MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
Warning:
Themes include BDSM, violence, mention or detail of drug and alcohol use, and other dark themes
Read at your own risk
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Bondage of Hearts (ThenThereWereNone & MoldaviteGreen)
- Thread starter MoldaviteGreen
- Start date
Warning:
Themes include BDSM, violence, mention or detail of drug and alcohol use, and other dark themes
Read at your own risk
OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
Niente.
Nothing.
That was precisely was Emiliano became as thick, olive fingers caught the heavy velvet curtain and swept it aside. Within the low light of the wide corridor, gold glinted against bronze skin; luxurious and lustrous. The threshold was crossed, and what was once nothing adopted the mask of something.
Bathed in the two-tone lights of crimson and indigo blue, the man that lingered just beyond the heavy drape of the curtain was eerily still. The obsidian dark of his hair was left a little wild, the upper half of the loose waves drawn back and secured with a metal clasp. The rest tumbled down to broad shoulders, curled against the opened collar of a shirt, brushing lightly against the sweep of partly exposed collarbones. The smooth, deep blue satin of his two-piece set was brilliant against the gold of his skin. Deep was the cut of the neckline over breastbone, but not even the slip of it would reveal the paler patch of vitiligo skin across the side of Emil's right ribs. The tailored trousers were slim at the high of his waist, a belt of the same satin fabric wrapped over the tucked shirt and tied in a loose bow. The cuffs of the sleeves were rolled up his forearms, exposing bronze skin, gold rope bracelet, and thick, corded veins.
Blue, it seemed that he'd chosen, to match the glacial pale of his almond eyes. They were cold and cutting, diamonds almost, thickly framed with dark, curling lashes and set either side of a slightly hooked nose. His eyes were the only pale thing about him, and perhaps it was for that reason alone that they seemed so wraith-like. Ice blue against shades of caramel, bronze and obsidian black. Even the five o'clock shadow upon his sharp jaw and upper lip was a dark tourmaline. Emil, a Dominant unknown to this specific Club, felt rather out of place and yet welcomed all at once.
There was not a thing about the expansive Playroom that was not luxury. The lounges within the curved and open booths were padded with thick cushioning and swathed in rich velvets. The metal legs of the occasional stool were bronze with decorative notches. Grand, towering pillars were carved from deep mahogany, and from them hung loose organza in darker shades of the bathing two-toned lights. It gave a sense of dimension, of deeper and darker shadows; places to hide in a space where one could commit to being so vulnerable. The long bar at one end had already drawn a small crowd, with the tenders mixing and passing drinks with fluid motions. Booths of various sizes absorbed most of the space; a place for viewing, for discussing terms, for communication before truly diving deep into the world of sin.
Yet, it was the grand, elevated stage that held most of the attention. The underside of the rise was illuminated in cobalt blue; eerie in its glow. The floor of the stage was the same crimson, crushed velvet of elsewhere, but the soft lighting from above illuminated the texture of it. Behind the elevated stage, along a wall that held a wide and all-encompassing mirror, was a long bench seat fashioned from leather. Risky, Emil thought, considering the purpose of that space. Leather, he supposed, was fairly easy to wipe clean.
Already there were those keen to play knelt or stretched out across the stage's soft floor. Under their knees, the velvet would have been fairly gentle when static. Complexions were cast in the same blanketing light; their highlights in blood-red and their shadows cast in deep blue. They seemed ethereal, almost, in their submissive beauty as they were handled, treated, rewarded so publicly for their keenness to please. One had been drawn over a knee, a dark gag in their mouth, as three fingers thrust deep into their rear.
Emil was no stranger to public play. He'd observed it many a time, and had participated within such less often. There were those who fancied swapping, sharing, and the public use of their subs, but Emil was not one of them. The trust between Master and Pet was something to be treated carefully, and while Emil allowed his subs the adrenaline of being watched, he had never shared. He'd never share.
Yet, it was not those upon the stage nor those within the booths that caught Emil's attention as he lingered, still, just within the dark space of the Playroom. As the glacial blue of his eyes had swept the scene before him, he'd found his gaze settling upon the profile of a shadowed face. Any attempt to look away was futile, for Emil found it impossible to drag his eyes from the thick of the man's nose, the solid slope of broad shoulders, and the firm set of a jaw. Even from where he stood, Emil could spy the dark of the man's lashes and the near midnight of his hair. A man so pretty, yet so obviously not submissive. Emil knew this from the man's posture alone.
"Try something different." The voice of his friend filtered in above the sounds of leather impacting flesh. "You've become stagnant while chasing your career. When was the last time you allowed yourself to truly, freely experience?" The answer had not come easy from Emil. "Don't think about it. Just try something other than what you'd usually."
Two crystal tumblers of whiskey were passed across the bar to Emil, the Italian having crossed to the length of it when he'd finally found himself able to peel his eyes from the stranger. Emil turned. It took less than a second for his eyes to find that man; as if the stranger, himself, were the north and Emil's gaze a magnet. He was drawn forward by the man's gravity, pulled into him, and Emil approached to stand at his side, a little distance between them, and forced his gaze up at the stage to spy what the stranger was viewing. But Emil didn't care for it as he held out a tumbler to the side, an offering in silence, that was later followed by the sweep of pale eyes as they stood side by side.
"This is no place for an empty hand," he said smoothly. Gently accented, the silk of his voice was deep. "If whiskey is not your poison of choice, I wonder what is. Another vice, perhaps? Of leather or lace or rope."
The depth of the man's complexion struck Emil then more so than it had from across the room. A rich chocolate bronze, the stranger's face was cast in the soft glow of the two-tone lights. They shifted over cheekbones, upon thick lips and dark brows, and Emil wondered whether the man had specifically chosen to linger here, within this particular space, because he knew that the lights cast across his face like swirls of galaxies within the dark of space.
Emil's cold gaze dragged away as he took a sip from his own whiskey. Try something different, indeed. Because why was it that this man had Emil's curiosity flaring?
"Then again, if you'd prefer to keep two hands free, I'll happily nurse both." Another sip was taken, slow, as a bead of liquor glistened at the seam of lips. "Which is it on the stage that's held your attention?"
Nothing.
That was precisely was Emiliano became as thick, olive fingers caught the heavy velvet curtain and swept it aside. Within the low light of the wide corridor, gold glinted against bronze skin; luxurious and lustrous. The threshold was crossed, and what was once nothing adopted the mask of something.
Bathed in the two-tone lights of crimson and indigo blue, the man that lingered just beyond the heavy drape of the curtain was eerily still. The obsidian dark of his hair was left a little wild, the upper half of the loose waves drawn back and secured with a metal clasp. The rest tumbled down to broad shoulders, curled against the opened collar of a shirt, brushing lightly against the sweep of partly exposed collarbones. The smooth, deep blue satin of his two-piece set was brilliant against the gold of his skin. Deep was the cut of the neckline over breastbone, but not even the slip of it would reveal the paler patch of vitiligo skin across the side of Emil's right ribs. The tailored trousers were slim at the high of his waist, a belt of the same satin fabric wrapped over the tucked shirt and tied in a loose bow. The cuffs of the sleeves were rolled up his forearms, exposing bronze skin, gold rope bracelet, and thick, corded veins.
Blue, it seemed that he'd chosen, to match the glacial pale of his almond eyes. They were cold and cutting, diamonds almost, thickly framed with dark, curling lashes and set either side of a slightly hooked nose. His eyes were the only pale thing about him, and perhaps it was for that reason alone that they seemed so wraith-like. Ice blue against shades of caramel, bronze and obsidian black. Even the five o'clock shadow upon his sharp jaw and upper lip was a dark tourmaline. Emil, a Dominant unknown to this specific Club, felt rather out of place and yet welcomed all at once.
There was not a thing about the expansive Playroom that was not luxury. The lounges within the curved and open booths were padded with thick cushioning and swathed in rich velvets. The metal legs of the occasional stool were bronze with decorative notches. Grand, towering pillars were carved from deep mahogany, and from them hung loose organza in darker shades of the bathing two-toned lights. It gave a sense of dimension, of deeper and darker shadows; places to hide in a space where one could commit to being so vulnerable. The long bar at one end had already drawn a small crowd, with the tenders mixing and passing drinks with fluid motions. Booths of various sizes absorbed most of the space; a place for viewing, for discussing terms, for communication before truly diving deep into the world of sin.
Yet, it was the grand, elevated stage that held most of the attention. The underside of the rise was illuminated in cobalt blue; eerie in its glow. The floor of the stage was the same crimson, crushed velvet of elsewhere, but the soft lighting from above illuminated the texture of it. Behind the elevated stage, along a wall that held a wide and all-encompassing mirror, was a long bench seat fashioned from leather. Risky, Emil thought, considering the purpose of that space. Leather, he supposed, was fairly easy to wipe clean.
