8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
N o fucking way would Fin let Ollie drive.
They were glad he’d disclosed his diabetes, as he seemed to be experiencing a drop on that front, but they had a suspicion it combined with sub drop. And he was a baby kinkster, fresh into the scene, so of course they wouldn’t be able to discern the signs.
Except they faced one major problem. They didn’t bring people to their home.
The reality prickled under their skin, but anytime they glanced over and saw the steady rise and fall of Ollie’s shoulders, those pretty eyes closed in slumber—yeah, fuck. They needed to take care of him, even if they exposed a little of themself in the process.
They zipped down the streets toward their place on the outskirts of the city.
The one-bedroom they rented was a shoebox, but it was theirs, and it was close enough for them to take public to work.
They only kept their car around for sentimental reasons more than anything, since they usually drove their Ducati.
God, the visuals of how good Ollie had looked in the abandoned building, his pants around his thighs, blindfolded. Yeah, permanent spank bank fodder. He had the potential to be the perfect sub.
Which was why they should keep their distance. He was a little too perfect for them, matched their energy a little too well. They clutched the steering wheel tighter as they drove up the street, slowing as they neared their apartment.
They reached over and pinched him in the thigh.
“Babe, I’m going to need you to start collecting yourself.
I’m on the third floor, so there are steps.
” They parked in the back in the small row of spaces that residents squeezed into.
The street parking up front almost always bustled with folks dropping by for pizza pickup from Pizza Heaven, which was situated on the first floor.
The urge to buy pizza hit at least a dozen times a week when the smell of melted cheese and tangy sauce wafted in.
Ollie stirred. “Mmm?” He blinked, looking groggy as fuck.
His hair was a complete mess, and his lips looked far too pink and kissable for comfort.
And they didn’t kiss. That wasn’t a thing for them, not with play partners or random hookups, and they didn’t date.
Except an urge prickled to the surface, one they shoved away.
“Come on.” They squeezed his thigh again, hard enough to jar him further awake. “We’ll get up to my place and order pizza.”
“Fuck, that sounds amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick from crashing out. “I’m still shaky, so that and some fluids would help.”
“I’ve got you covered,” they said, their heart thumping harder as he stared at them with puppy dog eyes.
“Though if you have anyone who could come get your car, it’d be a good idea.
I’ll happily offer you a ride home, but given the whole parked in front of an abandoned warehouse sitch, well, it’d be better to get the car in a different spot. ”
“I’ll text Jules. I think he or Izzy should be around.”
They licked their lips. The idea of having someone they felt so assured in reaching out to was foreign.
Even with the crew at Whipped, they struggled to ask for help, even though any of those fuckers would.
The idea of relying on others made their skin prickle, made them riot, as if this temporary comfortability they’d found could get ripped away from them at any moment.
Thanks, Pops.
“All right, let’s get going.” Before Fin lost the nerve to take him up in the first place.
Except unless they headed over to Whipped and Meg happened to have a room in the dungeon open, there wasn’t the private space they needed right now to handle a sub who’d potentially had a sub drop and an effect on their blood sugar from the adrenaline crash.
It was their apartment or bust.
“You good, or you want help?” they asked as Ollie rose from the passenger’s side.
“I’m good,” he said. “Shaky, but as long as there’s a railing, I can manage.”
“Well, my apartment building doesn’t have much, but we do have that.
” They popped open their phone and shot a quick online order for pizza pickup from downstairs.
They were craving the carbs after all they’d gotten up to at the abandoned building.
“Wait, we haven’t gotten into pizza toppings, have we? ”
“Nah, just the other type of topping,” Ollie said. His voice sounded tired, but the fact that he still sent snark their way brought relief rippling through them .
“Right. Well, I got a plain and a pepperoni for the classics. If you wanted other weird shit, I might have a questionable can of mushrooms you could put on it.”
“Pepperoni works for me, though pepperoni and pineapple slaps.”
“I’m about to slap you for that blasphemy,” Fin teased.
