softness that was nearly always masked in her lines and edges glowing through like light. Ash reminded himself that they trusted each other. That they had agreed to trust each other. Gave the softness back to her with his own smile.
Her expression settled into something more serious. “Do it. Have fun. Call me if anything goes wrong, and tell him that if he hurts you—more than I would—I’ll fucking kill him.”
Ash nodded, an inexplicable lightness filling him from his feet upward. He’d had her permission to do this for ages. Hell, he’d had her explicit encouragement. But he’d never met anyone he liked enough to risk the complications that would inevitably come along with it. He knew Cat genuinely wouldn’t get jealous. Not about that. His wants, the ones that didn’t align with her preferences or comfort, weren’t a problem for him, weren’t at all difficult to give up. But for some reason, she really wanted him to have them met, anyway.
Regardless, no one had ever seemed worth the trouble. Until Mr. Prince. And even with him, Ash remained a little unsure. It would be wonderful. Terrifying. Exciting. Awful. He was sure of that. But he didn’t like the way Prince treated his relationship with Cat. Rather, how he didn’t treat it. How he didn’t speak to it at all.
The relationship might not matter to Prince, but it did to Ash. And he wouldn’t compromise that, even for wonderful, terrifying excitement.
But it didn’t matter, because the dinner was just dinner.
It was a business meeting. Precisely because it was, Ash dressed carefully that evening. He spent far too long debating what to wear, in fact. But he wanted to make a good impression. Mr. Prince was their financial backing. If Ash looked like he was unreliable, it would reflect poorly on his ability to manage the shop.
He knew how to dress, to look professional. Blues worked well on him, deep, clear ones, that complemented his complexion. Their coolness drew out the warmth of his brown skin, set off the darkness of his eyes. Jackets cut long and slim, to show off the line of his torso, that turned his thin frame into an asset. Slacks that did the same for the length of his legs. Ties a little narrower than was in fashion, to continue the illusion. Hair brushed back, out of his face. Product keeping his dark curls from ending up in the state of general messiness he had so much trouble avoiding.
The problem was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to dress professionally. Or, rather, he didn’t want to be entirely professional. Nice, of course. Precise. Respectful.
But Ash also wanted there to be something else. Something beyond the businesslike surface. Something like the things he thought he heard underneath Mr. Prince’s words, when they spoke. Something that might show Mr. Prince Ash could hear it. That he understood. If it was there at all.
He ended up pulling out half the contents of his closet, throwing it on his bed. Nothing felt right. Too formal, too casual, too straight laced, too boring, too flashy, too simple. He seriously debated just cancelling the dinner. By text.
He couldn’t do that, though. Because of the shop.
He determinedly did not think of the velvet in Mr. Prince’s voice. The quality of his laugh, amused, just a little condescending.
Finally, Ash managed to find something to wear that didn’t make him feel like a kid playing dress up to impress a teacher. Black trousers, the one pair that fit his long legs properly. Soft blue shirt, blue velvet blazer. Slate grey tie, unpatterned. Clothes he felt good in. Presentable. Attractive, even. It might have been a little excessive, but he found he’d rather be overdressed than under, and the coat tied it all together.
He didn’t bother with his hair, except to try to define the curl a little. It fell over his collar, and drifted over his eyes when he leaned forward. Moderated the outfit, kept it from shifting too formal, from trying too hard. And it gave him a convenient curtain to duck behind, when things became a little too much.
Arcadia was new, and hip, and Ash could never have gotten a reservation with a week’s wait, much less for the same night. The way the diners on the patio were dressed made Ash glad he’d worn what he did. Still, compared to the others, it seemed cheap. Tacky. He smoothed the coat with his palms, trying not to feel outclassed.
“Ash.” The voice cut through the ambient noise as clearly as though they’d been spoken in his ear. He turned, and the ground tilted.
Mr. Prince belonged in places like Arcadia. The way he dressed, moved, the way he held himself just slightly apart, like the world around him was an accessory, and he was the focal point, it all created an air of someone who fit, and who knew it.
He was dressed much more casually than Ash, and much more expensively—his charcoal shirt alone likely cost more than the majority of Ash’s wardrobe. He hadn’t bothered with a tie, and left the collar’s top button undone, framing a dark triangle of skin at his neck. His hair, brushed straight back from his forehead, sat in soft waves that looked unstyled, but clearly were the work of a very clever hairdresser.