Already there were those keen to play knelt or stretched out across the stage's soft floor. Under their knees, the velvet would have been fairly gentle when static. Complexions were cast in the same blanketing light; their highlights in blood-red and their shadows cast in deep blue. They seemed ethereal, almost, in their submissive beauty as they were handled, treated, rewarded so publicly for their keenness to please. One had been drawn over a knee, a dark gag in their mouth, as three fingers thrust deep into their rear.
Emil was no stranger to public play. He'd observed it many a time, and had participated within such less often. There were those who fancied swapping, sharing, and the public use of their subs, but Emil was not one of them. The trust between Master and Pet was something to be treated carefully, and while Emil allowed his subs the adrenaline of being watched, he had never shared. He'd never share.
Yet, it was not those upon the stage nor those within the booths that caught Emil's attention as he lingered, still, just within the dark space of the Playroom. As the glacial blue of his eyes had swept the scene before him, he'd found his gaze settling upon the profile of a shadowed face. Any attempt to look away was futile, for Emil found it impossible to drag his eyes from the thick of the man's nose, the solid slope of broad shoulders, and the firm set of a jaw. Even from where he stood, Emil could spy the dark of the man's lashes and the near midnight of his hair. A man so pretty, yet so obviously not submissive. Emil knew this from the man's posture alone.
"Try something different." The voice of his friend filtered in above the sounds of leather impacting flesh. "You've become stagnant while chasing your career. When was the last time you allowed yourself to truly, freely experience?" The answer had not come easy from Emil. "Don't think about it. Just try something other than what you'd usually."
Two crystal tumblers of whiskey were passed across the bar to Emil, the Italian having crossed to the length of it when he'd finally found himself able to peel his eyes from the stranger. Emil turned. It took less than a second for his eyes to find that man; as if the stranger, himself, were the north and Emil's gaze a magnet. He was drawn forward by the man's gravity, pulled into him, and Emil approached to stand at his side, a little distance between them, and forced his gaze up at the stage to spy what the stranger was viewing. But Emil didn't care for it as he held out a tumbler to the side, an offering in silence, that was later followed by the sweep of pale eyes as they stood side by side.
"This is no place for an empty hand," he said smoothly. Gently accented, the silk of his voice was deep. "If whiskey is not your poison of choice, I wonder what is. Another vice, perhaps? Of leather or lace or rope."
The depth of the man's complexion struck Emil then more so than it had from across the room. A rich chocolate bronze, the stranger's face was cast in the soft glow of the two-tone lights. They shifted over cheekbones, upon thick lips and dark brows, and Emil wondered whether the man had specifically chosen to linger here, within this particular space, because he knew that the lights cast across his face like swirls of galaxies within the dark of space.
Emil's cold gaze dragged away as he took a sip from his own whiskey. Try something different, indeed. Because why was it that this man had Emil's curiosity flaring?
"Then again, if you'd prefer to keep two hands free, I'll happily nurse both." Another sip was taken, slow, as a bead of liquor glistened at the seam of lips. "Which is it on the stage that's held your attention?"
ThenThereWereNone
Lurking One
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2019
“Dude, this isn’t just any party either! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what day it is.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Phone caught between his ear and shoulder, Alexis kicked the apartment door shut behind him, “What kind of best friend do you think I am?” He tugged at his tie while kicking his shoes off, “I’ll be there. Just don’t get your hopes up, Chris’ birthday or not, I’m not playing tonight.”
“Not even for Chris? You know he’d love it, and it’s been a while.” The pout could be heard clear as day through the phone.
Alexis’ expression darkened with a frown, his voice deepening dangerously low, “You’re not sulking, are you, Bunny?”
A choked inhale, “No, Sir.”
“Good. Now go give the birthday boy his pregame gift. I’ll see y’all both tonight.” Not waiting for a response he ended the call, puffing his cheeks out before releasing a hard sigh. Tossing the phone and tie in the direction of the couch, he headed for the en suite.
Chris and Bunny were fun to play with, but Alexis had found himself lacking in enthusiasm, not just with the Diabolic Duo but with anyone he’d had a scene with as of late. He’d had a fear he was outgrowing the lifestyle. But the interest was still there, the itch constant and nagging, but no one had managed to spark it to life. He’d talked about it with the two men who knew him best—he and Chris had been glued to each other since freshman year of college and then they’d met Bunny as graduation neared—and Chris had suggested it might be time he took a break, reevaluated what it was he wanted, meditate. Bunny, surprise-surprise—but not really—had pointed out that what Lex needed was to dive into the deep end of something drastically outside of his comfort zone, expand his horizons, so to speak. And unsurprisingly, he hint-hint-nudge-nudged at Lex subbing for him; and just as common as Bunny’s proposition was, Lex's response was just the same as it’d always been: He’d laugh and tell the man to keep dreaming.
It wasn’t happening.
In the end, he’d gone with Chris’ advice, and it’d been coming up on his second month being away from the club and the community. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. He did. But he didn’t miss the lacklustre scenes, the subs who didn’t hold his interest, didn’t awaken that fire in his gut. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him to even begin to try and fix it, so he was staying away. Maybe Chris was right, maybe he just needed to get away from it all for a little while.
But given it was Chris’ birthday, Alexis was cutting his break shorter than he’d planned to.
~~~
Sometime after 9 PM, skin still damp from the shower, Lex stood in his closet. Bunny had mentioned the theme was ‘Come As You Are’.
Hating to overthink when it came to clothes, he settled on a pair of supple, buttery soft leather pants, black button down—with the top two buttons left undone—and a leather jacket to top it off. All facial piercings were switched out to gold and black boots finished off the look. His locs, short and buzzed around the back and sides needed the barest maintenance, a few choice retwists and he was good to go.
~~~
Upon arrival, he stopped in the front lobby, relinquishing his phone to his designated locker. He'd missed the weight of the outside world lifting away the moment his phone was out of sight; no glances at a lit screen; no distractions or interruptions from a late-night emergency call or text. He breathed out, rolled his shoulders, and nodded at Symon as he pushed through the dark double doors and the thick plush curtain beyond.
"X-man! How's it been, stranger?" The call came from one of the bartenders.
Alexis stopped at the bar to catch up with Toby and Clara, who let him know that Chris had arrived earlier and had mentioned not wanting to be disturbed.
So Lex wandered, catching up with the regulars, meeting some new faces, and turning down propositions aplenty.
As the night progressed he found himself over by the stage, still no sign of Chris or Bunny, so he lingered there, watching some truly beautiful and intricate ropework. The barely there presence of the thin fair-haired man went about his work with a meditative expression on his face, his mouth occasionally moving to speak to his sub, the voluptuous red-head who knelt with her hands bound behind her back, the black and red ropes forming the impression of a slightly curved chain of roses beneath her breasts and down the length of her abdomen.
Alexis stepped away to order a glass of water, the night was still early and while he had no plans to play, he still thought it best to pace himself. He didn’t feel like having to sleep it off in Chris’ office or his house and having to ride back for his car in the morning.
He found himself caught up in a conversation at the bar, even roping some of the newer folks into the conversation. By the time he returned to the stage, the thin man was seated on the leather bench. The woman was on her knees, sweat glistening on her skin beneath the two-toned lights as she rocked herself down on—what could be only be described as—a monster cock, the double dildo was as thick as it was long. She’d be feeling that for days after. Alexis winced in sympathy, but she took them like a champ, both her holes stuffed full.
The thought of what desperate sounds were coming from behind the ballgag muffling her soft, barely audible whines was severed right down the middle by an unfamiliar voice at his side. A deep masculine voice, slightly accented; all sinful decadence. He could feel the presence of the other, stood close enough to notice, but not close enough to count as intrusive. From his periphery, Alexis could make out the dark hair, the contrast of blue against gold skin. His gaze cut away from the stage just long enough to glance down at the offered tumbler of whiskey. He took it, “Cheers.”
"If whiskey is not your poison of choice, I wonder what is. Another vice, perhaps? Of leather or lace or rope."
His attention focused back on the stage, a low laugh tumbling out of him, “Oh, and then some.” He could feel the man’s gaze like a physical touch, but he didn’t return it. Didn’t engage. The man’s voice alone might’ve dragged smooth as silk over his skin, but he kept his attention pointedly on the stage. He wasn’t looking for anything at the moment.