Ollie snorted as he followed them up the outside stairs leading to their entrance. If they cast a glance back every few seconds to make sure he was stable, that was their business.
They unlocked their door and pushed it open.
Ollie loomed behind them on the stairwell, and they swallowed hard.
The scent of orange filtered their way from the plug-in they’d bought to clear out some of the musty smell that had existed ever since they moved in years back.
They learned to work around it, since it wasn’t like they could afford a swanky new apartment.
Their place was a mess, but it was cozy.
If Ollie judged them for a bit of clutter, he could go fuck himself.
“Nice place,” he said. “Can I go sit on the couch over there?”
Their hackles relaxed. He was out of it and in need of attention, not hurling rocks at them over cleanliness or lack thereof.
They’d been in this building for a long, long while.
The first place they’d rented after they moved out of home, which had been the second they hit eighteen, even though they were still in school.
“Yeah.” They closed the door. “Take a seat. Want water? Tea? Coffee? Seltzer? Soda?”
“Uh, soda works—could use the extra sugar boost.” Ollie sank into their worn corduroy couch. Their furniture was all well used but functional, and they’d only replace a piece if it was falling apart. Aesthetics could suck it.
They headed right to their cupboard and pulled down a cup.
With the amount of dust at the warehouse, they needed fucking something to clear their throat.
Their heart thumped hard at the sight of Ollie chilling on their couch.
As if having people in their space was a thing they did on the regular, like Meg and Tristan and other less dysfunctional people.
They snagged their water and a can of Fanta for Ollie.
They placed his Fanta on the coffee table in front of him and plunked onto the couch with their own. The first sip was far too needed, especially because it offered a moment to pause their whirring mind.
“How are you feeling now?” they asked, snapping into the comfort of protocol.
Ollie let out a shaky breath. “Definitely need to get my blood sugar up.” He tapped the diabetic sensor on his arm to point it out. “It’s a bit wonky right now, and I’m still feeling a bit…foggy, I guess?”
Guilt thudded through Fin. They’d been stupid to even try light play with him in a setting like that. Too many unpredictable factors.
“None of that,” he said.
“What?” they asked, their brows drawing together.
“This isn’t anyone’s fault. Par for the course with dealing with diabetes. Sometimes new stimuli cause things to spike or drop, and I’ve just got to figure out how to handle those situations on the fly.”
Even though his words didn’t wash away the sense of protectiveness that swarmed them, the reassurance did calm Fin’s mind a little.
“I’ll trust you on that, then. As for the fog, my guess is some light sub drop was spurred by the blood sugar taking a nose-dive.
Whether it was the restraints, the humiliation, the situation, or whatever, you went into subspace pretty easily. ”
“Care to clarify?” He tilted the can back and drank, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Fuck, he was far too sexy.
“It’s an emotional and physical low that can sometimes follow a scene.
All the adrenaline heightened, and then—bam.
You’re going to want to be careful with play partners and where you scene, given your diabetes.
” Fin clearly hadn’t with the warehouse, but after seeing his reaction, Fin had a better idea of how to handle him.
Which they shouldn’t be thinking on, because he was just a cutie who’d agreed to shoot with them and happened to be fun to play with.
Far too fun.
Ugh.
“Guess you better scene with me a few more times,” he said, the flirt heavy in his tone. “For educational purposes.”
Fin pointed a warning finger at him. “Nuh-uh. Don’t go giving me those baby sub puppy eyes. Don’t know what you heard from all those fuckers at Whipped, but I’m not the gentle education sort. That’s more Parker’s and Meg’s bag.”
Ollie lifted a brow. “Does it look like I’d respond well to gentle?”
They stared at him for a beat and then shook their head.
Fuck. They were used to being the prickly one, the troublemaker, the brat—never easy.
Except each interaction with Ollie so far had been far smoother than they’d ever expected.
He was quick-witted as hell and a flirt, but even more important, he played the same game they did.