Ash, feeling even more out of place, put on his working smile, and offered his hand.
“Hello!” He said, brightly. “Thank you. For meeting me!” Then he fished for something else to add, came up with, “I’ve heard great things about this place.”
The other man raised an eyebrow. Didn’t take his hand. “Oh?”
Ash nodded, kept the smile in place. “There was a review in the paper the other week, and I…”
He trailed off, realized his hand was still outstretched, and dropped it, flushing.
The corner of Mr. Prince’s lips twisted in that amused not-quite smile. “They have the table ready.” He said, and motioned for Ash to lead the way into the dim restaurant.
It was, predictably, the best table in the place, set back in a secluded corner, away from even the soft noise in the rest of the place. He started to sit, but a sound behind him made him pause.
Mr. Prince, still almost smiling, was looking at him. Looking at him, and waiting. Ash felt the same shiver slide down his neck, come to rest in his stomach. He straightened, moved back a half step, his hands slipping naturally behind his back, tucked comfortably out of the way.
The smile on his investor’s face widened a hair. He inclined his head in a slight nod, and the cold in Ash’s stomach bloomed into a prickling warmth. He let himself stand straighter, his shoulders relaxing, down the line of his arms.
The older man looked him over again, and Ash felt silly, standing there. Resolved he would sit down. Just because this guy gave him money, Ash didn’t need to treat him like he was royalty. He’d sit. In a minute.
When Mr. Prince stopped looking, smiling, and seated himself, Ash realized he’d been breathing shallowly, and he again forced himself to inflate his lungs properly. He’d sit down.
In a minute.
When the investor was seated, comfortably arranged in the dark wood chair, he looked up. The smile reached both sides of his mouth now. Again, he nodded, just a fraction. Then picked up his water goblet, said, over the brim, “Why don’t you join me?”
Ash nodded. “Thank you.” He said, not entirely knowing why.
When he’d seated himself at the table, he felt even more silly. Shook his head, hard, to clear it. Grabbed his water and drank half of it, and felt marginally calmer. He didn’t know why he was reacting like this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around attractive, self-possessed men before. Admittedly, Mr. Prince was both more attractive, with his high cheekbones, the clean-shaven line of his jaw. His rich, deep eyes. More self-possessed, with the way he carried himself, the set of his broad shoulders. But Ash had always found arrogance and domineering nature to be a turn off.
Except, nothing he’d done had been arrogant. And he hadn’t told Ash to do anything. He’d just looked. Examined. And Ash had wanted to show well. For those eyes to approve of him. He tightened his hands around the goblet.
“You can relax, if you like.”
Ash started, and water splashed over his hand.
“Don’t worry.” there was a laugh in the investor’s voice now. “We’re just going to have dinner. And talk.”
Ash felt a stab of disappointment. It must have showed on his face.
“Did you have something else in mind?” His companion actually chuckled.
The disappointment turned to irritation. Whatever this game was, Ash only wanted to play if the rules were clear. This wasn’t an accident. Ash couldn’t be misreading it all. Everything was too calculated. Too damn effective at producing a reaction. Which was fine. Fun, even. But he’d started too off-balance to hold his own. He decided he’d put an end to the whole thing, before it went too far.
Setting the glass down carefully, he folded his hands. “Mr. Prince, thank you for the dinner invitation, but I’d prefer if we keep our interactions purely professional in the future. We’re in business together, and everyone knows you shouldn’t mix business with…”
“Pleasure?” Prince supplied, and Ash cursed himself for falling right into that one.
Regardless, though, the comment seemed to do the trick. Whatever game they’d been playing, Ash had ended it. Quite effectively and thoroughly ended it.
Mr. Prince made polite conversation over their meal. Politely asked Ash about his plans for the shop, his goals in expanding the business. Politely expressed interest in current entertainment and social events. Politely answered Ash’s increasingly personal questions.
Politely, and distantly, with a smile that was different than the one that had curved his mouth before.
Ash felt stung. All right, he’d wanted this to be professional. A dinner between colleagues. That was what they were. That was all they were. But it was a little much to go from flirting, to this in a few sentences. That had been flirting, hadn’t it? Maybe it hadn’t, and he’d simply been reading too much into the considerate behavior of someone with a financial stake in his choices?
He’d misread everything badly. Thank god Mr. Prince was polite enough not to rub Ash’s nose in his error.
“Is something wrong?”