“The whiskey’s fine.” He nodded his head in the direction of the woman, her cheeks now wet with tears, “The rope work is creative, I’m not nearly artistic enough to have even thought up something like that. The model isn’t hard on the eyes either.” He turned then, finally giving his attention to the man he’d no doubt have to turn down, and did a double-take, froze. “Holy sh– wow, damn!” His dark eyes drank in the temptation dressed in human skin before him, the bounce of the lights off that caramel skin, chiselled features, and those damn blue eyes. Even as his eyes dragged down to the display of bared chest, enough to tease, he found himself returning to that glacial gaze, the risk of getting lost in the arctic of them had him unable to look anywhere else, “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
A spark flickered in his chest. A familiar itch.
He took a measured swallow of whiskey then, if for nothing more than an excuse to briefly break eye contact. “You’re a new face.” Because I damn well would’ve remembered seeing you. “This your first time?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Phone caught between his ear and shoulder, Alexis kicked the apartment door shut behind him, “What kind of best friend do you think I am?” He tugged at his tie while kicking his shoes off, “I’ll be there. Just don’t get your hopes up, Chris’ birthday or not, I’m not playing tonight.”
“Not even for Chris? You know he’d love it, and it’s been a while.” The pout could be heard clear as day through the phone.
Alexis’ expression darkened with a frown, his voice deepening dangerously low, “You’re not sulking, are you, Bunny?”
A choked inhale, “No, Sir.”
“Good. Now go give the birthday boy his pregame gift. I’ll see y’all both tonight.” Not waiting for a response he ended the call, puffing his cheeks out before releasing a hard sigh. Tossing the phone and tie in the direction of the couch, he headed for the en suite.
Chris and Bunny were fun to play with, but Alexis had found himself lacking in enthusiasm, not just with the Diabolic Duo but with anyone he’d had a scene with as of late. He’d had a fear he was outgrowing the lifestyle. But the interest was still there, the itch constant and nagging, but no one had managed to spark it to life. He’d talked about it with the two men who knew him best—he and Chris had been glued to each other since freshman year of college and then they’d met Bunny as graduation neared—and Chris had suggested it might be time he took a break, reevaluated what it was he wanted, meditate. Bunny, surprise-surprise—but not really—had pointed out that what Lex needed was to dive into the deep end of something drastically outside of his comfort zone, expand his horizons, so to speak. And unsurprisingly, he hint-hint-nudge-nudged at Lex subbing for him; and just as common as Bunny’s proposition was, Lex's response was just the same as it’d always been: He’d laugh and tell the man to keep dreaming.
It wasn’t happening.
In the end, he’d gone with Chris’ advice, and it’d been coming up on his second month being away from the club and the community. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. He did. But he didn’t miss the lacklustre scenes, the subs who didn’t hold his interest, didn’t awaken that fire in his gut. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him to even begin to try and fix it, so he was staying away. Maybe Chris was right, maybe he just needed to get away from it all for a little while.
But given it was Chris’ birthday, Alexis was cutting his break shorter than he’d planned to.
~~~
Sometime after 9 PM, skin still damp from the shower, Lex stood in his closet. Bunny had mentioned the theme was ‘Come As You Are’.
Hating to overthink when it came to clothes, he settled on a pair of supple, buttery soft leather pants, black button down—with the top two buttons left undone—and a leather jacket to top it off. All facial piercings were switched out to gold and black boots finished off the look. His locs, short and buzzed around the back and sides needed the barest maintenance, a few choice retwists and he was good to go.
~~~
Upon arrival, he stopped in the front lobby, relinquishing his phone to his designated locker. He'd missed the weight of the outside world lifting away the moment his phone was out of sight; no glances at a lit screen; no distractions or interruptions from a late-night emergency call or text. He breathed out, rolled his shoulders, and nodded at Symon as he pushed through the dark double doors and the thick plush curtain beyond.
"X-man! How's it been, stranger?" The call came from one of the bartenders.
Alexis stopped at the bar to catch up with Toby and Clara, who let him know that Chris had arrived earlier and had mentioned not wanting to be disturbed.
So Lex wandered, catching up with the regulars, meeting some new faces, and turning down propositions aplenty.
As the night progressed he found himself over by the stage, still no sign of Chris or Bunny, so he lingered there, watching some truly beautiful and intricate ropework. The barely there presence of the thin fair-haired man went about his work with a meditative expression on his face, his mouth occasionally moving to speak to his sub, the voluptuous red-head who knelt with her hands bound behind her back, the black and red ropes forming the impression of a slightly curved chain of roses beneath her breasts and down the length of her abdomen.
Alexis stepped away to order a glass of water, the night was still early and while he had no plans to play, he still thought it best to pace himself. He didn’t feel like having to sleep it off in Chris’ office or his house and having to ride back for his car in the morning.
He found himself caught up in a conversation at the bar, even roping some of the newer folks into the conversation. By the time he returned to the stage, the thin man was seated on the leather bench. The woman was on her knees, sweat glistening on her skin beneath the two-toned lights as she rocked herself down on—what could be only be described as—a monster cock, the double dildo was as thick as it was long. She’d be feeling that for days after. Alexis winced in sympathy, but she took them like a champ, both her holes stuffed full.
The thought of what desperate sounds were coming from behind the ballgag muffling her soft, barely audible whines was severed right down the middle by an unfamiliar voice at his side. A deep masculine voice, slightly accented; all sinful decadence. He could feel the presence of the other, stood close enough to notice, but not close enough to count as intrusive. From his periphery, Alexis could make out the dark hair, the contrast of blue against gold skin. His gaze cut away from the stage just long enough to glance down at the offered tumbler of whiskey. He took it, “Cheers.”
"If whiskey is not your poison of choice, I wonder what is. Another vice, perhaps? Of leather or lace or rope."
His attention focused back on the stage, a low laugh tumbling out of him, “Oh, and then some.” He could feel the man’s gaze like a physical touch, but he didn’t return it. Didn’t engage. The man’s voice alone might’ve dragged smooth as silk over his skin, but he kept his attention pointedly on the stage. He wasn’t looking for anything at the moment.
“The whiskey’s fine.” He nodded his head in the direction of the woman, her cheeks now wet with tears, “The rope work is creative, I’m not nearly artistic enough to have even thought up something like that. The model isn’t hard on the eyes either.” He turned then, finally giving his attention to the man he’d no doubt have to turn down, and did a double-take, froze. “Holy sh– wow, damn!” His dark eyes drank in the temptation dressed in human skin before him, the bounce of the lights off that caramel skin, chiselled features, and those damn blue eyes. Even as his eyes dragged down to the display of bared chest, enough to tease, he found himself returning to that glacial gaze, the risk of getting lost in the arctic of them had him unable to look anywhere else, “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
A spark flickered in his chest. A familiar itch.
He took a measured swallow of whiskey then, if for nothing more than an excuse to briefly break eye contact. “You’re a new face.” Because I damn well would’ve remembered seeing you. “This your first time?”
Last edited:
OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
Emil stood still, unmoving as the stranger accepted the tumbler of whiskey with a graceful reach. Yet, those dark eyes never reached him, no matter how he craved for them to meet his. The man's gaze remained fixated forward, upon the woman bound, gagged, and thrusting herself backwards upon something so monstrous and silicone. Emil wondered, for several moments, whether it was the rope-work, the red hair or the entire scene that held this gentleman's attention. Perhaps he simply is not interested. The Devil within Emil would not stand to be unconsidered.
"Just fine?" Emil lifted his own tumbler, the crystal glinting in the low light as the rim was smeared over the pulp of his lower lip. Wet, it shimmered as Emil studied the profile of the gentleman's face. It was one that had the slender of Emil's fingers curling into a loose fist within the pocket of his satin pants, so very tempted and keen to reach between them and map the shape of the man's sharp jaw and broad nose. So very beautiful and, yet, so very different from what usually draws me.
The corner of Emil's mouth lifted in a smirk behind the rim, sip yet to be taken. "What a shame. I had hoped to impress you with the top shelf." That, in itself, was amusing. For while it was true, it was equally odd. Emil had never been a man who'd sought to impress another; who simply was just himself.
Only then did liquor wash over tongue, warming the back of a throat in a deep swallow. Smooth, it was, as it pooled within Emil's belly where something else had already begun to flutter. A weird thing. An odd little feeling. Emil wasn't sure the last time he had felt something such as this, or if he had ever.
Emil, a proud creature, was unabashed in his appreciative stare. The longer the gentleman looked away and to the stage, the more time Emil was granted to peruse the side of his beautiful face. Sculpted in shades of ebony, dark cocoa, and obsidian, the man before him should have absorbed the two-toned light of the space that blanketed them both. Yet, he didn't. It seemed to reflect from him—from the high points of his cheekbones, the deep of his brow bone, the broad of his nose—in shades that were not just crimson and cobalt, but opalescent. The colours danced across his skin, bathing him, but also reflecting something that seemed utterly intrinsic.
