Fire & Ice (Extended Edition)

Chapter 6

For the next few months, as far as Leander is concerned, life is pretty damn perfect. Having a regular, reliable outlet in the bed(play)room for any frustrations and failings goes a long way towards stabilizing his emotions, and it shows. Having a sub who needs him, who Leander can pour his heart and soul into caring for and watch as Tripp benefits from all the things they do together, makes him feel like a whole new person.

His nightmares let up, his overall mood improves, and the number of times he sinks into a melancholy funk over memories and situations that were out of his control drops significantly.

The weeks fly by one after another, the holidays coming and going in their usual fashion. This year, Leander speaks to his one brother, Lawrence, and his niece Chloe via phone, since despite living local, they travel to see Lawrence’s in-laws in Ohio. Leander appreciates the chance to wish them well, but spends all the special days with the Truetts, Chief Miller’s family, and the Harringtons, and that just feels right. It would appear that he’s become an adopted member of the extended Fire family at this point, and for that, he is exceedingly grateful. That phenomenon may exist independently of Tripp, actually—the little ragtag group he’s fallen in with was stitched together from the same lack of having anywhere else to go that Leander boasts in his own life.

Still, being accepted into the circle means sitting next to Tripp at a holiday table, laughing and feeling included, exchanging presents in front of Reina’s fireplace on Christmas Eve, and then falling asleep in Tripp’s lap with Elf playing on the TV. All that instead of spending the night drunk and alone in his too-big, empty apartment, picking at takeaway Chinese. Things could be worse.

By the time February rolls around and Beau's wedding looms large in front of them, Leander could almost talk himself into believing that he and Tripp are in a pattern that could hold indefinitely. That, against all odds, this thing they’ve built might be satisfying in a way that could actually be enough for both of them.

At the very least, Tripp hasn’t given him any reason to suspect that he doesn’t feel the same. More importantly, Tripp seems to be benefiting from their arrangement in the same way Leander is: he’s happier, healthier—mentally, at least. Internally, Leander is fairly certain Tripp’s arteries are filled with bacon—and at the end of the day, that’s what matters most.

With the two of them settling into a routine, it also feels to Leander— dare he say it? —almost easy. The way their lives intertwine so naturally, with work and play and their respective but overlapping social circles. The way he and Tripp have always fit together so effortlessly—it all just works .

Strange as it may sound, his relationship with Tripp really does feel meant to be. In fact, if Leander didn’t know better, he might be inclined to call it fate or destiny, or something equally ridiculous and non-existent that, as a recovering churchgoer, he definitely doesn’t believe in…except, it’s hard not to believe, every time he looks at Tripp.

Well, not right now , perhaps, since Tripp is driving him up the proverbial fucking wall, and he’d sooner knock him out cold just to shut him up than pee on him if he was on fire.

It’s four in the morning, and the fire scene for which Leander is coordinating the EMS response has been raging for over two hours. As if sitting outside in the dead of night, taking blood pressures and listening to lung sounds on endless repeat while the temperature hovers just below freezing isn’t enough, Station Fifteen is first due, and therefore, Leander also has Tripp and his randomly rotten attitude to deal with.

On top of that, the house system at the station activating for the call rather rudely interrupted a very pleasant dream, and the kind of deep sleep that Leander rarely achieves while on duty. Being jolted awake and out of a mental scene in which he had Tripp tied up and making the most delicious noises while dripping wax all over his body—it was jarring , to say the least.

Hours later, those images still refuse to leave his head, which isn’t particularly helpful when Leander needs to focus. Needs to pay attention and ensure that he isn’t sending at-risk firefighters back inside to combat the blaze when their bodies can’t handle it. Fire rehab at a low-risk scene like this is dull as all get-out by nature, but it’s necessary and important, too, as so many boring things are.

EMS isn’t always excitement and glamour.

In addition to boring, Leander’s job is also occasionally infuriating. Like, for instance, when he’s the paramedic in charge and he has a bull-headed firefighter who sits down for a routine vital sign check, only to get benched for having a too-high blood pressure and pulse. Fifteen minutes of rest is all that’s being asked of him, but the walking hero-complex will absolutely not accept that he isn’t fucking Superman, and that sometimes his body needs a damn break.

“There are three other members of your crew sitting here with you,” Leander argues, his face set firmly in a scowl as he goes physically toe-to-toe and chest-to-chest with Tripp. “You’ve all been inside that blaze for nearly an hour, you need to rest. ” For some bizarre reason, Tripp seems to be under the false impression that he can intimidate Leander into giving him his way tonight. “You don’t see any of them complaining or talking back. Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit on your ass until your heart calms down!”

“ They aren’t Lieutenants,” Tripp sasses back, unfazed by Leander’s proximity in a way he wouldn’t dare pull in private, and the warring thoughts in Leander’s head both love and hate the challenge. Mostly, he wishes he could slap Tripp across the face before turning him over his knee, but he supposes keeping his job is worth tabling that particular inclination for the time being.