Ash started again, managing to avoid upsetting his water glass a second time. “Oh, no.” He said, quickly. “I’m sorry. My mind was just wandering a little.”
“Ah.” Mr. Prince set down his knife. “I’m sorry I’ve done so little to hold your attention. Something will need to be done about that.”
The world tilted again.
Thankfully, his desire to stammer out some kind of response was forestalled by their waitress, a smiling girl bringing the dessert menu.
“Are you gentlemen interested in something sweet to end your meal?” she asked, her body inclined toward Mr. Prince, the obvious money at the table.
Ash, that strange, prickling feeling running across his shoulders, down his arms, turned to Prince himself, tilting his head a little.
Again the slight, approving nod. Again, the warm rush, overcoming any embarrassment.
“Nothing from the menu, thank you.” Mr. Prince told the woman. “Just the check.”
She dimpled, placed the closed folder on the table, and left them alone again.
Very aware of his hands, how his body felt inside his clothes, Ash knew that he was, again, misunderstanding everything. He had to be, otherwise it would all be too much. He felt drunk, even though he had wisely stuck to water. He couldn’t look at Prince’s face, so studied the man’s hands, instead, steepled under his chin. The gold ring on his index finger.
“You could, of course, simply go home.” his companion said, and his voice had changed. No longer the politely absent investor, his tone had gone rich, soft. It felt like the touch of velvet gloves on Ash’s face. “I could pay the check, and we could shake hands, and go our own ways. I would be your investor, and you the investment.”
Ash’s eyes were pulled upward, from the hands, the ring with its star-like diamond, up the row of shirt buttons, the line of the slightly open collar. Along the angle of jaw, and the color of skin, and to the man’s eyes.
“Or.”
The eyes were dark. Sharp. As much like stars as the diamond in the ring. Ash’s mouth was dry.
“Or?” he asked, though he didn’t know if he’d said it aloud.
“Or you could ask for what you really want.”
Ash laughed. He had to. The moment had stretched him so tightly, and the come-on was so blatant, the sound simply exploded out. He tried to stifle it behind his hand, to put his face back together, but he couldn’t help it, and the laugh, slightly hysterical, continued to pour out.
Mr. Prince’s eyebrow had risen nearly into his hairline, and there was decidedly no approval in the way he considered Ash now. “I’m pleased you find me so amusing,” he said, not at all pleased.
Ash took a breath, trying to get himself under control, ashamed at his outburst. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” Just that you’ve wound me up so tight something had to give, and that was it? Just that I have no idea how you manage to make me happy to be incredibly uncomfortable? Just that you make it impossible to think about anything except things I shouldn’t be thinking about? Just that you pulled that line straight out of erotic fan fiction?
Finally, mild hysteria fading, Ash looked down at his hands, folding and re-folding the fingers around each other. “I apologize. It’s been a bit of a night for me, and I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” He adjusted his hands again, hearing the brittleness in his voice. Smoothed it out, into something more agreeable. More appealing. Into a slight wish. A quiet question. “I hope it doesn’t change any plans you had for the evening.”
He heard himself say it, and wondered why he had. Didn’t wonder, because he knew why, actually. Knew why. Wondered how.
He heard Mr. Prince’s chair scrape across the floor, heard the man rise, and knew he’d pushed his luck a little too far. He’d put the implication on the surface. The investor was going to leave, and Ash could only hope he’d still be willing to commit to the shop. He stared harder at his hands, and wished he could sink through the floor and vanish.
But then he saw the cuffs of those fine black slacks in his peripheral vision. Prince had come around the table, stood next to him. Ash’s eyes were again drawn upward, his head tipping back, to a point just on the far side of comfort, to allow himself to look at the man’s face.
Prince was smiling. Fully smiling, his teeth white, and straight, and sharp.
“No.” He said, looking down, into Ash’s eyes. “It doesn’t change anything.” The smile edged toward predatory. “Including the requirement that you ask for it.”
Breathing very slowly, very carefully, Ash deliberately stood up. Deliberately looked Mr. Prince directly in the eyes. Deliberately spoke. “Please, allow me to join you in your after-dinner plans.”
Mr. Prince chuckled, and the thrill that shot through Ash now was much closer to fear. It was so heady, so delicious, he dropped his eyes.