It was then, as Emil was running the rim of his tumbler across the pulp of his lower lip with a slight cock of his head in appreciative curiosity, that the gentleman finally cared to grant him the attention he, only now realised, was aching for. Those eyes… They were molten and warm, two things that had Emil fighting the urge to edge closer. The gentleman's reaction was not at all what Emil had anticipated, but he supposed that was fitting. None of this was as usual, or regular, and that was precisely what Emil had been encouraged to chase.
A laugh nearly tumbled free of him as he watched that dark gaze sweep low over the bronze of his skin, bare within the deep V cut of his shirt, before rising to meet his own. The small smirk upon his lips reached his eyes, shimmering like diamonds and ice. "You say that as if you were not crafted by Venus, herself, signore." The man was so very honest, a trait that was rare.
A question posed, and perhaps it would have been easier to look away with his answer. Emil did not do so. He couldn't, and didn't wish to. The man before him was the only thing that captivated him now, worthy of his attention and then more. Instead, Emil held the man's gaze. "New to this Club, perhaps. To others, no. I have made a recent move to this city, but have long felt…disconnected from the demands of this lifestyle." The slow lower of arctic blue to the seam of thick lips. A linger of a look. A gentle rise of that same gaze to fall back into glittering, dark abyss. "Submission can be such a wondrous thing to evoke in another, but there comes a time when the chase for something more has one's usual seeming less."
The liquor within Emil's tumbler was long forgotten, posing only as something to stimulate the pad of his forefinger as it gently swept over the pattern within the crystal. It was held at chest height, swirled a little, and then dropped down by his thigh where the rim was clasped in his hand like a claw. Emil's glacial eyes glittered with something wicked as he said, "You understand, yes? That craving for something other?"
Rhetoric, that question was, but Emil let it hang between them in a comfortable silence. The gentleman had been slow to turn and grant Emil his attention, and the wickedness the Italian possessed had him turning some towards the stage. Let him yearn for it—my gaze—like he left me aching for his own. He let the scene before him hold his eyes, but he wasn't truly watching. Emil's attention remained within his peripheries, all too aware of the man at his side.
"The rope work," he said after another beat of silence, "is indeed creative, but I do not believe what you've said to be true. Artistry is in all, it merely requires inspiration." Turning his face to his shoulder, the muscles within his neck tensing with the hold of the angle, Emil's eyes fluttered first to the man's mouth and then up into those dark, tourmaline pools. When Emil spoke next, it was low and silken, an unspoken meaning held between his words. "Perhaps you are yet to find your muse."
"Just fine?" Emil lifted his own tumbler, the crystal glinting in the low light as the rim was smeared over the pulp of his lower lip. Wet, it shimmered as Emil studied the profile of the gentleman's face. It was one that had the slender of Emil's fingers curling into a loose fist within the pocket of his satin pants, so very tempted and keen to reach between them and map the shape of the man's sharp jaw and broad nose. So very beautiful and, yet, so very different from what usually draws me.
The corner of Emil's mouth lifted in a smirk behind the rim, sip yet to be taken. "What a shame. I had hoped to impress you with the top shelf." That, in itself, was amusing. For while it was true, it was equally odd. Emil had never been a man who'd sought to impress another; who simply was just himself.
Only then did liquor wash over tongue, warming the back of a throat in a deep swallow. Smooth, it was, as it pooled within Emil's belly where something else had already begun to flutter. A weird thing. An odd little feeling. Emil wasn't sure the last time he had felt something such as this, or if he had ever.
Emil, a proud creature, was unabashed in his appreciative stare. The longer the gentleman looked away and to the stage, the more time Emil was granted to peruse the side of his beautiful face. Sculpted in shades of ebony, dark cocoa, and obsidian, the man before him should have absorbed the two-toned light of the space that blanketed them both. Yet, he didn't. It seemed to reflect from him—from the high points of his cheekbones, the deep of his brow bone, the broad of his nose—in shades that were not just crimson and cobalt, but opalescent. The colours danced across his skin, bathing him, but also reflecting something that seemed utterly intrinsic.
It was then, as Emil was running the rim of his tumbler across the pulp of his lower lip with a slight cock of his head in appreciative curiosity, that the gentleman finally cared to grant him the attention he, only now realised, was aching for. Those eyes… They were molten and warm, two things that had Emil fighting the urge to edge closer. The gentleman's reaction was not at all what Emil had anticipated, but he supposed that was fitting. None of this was as usual, or regular, and that was precisely what Emil had been encouraged to chase.
A laugh nearly tumbled free of him as he watched that dark gaze sweep low over the bronze of his skin, bare within the deep V cut of his shirt, before rising to meet his own. The small smirk upon his lips reached his eyes, shimmering like diamonds and ice. "You say that as if you were not crafted by Venus, herself, signore." The man was so very honest, a trait that was rare.
A question posed, and perhaps it would have been easier to look away with his answer. Emil did not do so. He couldn't, and didn't wish to. The man before him was the only thing that captivated him now, worthy of his attention and then more. Instead, Emil held the man's gaze. "New to this Club, perhaps. To others, no. I have made a recent move to this city, but have long felt…disconnected from the demands of this lifestyle." The slow lower of arctic blue to the seam of thick lips. A linger of a look. A gentle rise of that same gaze to fall back into glittering, dark abyss. "Submission can be such a wondrous thing to evoke in another, but there comes a time when the chase for something more has one's usual seeming less."
The liquor within Emil's tumbler was long forgotten, posing only as something to stimulate the pad of his forefinger as it gently swept over the pattern within the crystal. It was held at chest height, swirled a little, and then dropped down by his thigh where the rim was clasped in his hand like a claw. Emil's glacial eyes glittered with something wicked as he said, "You understand, yes? That craving for something other?"
Rhetoric, that question was, but Emil let it hang between them in a comfortable silence. The gentleman had been slow to turn and grant Emil his attention, and the wickedness the Italian possessed had him turning some towards the stage. Let him yearn for it—my gaze—like he left me aching for his own. He let the scene before him hold his eyes, but he wasn't truly watching. Emil's attention remained within his peripheries, all too aware of the man at his side.
"The rope work," he said after another beat of silence, "is indeed creative, but I do not believe what you've said to be true. Artistry is in all, it merely requires inspiration." Turning his face to his shoulder, the muscles within his neck tensing with the hold of the angle, Emil's eyes fluttered first to the man's mouth and then up into those dark, tourmaline pools. When Emil spoke next, it was low and silken, an unspoken meaning held between his words. "Perhaps you are yet to find your muse."
ThenThereWereNone
Lurking One
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2019
"Just fine? What a shame. I had hoped to impress you with the top shelf.”
“Not my first choice of poison but yeah, you’re right, it’s good whiskey. Chris is a bit of a snob about what he stocks in the bar. So thank you.”
When he finally did turn to look at the man, he nearly bit his tongue at the sight of the work of art standing beside him. And he pretty much blurted out as much. The man’s answering laugh had no business settling with that same smooth, liquid heat of whiskey in his stomach. Ah, Italian. “Ok," he chuckled, "what we’re not gonna do is start competing with compliments, we’d be here all night.” He pushed the conversation along with a question.
“I’d say welcome to the city, but how many of those have you heard already.” He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes lingered on his mouth. It took concentrated effort not to drag his teeth over his bottom lip or lick at them. He almost laughed at himself, because ‘what the fuck’.
"Submission can be such a wondrous thing to evoke in another, but there comes a time when the chase for something more has one's usual seeming less."
“I don’t know what it says that I’m in the same boat as you right now, but I can’t figure if it’s burnout or something else.”
The question, rhetorical as it was, prompted a nod. Dark eyes met the wicked glitter of pale gaze, and a slow smirk touched the corner of Alexis’ mouth. “Trouble is not knowing what that other is.”
He slow blinked with a slight, barely there jerk of his head, confusion drawing his eyebrows down as the man turned away from him. It was the first instance since the stranger appeared at his side that he didn’t feel the steady weight of that stare. It was… what kind of sense did it make that it left him feeling cold. What gives? You’ve been trying to get my attention since you stopped here, and now you’ve got it. So eyes on me. Alexis didn’t consider himself greedy or needy, but in that moment, he was feeling a little bit of both. Greedy for the man’s attention. Needy to have it on him and only him. But he forced himself to look to the stage, wondering what had suddenly drawn the other’s attention to it.
They lapsed into silence.
"The rope work—"
“Huh?” It took a few seconds after the man had continued to speak before Alexis caught up with what he’d been saying. “Oh, yeah, nah man. I’m not an artist. I lack the patience for that level of introspection." The man turned those pretty-pretty eyes on him then, and a strange twinge fluttered in his stomach. The spark he’d felt crackled and popped, doubling itself. "What I am is a creative problem-solver."
