Chapter 8
Roan
The night, which he’d hoped would be filled with new experiences, was turning out to be boring as fuck.
The moment they’d set foot in the Dungeon, Rascal had made a beeline for Danger, drawing him into a debate by the stripper poles, where Taz had joined in.
When things had grown animated, Roan had attempted to distract them by taking a turn on the pole the way others had, not that they’d noticed until Ocean had drawn everyone’s attention to him.
He’d hoped for a moment together when he climbed down off the stage, but Pope led him away as soon as Roan reached Danger’s side, and he’d been seated on the cushion beside his chair ever since.
At least they weren’t standing around anymore.
The cushion he was on was every bit as comfortable as the crimson chair Danger sat in, but Taz and Rascal still held his attention with their debate on the merits of different tequila brands.
Having never tasted the stuff himself and with absolutely no desire to, Roan was bored, bored, bored.
The highlight of his night was the flickering glimpses he’d catch of Ocean when Pope led him from the pet playroom to the little’s space, Ocean bouncing along beside him far more animatedly now than when Roan had seen him earlier.
Then he saw a flash of aqua and white between a sea of black and red leather and sat up straighter, watching Ocean and Pope approach.
People stopped him a few times, wanting to rub his ears or pat him on the head.
Roan had heard rumblings about Ocean having helped one of the club brothers but had no idea who it was or what he’d helped him with.
Aside from watching the dancers, every last one of them a million times better at it than him, Roan had done nothing but sit here hoping to feel Danger’s fingers in his hair, but so far, it had only happened once.
Ocean had one arm looped through Pope’s, whose hair was loose now, instead of pulled back the way it had been the last time Roan had spotted them. Tiny silver streaks broke up the curtain of black like he’d gotten snowed on.
For a moment, he thought about waving to him to catch his attention, but he didn’t want to break position, even if it wasn’t very likely that Danger would notice.
He was doing his best to show him that he could behave himself around everyone else, and so far, he hadn’t given Danger any reason to reprimand him.
Of course, he hadn’t done anything either, except for sit there, and he was beginning to wonder if that was all the man had planned for their trip down here tonight.
Talk about sad. Roan hoped that wasn’t where the rest of his night was headed.
Excitement surged through him when Ocean spotted him and patted Pope’s arm, pointing Roan’s way once he had Pope’s attention. Pope leaned in, and Roan saw his mouth moving. Ocean started wagging his tail, and to Roan’s relief, they headed over.
Ocean let go of Pope when they reached the chairs and flopped down on the cushion beside Roan. They really were huge, and now Roan understood why.
He looked to Danger for permission, hoping it was okay to spend a few minutes lavishing attention on his friend, and saw Danger still animatedly discussing tequila with Taz and Rascal. It was Pope who noticed him sitting there undecided about how to go about getting Danger’s attention.
“Give it a rest for a minute,” Pope said, interrupting their conversation.
A look passed between him and Danger before Pope jerked his head in Roan’s direction. When Danger turned in his chair to peer down at him, Roan blurted his question.
“Can I pet Ocean?” Roan asked.
“If he’s okay with it,” Danger replied with a shrug before turning away again.
Hand hovering over Ocean’s side, Roan looked to him for permission before petting him, immediately stroking leather and skin when Ocean nodded and let out a happy yip.
Ocean squirmed and restlessly waved his paws, enjoying the attention, while Roan got a moment to just enjoy himself instead of stewing in thoughts best left alone.
“Are you planning to sit here all night, or did you come down here to actually do something?” Pope asked, his voice drawing Roan’s attention back to him and the way he was still staring at Danger.
“Didn’t have a plan.”
“Then you won’t care if I take Roan with me and Ocean to the violet wand demonstration,” Pope said. “I haven’t had a chance to see Scoundrel in action in a while. Need to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.”
It didn’t sound like a question. Ocean had gone still beneath his hand as they waited to see what happened next.
“Wouldn’t mind catching that one myself,” Danger said, sitting up in his chair.
Holy shit.