“What would your partner say about this?” the investor asked, and Ash glanced up again. “She has a very proprietary interest in you, doesn’t she?” He stood comfortably, his body completely relaxed, as though he was at best mildly interested in the answer. But Ash could see a certain tightness around his mouth. No matter the phrasing, Mr. Prince was asking permission. Ash’s, but Cat’s as well.
Ash nodded, feeling the warmth of pride in his chest. “She does. But…I’m allowed to. With you.”
Wished he could call the stupid, immature-sounding words back as soon as he said them.
Prince laughed again. “Well, as long as it’s allowed. With me.” Then he leaned in, close to Ash’s ear. Murmured, “I look forward to teaching you more appropriate ways to ask me for things.”
Then, stepping back as though he’d said nothing, he motioned for Ash to lead him out of the dining room.
There are many things one shouldn’t do. One of them is to let a strange man take you home on the first date. Especially if you still weren’t sure it was a date. Especially if being in the same car with him overwhelmed you so much, you got light headed. Especially if you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop him from taking anything he wanted from you.
Especially if you rather wanted him to.
Ash pushed himself to be one who followed the rules. To stick to the things one was supposed to do. He generally didn’t succeed. This night was no exception. He’d followed Mr. Prince to his car, black and expensive. When they reached it, he found himself hanging back.
“Changing your mind?” Prince asked, over his shoulder. “There’s still time for that.”
Ash tasted the fear this time. Knew he’d do a very great deal to continue to taste it, and shook his head. “No.” His voice was low, hoarse even to his own ears.
Mr. Prince paused, fingers just touching the door handle, looked at Ash, and raised an eyebrow.
Ash’s eyes dropped to door on his side, his cheeks hot. “No, Sir.”
Again the laugh, lighter this time, but equally amused. “Look at me.”
He almost couldn’t do it. Almost couldn’t force himself. It would be too much, to be asked to look into those eyes now. To confront what was happening as real. But Ash wanted it, because he wanted it.
So he raised his head, let his hands fall to his sides, straightened his back.
“Again.” Prince commanded, softly.
“Yes, Sir.” It was so much harder to say, with his eyes open.
Prince’s familiar half smile quirked the corner of his mouth, and he nodded. “Get in.”
Ash had never been so glad to sit down in his life.
Mr. Prince gave his whole attention to driving, and Ash wasn’t entirely sure if he was grateful for this, or felt a little slighted. The man’s focus was so intense it was hard to bear, but when it was gone, Ash felt its absence as keenly as pain.
He wanted to say something to break the endless silence that got heavier and heavier as it lengthened, but he had nothing clever enough. Nothing that might affirm in Prince’s mind his right to be there. Finally, it was too much. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he blurted out.
Instantly wanted to disappear. Bit hard into the inside of his cheek and watched Prince out of the corner of his eye, hoping they weren’t about turn around and go back to the restaurant.
Prince’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Like what, exactly?” He asked, evenly.
“I haven’t…” Ash fished around for the right way to put it. Gone home with someone in the hopes that he’ll.…? Never wanted to beg for a chance to….? Never wanted someone to make me wait for them to touch me until I wanted to scream, but won’t because they might make me wait longer?
He could see Prince’s face out of the corner of his eye, in the panning light from the headlights of oncoming cars. A smile hovered on the man’s lips, amused, but with something underneath it. Something sharp enough that it made Ash look away. “You’ve never let a man take you home hoping he’d fuck you? I find that hard to believe.”
“I…” Ash blushed scarlet. “No, I mean, of course I have, that…I mean.”
The hint of the smile remained, became a fraction more intense. “Then what haven’t you done, Ash?”
His name on Prince’s lips sent another bolt through him from throat to stomach. But his answer came out surprisingly steady. “I haven’t had a man take me home hoping he wouldn’t fuck me.”
The smile grew.
Ash had been to Mr. Prince’s house before, when they were in discussions for the shop, and later, when they were celebrating the opening. Then, it had been brilliantly lit, with twinkling lights on the patio, open French doors, sweet, sad music filling the air. Tonight, the only light Ash could see glowed through a downstairs window, soft, and diffused by hanging sheers.
The driveway light clicked on as Prince pulled the car in, and Ash jumped. Prince looked at him sideways, and Ash shrugged, ducking his head.
As before, he preceded his investor up the steps to the front door. There, acting on that same half-understood impulse, Ash shifted to the side, putting himself just out of the way, just in the shadows. And again, just like it had before, when he straightened his back, when he let his head fall slightly forward, the tension eased down his arms and out of him. He felt boneless. Waiting, and ready.