His fingers itched with the urge to grab hold of the man’s jaw, stop him from turning away again. Maybe the man was a Dom, maybe neither of them were here to relinquish control to another, but he damn sure had no problem dragging the man back to his place. The sexual attraction was undeniable. The tension practically combustible.
“You loo—“
“Sexy-Lexi!” His question was interrupted by a body colliding into his back, lean arms wrapping around his midsection in a brief but firm hug.
"Bunny," he greeted flatly as the man released him.
"I was worried you'd flaked out on us, but Toby mentioned you were already here."
"You're late."
Bunny had the nerve to look sheepish, "I got stuck on picking an outfit. I know I know, I set the theme and all, so you'd think…” He spun in place. “What’d you think?” The man had dressed in cropped pants, a bandoleer crisscrossing his chest, black vambraces, a black eye mask and atop his short, cropped hair black bunny ears poked up.
“What are you,” Alexis analysed him from head to toe, “supposed to be?”
“Well, I was going for apocalyptic bunny or something, but—" Bunny abandoned his thought as he finally realised that Alexis wasn't alone, “Oh my god!” He tipped his head, one of the bunny ears flopping forward with the motion, his sparkling gaze shameless in the slow, open way he checked out the other man. “You're new. Apologies for my shitty manners." He smiled, sharp and playful, before a sudden jolt of recognition hit him and he gripped onto Alexis' arm. "So, I'm so sorry to be even more of a twat, but I need to steal this guy for few, gotta check in on the man of the house, but please help yourself, we've got quite the buffet tonight. Any drinks are on the house, just say Bunny’s got you." With a parting smile and a wink, he tugged Alexis away with an urgency the bigger man didn't understand.
But he went with an apologetic glance back at Emil. "Don't go running off on me, Blue Eyes. I wanna see you when I get back."
And the moment they were out of earshot, "What the fuck, Bunny? And what's up with Chris?"
“What'd you mean?" Tone distracted, he navigated through a few of the party goers who tried to pull him aside for a chat, "Forget Chris, that's where we’re going now, but do you know who that is!?"
"Know who, Bunny what the fuck are you talking about? I'm lost, slow down." They'd reached a frosted double glass door that muted out the sounds of the main floor as it swung shut behind them. Alexis pulled Bunny to a stop. "Talk."
The man sighed, tapped his mask and finally grappled his excitement into coherence, "Baby Blue’s out there." A pause as if Alexis was supposed to pick up anything from that not at all helpful statement.
He nodded, his hands silently urging the other man to get to the point.
"I told you about him!"
Still nothing. "You tell me about a lot of ‘Hims’." Spoken slowly, frustration bleeding through his tone.
"Well, it's been a while, I don't remember the exact date and all, but one of those times, I think it was some convention or the other, Chris was with me, but he didn't feel like going out that night."
A dark look from Alexis had Bunny rushing ahead to the point.
"Anyway! I just happened to luck out at one of the local dungeons. He was on stage, which apparently was a rare event, and ohhhhh boy!” The man fanned himself, “His stage presence is hot with a capital H. Downright hypnotic.” The slighter man shuddered, “The things I’d let that man do to me. Good God. But yeah, back to the point, he’s the one I told you about with the scary eyes and stupid hot body that had me crushing for weeks after. Unfortunately, at the time, he already had a sub, and the man is boringly monogamous. But now he’s here! And he looked like he was alone, didn’t he?”
Alexis shrugged. Mentally, he was turning over what Bunny had said, feeling equal parts disappointed and possessive. He’d had a feeling Blue Eyes was a Dominant. The man had a certain air about him, and he had pretty much spelt it out. But Alexis also refused to assume based on first-time vibes. Switches existed. And unless he outright asked, context clues only got one so far.
“Good luck with that.” He turned away, heading on to Chris’ office.
Bunny watched him go, head tilted in consideration as he watched his friend walk away. An idea brewing behind that mask.
Alexis knocked twice on the office door, before he opened it into a darkened room, the only source of light trickling through the dark textured glass behind the empty office chair. He flicked on the light.
A low hiss came from the direction of the couch, “Please turn that off.” Chris’ voice came out a pained muttered, an arm slung over his eyes.
“My bad.” Alexis slid the switch down to dim the lights.
“Headache or migraine?” Bunny ducked into the room, going to his partner’s side.
“Headache. I thought I could sleep it off real quick,” Chris was saying as Alexis shut the door and crossed over to the plush one-seater opposite the couch and sank into it. “Now, I’m just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.”
“You should’ve started with the painkillers, not the other way around,” Alexis said. A slow smile formed as his best friend lifted his arm just long enough to flip him off. “And Happy birthday, old man. Imagine getting a headache on your big day. I could've stayed home.”
“Euhh, don’t remind me.” Chris groaned.
Bunny crossed the room to grab a cold bottle of sparkling water. “But then you wouldn’t have met Baby Blues.”
Chris’ arm lifted, “Who’s that?”
Crouching down beside the couch again, Bunny handed him the glass bottle as he caught Chris up on who he’d caught Alexis flirting with.
“We weren’t flirting.”
Bunny snorted, “Bullshit.” He turned back to Chris, “If I hadn’t butted in when I did, they’d have been tearing each other’s clothes off right there.”
Alexis rolled his eyes, taking a sip from the tumbler of whiskey he still held onto. “I didn’t bring your gift here, figured I’d give it to you aft—”
“You should do it!” Bunny, interrupting as usual, popped to his feet, all excitement and wild energy like the inspiration behind his nickname.
Eyes narrowed, Alexis formed his question slowly. Cautious. “Do what?”
“Well, you’ve tried Chris’ way, right? And it doesn’t look like it’s working,” he rolled his eyes at the middle finger the man in question flipped in his direction, “So now it’s my turn!”
“Bunny,” Alexis sighed, “I’ve already told you, I’m not subbing for you. It’s not my thi—”
“I know, I know! Not me, Sheesh!” Pacing back and forth, his hands did as much talking as he did. “But you should see if Pretty Boy out there is more open than you are.”
“. . . Didn’t you just tell me the man was a fucking Dom?”
Bunny shrugged, “As far as I was told, I didn’t get a chance to ask him myself, so who knows, right? And some people are open to trying new things. And no, that wasn’t a dig, that was a dare.”
Alexis shook his head, “I want a little of whatever you’re on tonight.”
Chris muttered, “Same.”
“I’m serious, Lex! I can still smell the stench of sexual tension that was there between you two. The guy only needs the green light to jump your bones. And don’t pretend it’s any different for you. I don’t doubt the sex’ll be hot, but maybe it could be more than that.” A waggle of his eyebrows. “Now imagine if he says yes, imagine if you find that fire again. Mayyyyy-be this is what you need. An ‘eh, fuck it’ moment. And if he tells you to fuck off, you can just laugh it off as a joke, and I’d bet my ass he’d still be down to fuck.”
With no immediate response, Alexis glanced to Chris, who just gave a barely there shrug of ‘I got nothing to add’.
“The worst he could say is no,” Bunny went on. “And we all know you’re not afraid of rejection.”
Alexis shook his head. “No. I’m not going to do… that.”
“I dare you.”
“No.”
Bunny stopped in front of him. “I double dog dare you. And to sweeten the pot for ya: if you ask, I promise never again to ask that you be my submissive for a day.”
Silence.
Quiet, thoughtful silence.
“And all my drinks are on the house for the next month.”
“Deal!” Bunny grinned widely, holding out his pinky finger.
Alexis locked his pinky with Bunny’s, while Chris protested in the background, headache temporarily forgotten as he sat partially upright, “Hey! I didn’t agree to that.”
Rolling his eyes, Bunny returned to the protesting man’s side. “You just focus on that achy head of yours, babes.”
Alexis downed the last of the whiskey and pushed up out of his seat. He left the two men bickering amongst themselves and headed back out to the main floor, stopping at the bar to drop off his empty glass.
“Top up?” A bartender asked.
Alexis' gaze returned to the stage, to the spot where he’d left Blue Eyes. "Nah," searching to see if the man had run off on him, "I'm good."
“Not my first choice of poison but yeah, you’re right, it’s good whiskey. Chris is a bit of a snob about what he stocks in the bar. So thank you.”
When he finally did turn to look at the man, he nearly bit his tongue at the sight of the work of art standing beside him. And he pretty much blurted out as much. The man’s answering laugh had no business settling with that same smooth, liquid heat of whiskey in his stomach. Ah, Italian. “Ok," he chuckled, "what we’re not gonna do is start competing with compliments, we’d be here all night.” He pushed the conversation along with a question.