Roan knew what a violet wand was, but he’d never watched anyone use it. Websites could only teach so much, so having the chance to see it in action would be awesome.
“Then we’d better get moving before it gets crowded over there,” Pope said, holding out his hand to Ocean, who scrambled to his feet, tugging Roan along with him so he could grab hold of it.
He didn’t let go of Roan’s hand either, so they moved through the crowd together, forcing others to get out of their path, Danger following, his hand gliding up Roan’s back once when Pope paused to compliment the attire of the trio of drag queens who’d taken over the stage earlier in the night.
Roan wished he’d left his hand there longer, or not removed it at all, so when he felt it settle on his shoulders when they reached a room with a leather table in the center, he practically melted.
Warm breath ghosted over the side of his neck as Danger’s voice rumbled in his ear. “You’ve been a very good boy tonight.”
Holy shit.
Wish granted.
Danger cupped the back of his neck, giving a gentle squeeze that nearly made his knees buckle.
It seemed like they’d gotten there just in time, too.
Pope had positioned Ocean in front of him, the same way Danger had done with Roan, so he and Ocean hadn’t let go of one another’s hands, and Roan really didn’t want to, even if there was a barrier of leather between them.
Ocean’s paw was smooth and soft, perfect for running his fingers over.
In the water, every time he’d felt afraid, Ocean had made him feel like that was okay, even while making sure Roan knew he was safe.
No one had ever done that for him before.
He was used to hiding his fears and keeping them buried so no one could use them against him.
His grandparents’ home wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and the only real supervision involved had been making sure he’d had his butt at the table at six for supper and money for breakfast and lunch in the school cafeteria at the start of every week.
The kids he hung around with had it much the same way, so they’d pretty much raised themselves and each other and learned to keep off the radar of overworked adults who had more important things to worry about than the petty bullshit they got into.
Sometimes, keeping up with his more fearless friends had been a challenge until he’d learned to leap after them and hope things would turn out okay.
Sometimes they didn’t, and he’d crashed and burned.
He’d given his grandparents’ first aid kit a real workout with some of the stunts they’d pulled, but the cops had never shown up at the door, so no harm, no foul.
There were times he’d wished someone had cared, though. That was all he’d ever wanted, not stuff, not even a skateboard, though it would have been cool to hit the skatepark with his friends.
No, no gloomy thoughts, not tonight.
He gently squeezed Ocean’s paw, and Ocean turned his head, green eyes shadowed by the pup gear he had on.
Roan couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but Roan was and leaned in to press his head against Ocean’s since they were almost the same height.
At just under 6 feet tall, they weren’t the shortest ones in the room but compared to some of the giants like Kong and Wreck, Roan always felt tiny.
Roan watched, fascinated, as a man who stood at least a half foot shorter than him finished setting up the wand and arranging his much larger partner on the table, naked, save for the tattoos etched into his skin.
Roan had seen him from time to time, when he was picking up monthly reports.
He was a welder at the metal fabrication shop and usually towered over him.
Seeing him splayed out, relaxed and completely unashamed, reminded Roan of all the screwed-up ideas he’d had about the roles people played in different dynamics.
The Jokers cared only about who was into what and that everyone was consenting.
There were female and non-binary club members just as badass as the guys, reminding him of some of his tomboy friends from back home.
Someone dimmed the lights as Scoundrel used black light paint sticks to draw swirls on the big man’s skin. When he finally sparked the wand, the paint glowed brighter every time he drew the wand over those spots.
Roan had imagined a grimace, not a soft exhale, to be the result of having the wand touched to his shoulder, yet the man on the table looked completely at ease and even shivered when the man flicked the wand over another spot.
“Lowest setting,” Scoundrel declared, before adjusting something on the wand.
This time, when he touched his partner, the man’s breath hissed when he sucked it in and his body jerked.
“Middle setting.”
Maybe it wasn’t so relaxing after all, Roan thought when Scoundrel adjusted the knob again, drawing a whimper from the man when he touched his ass with it.
“Highest,” Scoundrel declared. “Now we go through them one by one, and you’ll see how much fun it can be.”