Prince made another small, approving sound in his throat as he moved past Ash, unlocking the door, and pushing it open. Stepping into the dark house.
Ash waited, knowing he should follow Prince in. That would be the normal thing to do. But nothing about this night had been normal so far, and he didn’t think it would start now. So he waited. Watched Mr. Prince cross the foyer, turn on a lamp, set his keys on a side table. Go into the living room and turn a corner, leaving Ash alone. On the porch. In the dark.
He knew, then, that he’d done the right thing. Staying where he’d been put. If he’d misstepped, Mr. Prince wouldn’t have left him there. He would have politely and distantly bid Ash good night. Maybe called him a Lyft, if he were feeling generous. But Ash had been allowed to stand on the stoop, like a puppy waiting to be allowed indoors.
He found he rather liked it.
After a long moment, Ash’s hands and face growing cold in the night air, Prince came back into view.
“Come,” he said.
Ash started up. Paused, just at the threshold.
Mr. Prince waited.
Swallowing hard, Ash stepped across, under the lintel, into the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
Prince led Ash down the hall, and Ash struggled to remain calm, measured. Fought the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. Didn’t quite manage. Mr. Prince looked back over his shoulder, but his smile was indulgent.
“You’re eager, boy,” he said, softly. “I don’t believe this is your first time.”
Ash shrugged. Then, remembering himself. “Not…not entirely.” he admitted.
“We’ll need to deal with that first, then. The lie.” He said it so offhandedly that it took Ash a moment to register the words.
His stomach clenched, and he missed a step.
Prince laughed. “That and, of course, your forgetfulness.”
Ash stumbled again, frantically replaying what he’d said. What he hadn’t…oh.
“Yes, Sir.” he whispered.
“Better.” Prince stopped at one of the hall doors, and turned to face Ash. His face showed only amused interest. “But there do still need to be consequences, don’t there?”
Ash stared at the thick carpet, at the black toes of the polished shoes, feeling his heart race, and his breath begin to come in pants. Mumbled something.
The slap caught his jaw. Rocked his head sideways. Made his ears ring, and stung his cheek.
He heard himself whimper, but his body knew how to respond. Drew his shoulders back, crossed his wrists behind him, brought his eyes up to the other man’s. “Yes. Yes, Sir.” he answered. “Thank you.”
Prince laughed.
The room was exactly what Ash would have expected, if he’d expected anything. It was Prince’s study, because of course he had a study. Warm, with bookcases and desk in deep, golden wood. A brown armchair, in slightly worn leather. Red brocade sofa. Persian rug in shades of red and blue, shot with gold. Ash smelled smoke, both tobacco and wood. Leather. Something musky, but very slightly sweet.
Precisely, Ash thought, the sort of room that would belong to a man of wealth and breeding. Precisely where he’d do…whatever he was about to do.
Prince had already removed his jacket, sometime while he left Ash waiting on his porch. He’d rolled his cuffs up, showing strong-looking forearms and wrists. He looked comfortably sophisticated, his shirt open at the throat. Ash would have been nearly content just being allowed to look at him, to be near him.
Nearly.
Prince seated himself in the recliner, crossing one leg over the other knee, resting his elbows on it. Steepling his hands under his chin. Ash waited. Now that he was here, actually in the room, alone with the man in his own space, the wonderful fear had become much stronger. Ash could feel it tingling along his nerves like electricity, running through his veins like a drug.
He wished Prince would hurry up. Move this along faster. Ash liked to tease as much as the next, maybe even a little more than some, but Prince’s deliberate, tantalizing progress was only just enough to whet his appetite. He was ready for something to happen. Something more to happen.
Still. The unspoken rules here were clear, so Ash waited. Soon, he’d be able to move on his own. To show Mr. Prince what he wanted, and how badly. But, for now, they’d agreed to terms and Ash could live with that.
For now.
Prince’s amused, indulgent smile had vanished. Ash chewed the inside of his lip, wondering if his wavering attention had been visible to the older man. Too much, apparently. Prince jerked his head in a command.
Ash was surprised to find his legs release under him. Find himself folding, falling, to his knees. Surprised to find himself kneeling, just inside the door, sinking into the soft carpet, and looking up. Searching Prince’s face for the approving nod. Listening for the sound that meant Ash had done the right thing.