“I’d say welcome to the city, but how many of those have you heard already.” He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes lingered on his mouth. It took concentrated effort not to drag his teeth over his bottom lip or lick at them. He almost laughed at himself, because ‘what the fuck’.
"Submission can be such a wondrous thing to evoke in another, but there comes a time when the chase for something more has one's usual seeming less."
“I don’t know what it says that I’m in the same boat as you right now, but I can’t figure if it’s burnout or something else.”
The question, rhetorical as it was, prompted a nod. Dark eyes met the wicked glitter of pale gaze, and a slow smirk touched the corner of Alexis’ mouth. “Trouble is not knowing what that other is.”
He slow blinked with a slight, barely there jerk of his head, confusion drawing his eyebrows down as the man turned away from him. It was the first instance since the stranger appeared at his side that he didn’t feel the steady weight of that stare. It was… what kind of sense did it make that it left him feeling cold. What gives? You’ve been trying to get my attention since you stopped here, and now you’ve got it. So eyes on me. Alexis didn’t consider himself greedy or needy, but in that moment, he was feeling a little bit of both. Greedy for the man’s attention. Needy to have it on him and only him. But he forced himself to look to the stage, wondering what had suddenly drawn the other’s attention to it.
They lapsed into silence.
"The rope work—"
“Huh?” It took a few seconds after the man had continued to speak before Alexis caught up with what he’d been saying. “Oh, yeah, nah man. I’m not an artist. I lack the patience for that level of introspection." The man turned those pretty-pretty eyes on him then, and a strange twinge fluttered in his stomach. The spark he’d felt crackled and popped, doubling itself. "What I am is a creative problem-solver."
His fingers itched with the urge to grab hold of the man’s jaw, stop him from turning away again. Maybe the man was a Dom, maybe neither of them were here to relinquish control to another, but he damn sure had no problem dragging the man back to his place. The sexual attraction was undeniable. The tension practically combustible.
“You loo—“
“Sexy-Lexi!” His question was interrupted by a body colliding into his back, lean arms wrapping around his midsection in a brief but firm hug.
"Bunny," he greeted flatly as the man released him.
"I was worried you'd flaked out on us, but Toby mentioned you were already here."
"You're late."
Bunny had the nerve to look sheepish, "I got stuck on picking an outfit. I know I know, I set the theme and all, so you'd think…” He spun in place. “What’d you think?” The man had dressed in cropped pants, a bandoleer crisscrossing his chest, black vambraces, a black eye mask and atop his short, cropped hair black bunny ears poked up.
“What are you,” Alexis analysed him from head to toe, “supposed to be?”
“Well, I was going for apocalyptic bunny or something, but—" Bunny abandoned his thought as he finally realised that Alexis wasn't alone, “Oh my god!” He tipped his head, one of the bunny ears flopping forward with the motion, his sparkling gaze shameless in the slow, open way he checked out the other man. “You're new. Apologies for my shitty manners." He smiled, sharp and playful, before a sudden jolt of recognition hit him and he gripped onto Alexis' arm. "So, I'm so sorry to be even more of a twat, but I need to steal this guy for few, gotta check in on the man of the house, but please help yourself, we've got quite the buffet tonight. Any drinks are on the house, just say Bunny’s got you." With a parting smile and a wink, he tugged Alexis away with an urgency the bigger man didn't understand.
But he went with an apologetic glance back at Emil. "Don't go running off on me, Blue Eyes. I wanna see you when I get back."
And the moment they were out of earshot, "What the fuck, Bunny? And what's up with Chris?"
“What'd you mean?" Tone distracted, he navigated through a few of the party goers who tried to pull him aside for a chat, "Forget Chris, that's where we’re going now, but do you know who that is!?"
"Know who, Bunny what the fuck are you talking about? I'm lost, slow down." They'd reached a frosted double glass door that muted out the sounds of the main floor as it swung shut behind them. Alexis pulled Bunny to a stop. "Talk."
The man sighed, tapped his mask and finally grappled his excitement into coherence, "Baby Blue’s out there." A pause as if Alexis was supposed to pick up anything from that not at all helpful statement.
He nodded, his hands silently urging the other man to get to the point.
"I told you about him!"
Still nothing. "You tell me about a lot of ‘Hims’." Spoken slowly, frustration bleeding through his tone.
"Well, it's been a while, I don't remember the exact date and all, but one of those times, I think it was some convention or the other, Chris was with me, but he didn't feel like going out that night."
A dark look from Alexis had Bunny rushing ahead to the point.
"Anyway! I just happened to luck out at one of the local dungeons. He was on stage, which apparently was a rare event, and ohhhhh boy!” The man fanned himself, “His stage presence is hot with a capital H. Downright hypnotic.” The slighter man shuddered, “The things I’d let that man do to me. Good God. But yeah, back to the point, he’s the one I told you about with the scary eyes and stupid hot body that had me crushing for weeks after. Unfortunately, at the time, he already had a sub, and the man is boringly monogamous. But now he’s here! And he looked like he was alone, didn’t he?”
Alexis shrugged. Mentally, he was turning over what Bunny had said, feeling equal parts disappointed and possessive. He’d had a feeling Blue Eyes was a Dominant. The man had a certain air about him, and he had pretty much spelt it out. But Alexis also refused to assume based on first-time vibes. Switches existed. And unless he outright asked, context clues only got one so far.
“Good luck with that.” He turned away, heading on to Chris’ office.
Bunny watched him go, head tilted in consideration as he watched his friend walk away. An idea brewing behind that mask.
Alexis knocked twice on the office door, before he opened it into a darkened room, the only source of light trickling through the dark textured glass behind the empty office chair. He flicked on the light.
A low hiss came from the direction of the couch, “Please turn that off.” Chris’ voice came out a pained muttered, an arm slung over his eyes.
“My bad.” Alexis slid the switch down to dim the lights.
“Headache or migraine?” Bunny ducked into the room, going to his partner’s side.
“Headache. I thought I could sleep it off real quick,” Chris was saying as Alexis shut the door and crossed over to the plush one-seater opposite the couch and sank into it. “Now, I’m just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.”
“You should’ve started with the painkillers, not the other way around,” Alexis said. A slow smile formed as his best friend lifted his arm just long enough to flip him off. “And Happy birthday, old man. Imagine getting a headache on your big day. I could've stayed home.”
“Euhh, don’t remind me.” Chris groaned.
Bunny crossed the room to grab a cold bottle of sparkling water. “But then you wouldn’t have met Baby Blues.”
Chris’ arm lifted, “Who’s that?”
Crouching down beside the couch again, Bunny handed him the glass bottle as he caught Chris up on who he’d caught Alexis flirting with.
“We weren’t flirting.”
Bunny snorted, “Bullshit.” He turned back to Chris, “If I hadn’t butted in when I did, they’d have been tearing each other’s clothes off right there.”
Alexis rolled his eyes, taking a sip from the tumbler of whiskey he still held onto. “I didn’t bring your gift here, figured I’d give it to you aft—”
“You should do it!” Bunny, interrupting as usual, popped to his feet, all excitement and wild energy like the inspiration behind his nickname.
Eyes narrowed, Alexis formed his question slowly. Cautious. “Do what?”
“Well, you’ve tried Chris’ way, right? And it doesn’t look like it’s working,” he rolled his eyes at the middle finger the man in question flipped in his direction, “So now it’s my turn!”
“Bunny,” Alexis sighed, “I’ve already told you, I’m not subbing for you. It’s not my thi—”
“I know, I know! Not me, Sheesh!” Pacing back and forth, his hands did as much talking as he did. “But you should see if Pretty Boy out there is more open than you are.”
“. . . Didn’t you just tell me the man was a fucking Dom?”
Bunny shrugged, “As far as I was told, I didn’t get a chance to ask him myself, so who knows, right? And some people are open to trying new things. And no, that wasn’t a dig, that was a dare.”
Alexis shook his head, “I want a little of whatever you’re on tonight.”
Chris muttered, “Same.”
“I’m serious, Lex! I can still smell the stench of sexual tension that was there between you two. The guy only needs the green light to jump your bones. And don’t pretend it’s any different for you. I don’t doubt the sex’ll be hot, but maybe it could be more than that.” A waggle of his eyebrows. “Now imagine if he says yes, imagine if you find that fire again. Mayyyyy-be this is what you need. An ‘eh, fuck it’ moment. And if he tells you to fuck off, you can just laugh it off as a joke, and I’d bet my ass he’d still be down to fuck.”
With no immediate response, Alexis glanced to Chris, who just gave a barely there shrug of ‘I got nothing to add’.
“The worst he could say is no,” Bunny went on. “And we all know you’re not afraid of rejection.”
Alexis shook his head. “No. I’m not going to do… that.”
“I dare you.”