A professional level of coasting on the surface to skip right over those minefields.
And damn did it stoke their curiosity, but they knew better than to prod.
“Right, so next scene bust out the rubber tire floggers,” Fin teased.
Ollie blanched, and they cackled.
“I fucking work with tires. No way am I letting you hit me with one,” he said. He seemed a bit more stabilized now, his limbs no longer shaking, his mind sharper, but he needed food.
Fin glanced at their phone. “I’m going to grab the pizza. It’s right downstairs. Feel free to throw something on as long as it’s not a documentary because they make my ears bleed. ”
“Are you allergic to learning?” Ollie grabbed the remote they offered.
“I need lessons thumped into me, not from some fucker droning on over ambient music.” They strode toward the door and descended the steps in a breeze, heading to the first floor where the scents of salty cheese and sauce from Pizza Heaven wafted their way.
As they swept to the front counter, the chick didn’t even ask.
She dipped to the line of orders, grabbed their pizzas, and passed them over.
“Thanks.” Fin clutched the pizza boxes tight, their stomach rumbling.
When they hopped back up the steps, their heart thumped a little harder. Someone waited for them behind the door, and a shiver rolled down their spine. They weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or terror, since the signals got mixed up in their brain a lot.
When they stepped in, the sound of the TV greeted them. Ollie had clearly picked something.
“I suspected you wouldn’t want to watch a discussion on the last Packers game with me, so I went with Farscape ,” he said.
“Fuck yes.” They dropped the pizza boxes onto the coffee table with a thump.
“You trying to turn that into a congealed ball of cheese?” Ollie asked.
“Maybe I want to watch you choke it down,” they responded sweetly and headed to their cabinets for plates. Silverware? Was there anything else people ate with? Fuck, they didn’t entertain for shit, and it showed.
By the time they got back with the plates, Ollie had cracked the pizza box open and separated a few slices.
Fin passed the plate over, and he loaded three on it.
They grabbed two of their own and didn’t wait for any cues before launching in.
The heat was almost a little too much, but that had never stopped them before.
Burn, baby, burn. The medley of cheese, sauce, and dough was perfection, and since they were fucking starved, the combination hit in the best damn way.
Ollie let out a pornographic moan. “I’d let someone keep me tied up if it meant I got pizza.”
The visual struck Fin straight in the groin. Goddamn, he looked fucking hot enough tied up already, but the idea of him at their beck and call, there to be fucked over and over again… They shoved another bite of pizza into their mouth and chewed.
Farscape blared on the TV, a familiarity there they appreciated.
While they had lots of differing interests from Ollie—like fucking football—they shared enough that conversation was easy.
He had a daredevil streak they wouldn’t have expected with the talk about Julian’s “baby” brother they’d heard over the years from the Tabletop Tavern crew.
“Have you had diabetes your whole life?” they asked, even though they focused on their pizza.
“Nah. It hit in my senior year of high school. Scared the crap out of Jules and Dad.”
Fin’s lips quirked. “What was that, last year?”
Ollie lifted his middle finger. “I’m drinking age, thank you very much.”
“I know. You’ve dealt with enough shit to make your own calls. Also, I may brat, but if age is off-limits, I won’t tease.”
Ollie chewed on his lower lip for a second, then flashed them one blinder of a smile. “Honestly, with most folks, it is, but it doesn’t bother me from you. Pretty sure you wouldn’t be fucking me if you viewed me as too young.”
“Damn straight. That’s one grown-ass…well, piece of ass right there.” Fin shrugged. “Never claimed to be eloquent. ”
“Eh, you are when you want to be,” Ollie said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Especially when I’m on my knees.”
Damn, this boy was too much fun to tangle with. And the pizza, water, and time seemed to have done the trick, since he didn’t have the same pallor or shakiness as before.
“Maybe that’s your fault for looking too damn good on your knees,” they flirted back.
A knock pounded on the door, and they tensed.
Ollie squeezed the back of his neck. “Ah, that would be my family.”