It didn’t come.
Ash’s heart sped up, like it had in the restaurant, but no longer pleasantly unpleasant. This sensation had no redeeming thrill of pleasure. Just the knowledge he’d lost focus. He’d let himself turn from the one thing in this room worth consuming him entirely. So much worse, because Prince’s attention had never wavered.
Mr. Prince studied Ash as he knelt there, and Ash felt rumpled. Messy. His blazer hung at the wrong angle, his shirt collar stuck up strangely. He wanted to straighten them. To smooth his hair down. But even more, he wanted to show the man in the chair that Ash knew what mattered.
After a time, Prince nodded, then opened a drawer in the table next to him. Took out something that Ash couldn’t quite see in the room’s low lighting. Set it in his lap, and turned back to Ash.
“Come here.” The voice wasn’t at all playful or amused.
Ash started to rise, but the noise from Prince checked him. His eyes went wide. He couldn’t be expected to…could he?
Mr. Prince’s expression told him he was.
Crawling is not graceful, unless one has had a great deal of practice. Still, somehow Ash made it across the room without embarrassing himself. Without, he reflected, embarrassing himself more than he was intended to. He felt a little distant from everything now, like his ability to feel the thrills of shame had faded into the background. Like he had faded into it as well. Like what was happening happened around him, not to him.
He arranged himself on his knees in front of Prince’s chair, head down, and hair falling around his face.
Thin fingers touched his chin, pressed his face upward. The eyes looking down at him were concerned. “Ash.”
He nodded, felt himself smiling.
“Where have you gone?” The voice, like the eyes, was worried. Still full of desire, of deep and profound hunger, but also looking straight into him. Seeing how he’d hidden himself away.
Ash tried to answer, but he found he couldn’t find words. Prince’s hand slid round. From under Ash’s chin, to cupping his face. Ash pressed his cheek into the palm without meaning to, feeling how sturdy it was. How it held him, anchored him.
The pressure of the hand grounded him, and for a long while he simply breathed, and felt it. Prince didn’t move. Didn’t lean back or adjust himself, just let Ash come back to the moment, and the place they actually existed in.
Finally, he could see where he was again. Feel the rug under his knees. Smell the tobacco smoke.
Realize here he was. Kneeling. Being held like a prized possession. Comforted, so that he could continue to be pleasing.
And desire rushed back, and he gasped with it.
Prince chuckled, fisted his hand in Ash’s hair, and dragged him upward. Kissed him, roughly. Then shoved him down, hard. Sending Ash sprawling to his back.
“I want you,” Prince said, punctuating the words by beckoning with his finger. “Here.”
Ash brought himself upright, panting, lunging toward Prince, wanting to taste him again, to be tasted by him. But the man checked him with a hand, holding Ash away from his body. Still, Ash could see the light sweat on Prince’s forehead, the way his breath had accelerated just slightly.
“I want you with me,” he said, and slipped something around Ash’s wrist, thick and heavy, and slightly cool. “Not elsewhere. Not hiding yourself from me.” The other wrist was circled. “I want you to feel only what I give you to feel.”
Prince pushed Ash again, spinning him by his shoulder, drawing his arms behind his back, his wrists together. Ash heard the snap of a lock. Felt the freedom of having freedom removed.
“Do you understand me?” It was asked in his ear, lips just touching him, making him shiver.
“Yes, Sir,” he breathed, and he was turned back, again, to look up at the beautiful, distant face.
Prince nodded, suddenly brisk and businesslike. Stood up. “Good. That will make this…more enjoyable. For us both.”
Then he was on his knees at Ash’s side, banding his ankles in the same thick cuffs that held his wrists. Locking them with the same finality. Ash felt the rug being moved, and wondered, then felt himself tugged backwards by his wrists, bent tight, in an arc. Heard another lock snap. Prince’s approval, very nearly the same sound.
Ash sighed softly. Closed his eyes for just a moment.
When the man returned to his chair, Ash tested his bonds slightly. Wrists to ankles. Their joining point tethered to something on the floor. Bent in a sort of loose hogtie that was neither entirely comfortable nor uncomfortable. A posture that could be held for a long time without excessive unpleasantness, but would become torturous if taken past that point.
The sound that came out of him was very nearly a sigh.
Prince smiled. “I see you approve.” He took something else from the drawer. “But you’re not quite ready for me yet.”
Ash heard the click, saw the light on the blade.