“No.”
Bunny stopped in front of him. “I double dog dare you. And to sweeten the pot for ya: if you ask, I promise never again to ask that you be my submissive for a day.”
Silence.
Quiet, thoughtful silence.
“And all my drinks are on the house for the next month.”
“Deal!” Bunny grinned widely, holding out his pinky finger.
Alexis locked his pinky with Bunny’s, while Chris protested in the background, headache temporarily forgotten as he sat partially upright, “Hey! I didn’t agree to that.”
Rolling his eyes, Bunny returned to the protesting man’s side. “You just focus on that achy head of yours, babes.”
Alexis downed the last of the whiskey and pushed up out of his seat. He left the two men bickering amongst themselves and headed back out to the main floor, stopping at the bar to drop off his empty glass.
“Top up?” A bartender asked.
Alexis' gaze returned to the stage, to the spot where he’d left Blue Eyes. "Nah," searching to see if the man had run off on him, "I'm good."
OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
Little, quick glimpses of the man before him were granted and Emil, the glutton that he was, drank each down deeply. The first name of someone who held enough power to dictate liquor and brand stocked within the Club's Playroom bar; familiar. Whiskey not being this man's first poison of choice but still able to appreciate the smooth of it; intriguing. A confession that one was in the same position as Emil described, swept away to a place in-between; vague.
Emil often cared very little to learn information of those that would hold no consequence to him. He saw it as wasted mental energy to invest in someone there for a handful of hours and then gone. Emil, however, felt differently about the stranger standing before him. This man made him curious, and that was dangerous and intriguing, all in itself.
Like a dragon greedy to add to its hoard, Emil clung to every word that formed upon the thick of the gentleman's lips. Quiet, he remained; Emily offering only a soft hum of acknowledgement or agreement as the man spoke on. He was not necessarily a man of few words, just as able to become carried away on a tangent as anyone else, but he preferred his silence in favour for this man's voice.
The song of it as it curled about his words, came deep within the thick column of his throat, and spilled over plush lips. Emil's stranger could have been reciting a passage from Darwin's "On the Origin of Species" and he'd still have eagerly listened—if only to watch the shape of the words form upon that mouth; if only to listen to the timbre of that voice; if only to give himself to the man's enchanting spell, entirely.
"Burnout, perhaps," Emil's glacial eyes slowly tracked over the gentleman's face to the pearlescent high points of his features. "Though the condition of man is the pursuit of novelty."
He'd looked away then, towards the stage and the display that did not truly hold his attention. While Emil would deny it, it had taken far more effort to drag his gaze from where it had so hotly lingered upon his stranger's face. Mine? Emil sank his molars into the inside of his cheek but did not bite firmly. Since when did I start to consider this stranger as 'mine'? An odd little thought, but one that he could not help.
It was then that Emil had permitted the return of his eyes to his stranger's face, where the dark of the gentleman's gaze was smouldering. Emil was amused at the man's words. Oh, how you could be, signore, Emil purred within his own mind. When bound and strung from a beam, you're granted nothing else besides time and sensation, allowing for introspection a'plenty. That vision struck Emil hard, and he found his breath hitching slightly. He took a swig of his whiskey. How pretty he would be strung up just for me.
His stranger professed that he wasn't an artist, and Emil tsked. "Oh, but you are," he countered. "An artist in your own way, perhaps, but still an artist nonetheless. Your mediums are simply…different than the traditional." His foot shifted over the carpet of the floor as Emil turned himself closer. The broad of his shoulders tensed as he leant forward, glacial eyes still cast up into onyx. Low in a bedroom whisper, Emil purred; "And, yet, I am left to imagine your tools of favour."
"You look—"
A voice, jarring, tore between them and it was then that the world about Emil came rushing back in a cacophony of laughter, tinkling drink glasses, the wet slop of fluid and slick skin. Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Emil hadn't realised until this leather-clad man had cut between them just how much his attention had narrowed in towards his stranger. The world hadn't faded, it had ceased to exist. There had been nothing beyond this man, and Emil didn't care for the rude reminder that reality continued to exist.
Emil didn't watch the exchange. Not truly, at least. The pale of his eyes remained upon his stranger, watching the tension in his brow and the set of his teeth. He watched how the gentleman shifted about this other man, how they interacted; fond and familiar yet a little frustrated. Emil's eyes sharpened some as he looked to those dark eyes, focused upon another's face. I look what? Look at me. Tell me. Finish what you were about to say.
A sudden exclamation, followed by the very obvious statement that Emil was new to the dark recesses of the Club, and the cold of his eyes flickered from the profile of his stranger's face. He glanced to the intruder—for that's what he was, within the space both he and this gentleman had held for one another for their conversation—and said nothing as his eyes immediately returned to those dark pools. Rude, indeed, for the lack of introduction and sudden interruption. Emil did not care to correct the leather-bound man for it.
The only thing that Emil felt worthy of absorbing were the names. His stranger had mentioned a Chris that held enough power to influence the bar's liquor stocks. This new face had exclaimed, what Emil could only assume, was his stranger's moniker; Sexy Lexi, before offering another name or title; Bunny. All pieces of information that were simply clues, taken by Emil and hoarded as his stranger turned to warn him against disappearing.
"Find me, then," was all Emil said as he watched the ebony beauty be pulled from this corner of darkness, melding into the crowd.
There, Emil lingered, staring at the blur of bodies and unfocused faces before him as if his stranger might manifest before him in the very next moment. He didn't not consider what it was between the gentleman and his leather-clad familiar. In truth, Emil cared little for it.
The time that it took for Emil to find the power to pull himself from where he stood was admittedly greater than it should have been. One shared look, one simple conversation, and Emil already felt his skin alight with the electricity of curiosity and keenness. He split through the crowd, turning to slide between the bodies of those mingling at the bar, and leant a little over the dark wood top of it to be heard as he said; "Not Bunny, but the other that runs with Chris. A bottle of his favourite, please."
Emil caught the look cast his way, and recognised it as several things—surprise, curiosity, and amusement. He paid it no mind, and mentioned nothing of the leather-clad man's promise; instead tapping his black card and purchasing the bottle passed his way. He gave no care for how much it was worth, only that his stranger liked it.
Before the stage, the booths were occupied by couples and various small groups watching in appreciation, or observing during quietly hushed conversation. Hands roamed over bare skin. Liquor flowed and shimmered within glasses and tumblers of crystal. Mouths found the expanses of skin across the sides of throats or the sweep of collarbones.
Yet, it was the booths to the side of the room that were shrouded in darkness that drew Emil forward. He cut before the stage, a blur before the act, and settled himself within one such booth. These booths, he had learned from watching those within as he'd lingered by the door at his arrival, were utilised for the discussion of terms and the signing of contracts—no matter how temporary; written or verbal. To sit within such a space with another was an outwardly accepted sign that the two would become involved in a scene with one another. Emil, sitting alone, felt the stammer and the kick of his heart as it began to speed; the significance of such action almost daunting.
This is crazy. This is foolish. To consider this at all is not like me. Emil did not crack the bottle nor pour the liquor into the single fresh tumbler, but tipped his head back and drained his own existing glass of whiskey. It burned the back of his throat and left something woody and rich across his tongue. He'll think that I'm a fool. He'll laugh at the thought of it, I'm sure. But this is…something different. And that was what his dear friend had warned him that he needed. If Emil was going to allow another to breach his body, to take him, and to steal the power to wield over him, then he wanted none other than that man. That gorgeous fucking man… Emil ran his hand down over his face and set his elbows upon the table, lacing his fingers and bringing his clasped hands over his mouth. He was hard already, just thinking of the smoke in those obsidian eyes. Fuck, why did the gods give him such eyes?
Sitting as he was, Emil's back as to the stage. The scene behind him carried on, another submissive having joined the bound redhead, her own torso laced with ribbons of blue and gold-threaded white. Tilted at a degree, their balance held by a strung rope laced over a railing, the thick silicone that had plunged deep within the redhead's pussy was taken deep by the blonde. The two of them rode in tandem— gagged, bound, blindfolded—but each downward thrust had their hips grinding together. Emil wasn't watching, because he didn't care.
Yet, the way that he sat was not because he did not appreciate the scene but, simply, because it in itself was a power move. Should his stranger find him, decide to join him within the booth, he'd be forced to look to Emil whom would be haloed by those two moaning, trembling subs upon the stage. And where will his eyes roam, I wonder. Emil was wickedly amused already, yet he still remained alone.
A hand touched the broad slope of his shoulder and Emil tensed. It was too light, too unsure, too gentle. The hot breath against his ear had the muscle as Emil's jaw jumping. "Are you waiting for someone, Sir?"