The sound this time was a moan.
Prince’s attention turned to the knife. Ash’s hadn’t strayed away from it. “People have such strange reactions to these,” he said, turning the tool in his fingers. It had a dark, matte handle, a relatively short blade. “So many people tell me they enjoy them. Until it’s time for their actual use. Then, they’re much less enthusiastic.”
He looked down at Ash, thoughtfully. “I’ve wondered for some time now if you might be the exception to that rule.”
Ash, eyes focused on the soft silver, the way the light caught it, could only make a small sound from somewhere in his chest. Could only strain against the way his body was held, trying to feel it.
Mr. Prince laughed. “I’m glad to see my trust in you wasn’t misplaced.” He moved forward in his chair, placed his feet on either side of Ash’s body, and leaned down over him. “I think I’ll wait to explore that further, however. And as I believe I said before, I expect you to ask me for everything I give you.”
Ash couldn’t breathe. Had to breathe because if he passed out he wouldn’t be able to see him. Smell him. Feel the heat of his body. See the pure, clean beauty of the knife, bright against the darker skin of his fingers. He forced himself to inhale, hold, exhale. Push back the dizziness. Push back the desperate desire. Let it burn away at him, but banked, low. Waiting its turn.
He tore his eyes from the blade, ran it up, along Prince’s body. From this angle, the strength of him was more apparent, the work he put into keeping that strength. His forearms were well muscled, with the kind of definition that came from time spent with a personal trainer. The little extra weight he carried made him seem solid, giving a certain softness to his stomach, tapering to the firm lines of his hips and legs.
But Prince didn’t wait for Ash to finish admiring him. Did bring the hand with the knife toward Ash. He whimpered, just a little, tried to both hold still, and make himself more open to it, at the same time.
But the knife didn’t touch his skin. Prince threaded it under the top button of Ash’s blazer. Cut it away.
Distantly, Ash felt a slight regret that he’d have to fix it later.
The second button came away, and the coat fell open. Prince sat back, looked at what he’d done, at the expanse of Ash’s soft blue shirt.
“Excellent taste, for what it is.” He flicked the collar with a finger. “You know what shows you off to your best advantage.” He leaned forward again. “But it’s not what I’m here to see.”
The buttons were cut off the shirt itself with the same deliberate, agonizing slowness. It fell open slightly, and though the room was warm, Ash felt goosebumps rise on his skin. His head fell forward again, hair covering his face, eyes closing. He wanted to be seen. So badly wanted Prince to look, and find what he saw pleasing. But like so many of Ash’s desires, it was hard to admit. Even harder to face.
With his eyes closed, he waited to be touched. Waited to discover if the touch would be rough or gentle. If Mr. Prince would slap or caress. But there was no warmth of skin on his chest. He opened his eyes.
The knife was still being used, this time along the arms of his jacket. Separating the fabric itself, not cutting the seam.
He frowned, tried not to jerk, heard himself murmur his displeasure.
He half-expected the slap this time, when it came. His teeth clacked together, and he bit down on his tongue. Shot a look at Prince.
He didn’t seem upset. Not even irritated. The slap had been reflexive, a reminder. Nothing personal. Ash reminded himself to breathe yet again.
When his canvas was still again, Prince resumed his careful work, reducing Ash’s coat, then shirt, to rags. “It’s not wise,” he commented as he worked, “to use a knife too long. Especially cutting something like fabric.” He tugged the blade through a shoulder seam. “It dulls them quickly. Makes them less useful.” Paused to study. Moved his work to the other side. “Fortunately, this is not the only one I have.”
His eyes swept over Ash, assessing what he’d done. Then he nodded, folded the knife, set it aside. Gently brushed the clinging fabric back, and Ash gasped.
He was naked from the waist up, his shirt and coat hanging on his bound wrists. Everything there, laid bare, on display for Prince to see. To enjoy.
Ash shivered, and Mr. Prince smiled.
He was generally self-conscious about his body, kept it hidden away, so as not to bother anyone. But something about the frank way Mr. Prince looked at him made him feel proud. Desirable. He wondered what the man was seeing, if he liked it. If the way his shoulder stretched, his back arched, the way he’d been thrust forward, curved, was pleasing. If he was living up to the older man’s expectations. If there had been any expectations to begin with.
It was strangely soothing, to be able to go nowhere. To have the firm grip of the cuffs on his arms, the cold metal of the lock in his fingers. It made it easier. He didn’t have to choose, every second, to obey. The choice had been made, and now he simply must. It allowed him the freedom to look up, to study Mr. Prince’s face, just as Ash himself was being studied.
Mr. Prince was a beautiful man. He drew all eyes, defied preferences, gender or otherwise. When he looked at you, when he turned his attention on you, the world stopped. You wanted it to go on forever, would do anything to make it last forever. And at this moment, that attention was Ash’s. Belonged to him, as surely as he belonged to Prince.
And Ash intended to take it all. Knew he deserved it all.
Mr. Prince reached out, touched a finger to a place just under Ash’s ribs. Then another, on the other side. A place over his heart. Traced gentle, tickling lines against his skin. By the fifth, Ash realized what he was touching, seeing. The scars. All of them. The good and the bad.
The attention became much less comfortable. Too pointed and sharp. Ash dropped his eyes and couldn’t raise them.
“These were pleasure,” Prince said, caressing several lines. “These.” He pressed his palm to Ash’s solar plexus, the knot of tissue there, splayed his fingers up, over Ash’s ribs, thumb down, over the place the scar trailed off like a sentence. “These were not.”
Ash let his eyes slide closed. Nodded, helplessly.
Prince’s hand left his skin, left Ash cold and prickling. He wanted the hand back, the heat of it. Wanted it to continue to cover the signs of the choices Ash was ashamed he’d made. Wanted the chance to make more of them.
But Prince had moved back, reclining in his chair, propping the heel of one shoe on the toe of the other. His eyes were hooded, and his expression calculating. Ash searched his face for some indication that it would be all right.
“You’ve been hurt,” Prince said, and his voice wasn’t the brush of velvet on Ash’s neck. The words caught on him like thorns, pulled at his skin. He wanted to feel them drive inside him.
“Hurt badly,” the elder man continued, his eyes flickering down to the ugly scar. “By someone sitting in a place like I am now. While you were somewhere much like you are now.”
Ash felt himself sagging in the bonds, as far as he was able.
“Yet you’ve put yourself here again. Willingly. You’ve asked me to do it.”
Ash’s head fell forward again, his long hair tumbling from behind his ears.
“You are either very unwise, or very hungry.”
Though he knew Prince couldn’t see it, a bitter smile twisted Ash’s face. “Both, I think.” he said, to the carpet.
The laugh from above him was like the sun, warming his shoulders. He felt a heavy hand set on his head, stroking his hair. Tucking it back, exposing Ash’s face. “There’s no crime in being hungry.” Prince told him, pulling gently at the ends of Ash’s hair. “In wanting more.”
Ash’s throat tightened, and the tingle of desire kindled again in his stomach. Just a hint. Just a promise that he still could want this. Enjoy wanting it.
“I will hurt you, boy,” Prince murmured, the gentle tugging becoming more insistent. “I’ll push you to your limits, and beyond them.” His fingers worked up to Ash’s scalp. “But I won’t do it just because I enjoy it.” The hand fisted. “I’ll do it because you enjoy it too.” The hand twisted, wrenching Ash’s head back brutally. His eyes flew open, found Prince’s face, inches away.
“But,” Prince continued, so close that Ash could feel his breath. “None of it happens unless you truly desire it. And tell me so.”
And as before, he pushed Ash away, forcing him down onto his bound wrists, shoulders complaining at the bend, the tension.
This time, Ash didn’t have to think. There was nothing to think about. Just words, to be said. “Yes.” His voice was hoarse but clear. “Yes. Please. Please. I want it. You.” And it didn’t matter that he stumbled or shivered. Just that he said it.
Prince’s laugh filled Ash’s head, filled his whole body. He had to close his eyes to keep from drowning in it. When he opened them, the man was standing, looking down at him.
“Very good,” he said, and the familiar, reassuringly superior smile was back on his face. “Now. I have several things to do. You…” the smile grew as he studied Ash’s bent back, the chain holding his wrist to the floor. “Stay.”
The desire was no longer smouldering. It flared, and bloomed, and roared through him.
“When I come back,” Prince started toward the door. “I expect you to ask me for precisely what you want. In those dirty words I know you must use, behind closed doors. I expect you to find exactly the combination I will find most appealing.” At the door he paused, turned back. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re owed consequences.”
Ash could hear the velvet laugh, even through the sound of his own whimpering moans.