A flicker of a cold gaze to their corners and all Emil afforded the young man was a; "Not you."
The lithe man peeled away, wandered somewhere else Emil didn't care to note. Instead, Emil was left to the passage of time and, still, he waited. No matter how many booths filled and then emptied about him. No matter how many glances he received. Emil remained sitting, leant back against the velvet with an arm draped along the back of the couch and a leg crossed upon a knee.
The world shifted, carrying on around Emil. People flowed, some taking pause by him only to be met with a sharp glare that told them to walk on. The scene continued, the lights shifting. The only constant there was was Emil, himself. A stone amidst the ebb and flow of the tide.
He waited for only one individual, and would not leave until he'd been told 'no'.
Emil often cared very little to learn information of those that would hold no consequence to him. He saw it as wasted mental energy to invest in someone there for a handful of hours and then gone. Emil, however, felt differently about the stranger standing before him. This man made him curious, and that was dangerous and intriguing, all in itself.
Like a dragon greedy to add to its hoard, Emil clung to every word that formed upon the thick of the gentleman's lips. Quiet, he remained; Emily offering only a soft hum of acknowledgement or agreement as the man spoke on. He was not necessarily a man of few words, just as able to become carried away on a tangent as anyone else, but he preferred his silence in favour for this man's voice.
The song of it as it curled about his words, came deep within the thick column of his throat, and spilled over plush lips. Emil's stranger could have been reciting a passage from Darwin's "On the Origin of Species" and he'd still have eagerly listened—if only to watch the shape of the words form upon that mouth; if only to listen to the timbre of that voice; if only to give himself to the man's enchanting spell, entirely.
"Burnout, perhaps," Emil's glacial eyes slowly tracked over the gentleman's face to the pearlescent high points of his features. "Though the condition of man is the pursuit of novelty."
He'd looked away then, towards the stage and the display that did not truly hold his attention. While Emil would deny it, it had taken far more effort to drag his gaze from where it had so hotly lingered upon his stranger's face. Mine? Emil sank his molars into the inside of his cheek but did not bite firmly. Since when did I start to consider this stranger as 'mine'? An odd little thought, but one that he could not help.
It was then that Emil had permitted the return of his eyes to his stranger's face, where the dark of the gentleman's gaze was smouldering. Emil was amused at the man's words. Oh, how you could be, signore, Emil purred within his own mind. When bound and strung from a beam, you're granted nothing else besides time and sensation, allowing for introspection a'plenty. That vision struck Emil hard, and he found his breath hitching slightly. He took a swig of his whiskey. How pretty he would be strung up just for me.
His stranger professed that he wasn't an artist, and Emil tsked. "Oh, but you are," he countered. "An artist in your own way, perhaps, but still an artist nonetheless. Your mediums are simply…different than the traditional." His foot shifted over the carpet of the floor as Emil turned himself closer. The broad of his shoulders tensed as he leant forward, glacial eyes still cast up into onyx. Low in a bedroom whisper, Emil purred; "And, yet, I am left to imagine your tools of favour."
"You look—"
A voice, jarring, tore between them and it was then that the world about Emil came rushing back in a cacophony of laughter, tinkling drink glasses, the wet slop of fluid and slick skin. Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Emil hadn't realised until this leather-clad man had cut between them just how much his attention had narrowed in towards his stranger. The world hadn't faded, it had ceased to exist. There had been nothing beyond this man, and Emil didn't care for the rude reminder that reality continued to exist.
Emil didn't watch the exchange. Not truly, at least. The pale of his eyes remained upon his stranger, watching the tension in his brow and the set of his teeth. He watched how the gentleman shifted about this other man, how they interacted; fond and familiar yet a little frustrated. Emil's eyes sharpened some as he looked to those dark eyes, focused upon another's face. I look what? Look at me. Tell me. Finish what you were about to say.
A sudden exclamation, followed by the very obvious statement that Emil was new to the dark recesses of the Club, and the cold of his eyes flickered from the profile of his stranger's face. He glanced to the intruder—for that's what he was, within the space both he and this gentleman had held for one another for their conversation—and said nothing as his eyes immediately returned to those dark pools. Rude, indeed, for the lack of introduction and sudden interruption. Emil did not care to correct the leather-bound man for it.
The only thing that Emil felt worthy of absorbing were the names. His stranger had mentioned a Chris that held enough power to influence the bar's liquor stocks. This new face had exclaimed, what Emil could only assume, was his stranger's moniker; Sexy Lexi, before offering another name or title; Bunny. All pieces of information that were simply clues, taken by Emil and hoarded as his stranger turned to warn him against disappearing.
"Find me, then," was all Emil said as he watched the ebony beauty be pulled from this corner of darkness, melding into the crowd.
There, Emil lingered, staring at the blur of bodies and unfocused faces before him as if his stranger might manifest before him in the very next moment. He didn't not consider what it was between the gentleman and his leather-clad familiar. In truth, Emil cared little for it.
The time that it took for Emil to find the power to pull himself from where he stood was admittedly greater than it should have been. One shared look, one simple conversation, and Emil already felt his skin alight with the electricity of curiosity and keenness. He split through the crowd, turning to slide between the bodies of those mingling at the bar, and leant a little over the dark wood top of it to be heard as he said; "Not Bunny, but the other that runs with Chris. A bottle of his favourite, please."
Emil caught the look cast his way, and recognised it as several things—surprise, curiosity, and amusement. He paid it no mind, and mentioned nothing of the leather-clad man's promise; instead tapping his black card and purchasing the bottle passed his way. He gave no care for how much it was worth, only that his stranger liked it.
Before the stage, the booths were occupied by couples and various small groups watching in appreciation, or observing during quietly hushed conversation. Hands roamed over bare skin. Liquor flowed and shimmered within glasses and tumblers of crystal. Mouths found the expanses of skin across the sides of throats or the sweep of collarbones.
Yet, it was the booths to the side of the room that were shrouded in darkness that drew Emil forward. He cut before the stage, a blur before the act, and settled himself within one such booth. These booths, he had learned from watching those within as he'd lingered by the door at his arrival, were utilised for the discussion of terms and the signing of contracts—no matter how temporary; written or verbal. To sit within such a space with another was an outwardly accepted sign that the two would become involved in a scene with one another. Emil, sitting alone, felt the stammer and the kick of his heart as it began to speed; the significance of such action almost daunting.
This is crazy. This is foolish. To consider this at all is not like me. Emil did not crack the bottle nor pour the liquor into the single fresh tumbler, but tipped his head back and drained his own existing glass of whiskey. It burned the back of his throat and left something woody and rich across his tongue. He'll think that I'm a fool. He'll laugh at the thought of it, I'm sure. But this is…something different. And that was what his dear friend had warned him that he needed. If Emil was going to allow another to breach his body, to take him, and to steal the power to wield over him, then he wanted none other than that man. That gorgeous fucking man… Emil ran his hand down over his face and set his elbows upon the table, lacing his fingers and bringing his clasped hands over his mouth. He was hard already, just thinking of the smoke in those obsidian eyes. Fuck, why did the gods give him such eyes?
Sitting as he was, Emil's back as to the stage. The scene behind him carried on, another submissive having joined the bound redhead, her own torso laced with ribbons of blue and gold-threaded white. Tilted at a degree, their balance held by a strung rope laced over a railing, the thick silicone that had plunged deep within the redhead's pussy was taken deep by the blonde. The two of them rode in tandem— gagged, bound, blindfolded—but each downward thrust had their hips grinding together. Emil wasn't watching, because he didn't care.
Yet, the way that he sat was not because he did not appreciate the scene but, simply, because it in itself was a power move. Should his stranger find him, decide to join him within the booth, he'd be forced to look to Emil whom would be haloed by those two moaning, trembling subs upon the stage. And where will his eyes roam, I wonder. Emil was wickedly amused already, yet he still remained alone.
A hand touched the broad slope of his shoulder and Emil tensed. It was too light, too unsure, too gentle. The hot breath against his ear had the muscle as Emil's jaw jumping. "Are you waiting for someone, Sir?"
A flicker of a cold gaze to their corners and all Emil afforded the young man was a; "Not you."
The lithe man peeled away, wandered somewhere else Emil didn't care to note. Instead, Emil was left to the passage of time and, still, he waited. No matter how many booths filled and then emptied about him. No matter how many glances he received. Emil remained sitting, leant back against the velvet with an arm draped along the back of the couch and a leg crossed upon a knee.
The world shifted, carrying on around Emil. People flowed, some taking pause by him only to be met with a sharp glare that told them to walk on. The scene continued, the lights shifting. The only constant there was was Emil, himself. A stone amidst the ebb and flow of the tide.
He waited for only one individual, and would not leave until he'd been told 'no'.
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