Still, it’s tempting. Tripp is a sight —red-faced and sweaty, his hair sticking up wildly in all directions as he holds his helmet casually underneath his arm. His bunker jacket is tossed onto the floor of the ambulance, draped halfway over the truck’s license plate in the way it falls down through the open back doors. Without it, Tripp is left wearing only his bunker pants and suspenders with a plain white t-shirt underneath, and despite the extreme chill, his bare arms are a rosy color from working inside the burning building.

“Lee, a hose line to the third floor might be the difference between these people having homes to come back to or not.”

“A fifteen-minute break might be the difference between you spending the night in the hospital or not,” Leander challenges, raising his eyebrows and holding Tripp’s eye contact without flinching.

“Wow! Wow, wow, wow wee !” Leander’s niece, Chloe, pipes up loudly from where she’s sprawled out in a camp chair nearby, one leg over the arm as she accepts her temporary benching from Lee much more gracefully than Tripp. Which is really something, since Chloe is frequently a disrespectful little shit—just like her father, his brother—though Leander loves her endlessly.

“Rawr,” she continues, making a claw with her hand. “You could cut that sexual tension with a knife.” She laughs, and Tripp’s second, Mac (also benched beside her), joins in so enthusiastically he nearly falls off of his chair.

Ignoring them all, Tripp just narrows his eyes and tips his head, the unspoken message he’s sending to Leander crystal-clear. But this is Leander’s job, and neither Gunnar nor Mickey is going to be so dumb as to overrule a medic— a Captain— who says that a firefighter needs a break, so Leander’s unclear why Tripp even thinks there’s a battle to fight here. After another tense minute of staring, Tripp sighs and relents, sinking down onto the truck’s bumper and ripping the radio mic off of the belt loop where it’s been clipped since he shucked his jacket.

“Lieutenant Fifteen to Fire Command,” he says, after depressing the ‘talk’ button and waiting for the channel to click open. Gunnar answers in short order, and Tripp rolls his eyes. “I’ll be with EMS for fifteen,” he says grudgingly.

“Ten-four,” crackles the reply, and Tripp slumps back against the truck, folding his arms across his chest, defeated. Totally because it’s his job and not at all to rub the salt of his moral victory into the wound, Leander makes his way to Tripp’s side and drapes a hospital blanket around his shoulders.

“There, there,” he says blandly, biting back his smirk as Tripp glares. In his peripheral vision, Leander’s attention is caught by another team entering the apartment building with an additional hose line. “Look at that,” he says. “A line for the third floor.”

The bottle of water in Tripp’s hand crackles as he crushes it into his palm. “You’re such a dick.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Leander tells him, squeezing his shoulder as he uses it for leverage to climb up into the ambulance and retrieve some more linens. “Later.” Thrillingly, Tripp’s eyes go slightly wide and he drops his head, shifting against the bumper in a way that Leander recognizes easily as Tripp feeling arousal while wearing a cage. Nylon, of course, because fire, but still.

Delightful.

“Whoa,” Mac says suddenly, prompting Leander to glance over his shoulder, only to find the mullet-sporting firefighter leaning forward in his chair, intent. His eyes are narrowed and he’s moving his hand back and forth as if he’s trying to suss out the energy between Leander and Tripp. “When did the two of you end the mating dance and get physical?”

Having picked that very moment to take a drink from his semi-crushed bottle, Tripp sputters water and Leander barks out a laugh. Unsurprisingly, Chloe swiftly comes to their ‘rescue’, because mocking her uncle is one of her favorite pastimes.

“Are you serious, Mac? Where do you live, under a rock? They’ve been fucking for months,” she declares, only somewhat derisively.

“Chloe,” Leander snaps. “Don’t be crass.”

“Sorry, Uncle Lee,” she murmurs as she sips her own water, apparently appropriately chastised.

It’s Tripp’s turn to laugh, relaxing back against the truck and shaking his bottle in her direction. “You got owned,” he says, amused.

“No more than you,” Chloe shoots back without missing a beat. “At least my girlfriend has the decency to get me off when she fucks me over like that. Ooh, burn .” She smirks and Tripp blinks, clearly taken aback.

“Chloe,” Leander admonishes again, but he’s weak and has to turn away, busying himself with pretending to rearrange supplies in one of the cabinets so that Tripp doesn’t see him fighting hard not to smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tripp mutters petulantly.

“Fine, fine,” Chloe says with a sigh, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Uncle Lee, if I stop teasing your not- boyfriend over how whipped he is, can I go?”

Jumping down from the ambulance box, Leander dons his stethoscope and goes through the motions of checking Chloe’s vital signs once more. He records them in the neat list he’s keeping that’s secured to his clipboard, updating Chloe’s column just below her previous measurements and her name, and then nods.

“Be careful,” he instructs. “Your father will have my head if something happens to you. You know that he still asks me to bench you for entire fires, on principle.” Chloe just shrugs as she pulls her long blonde hair back into a ponytail, slips her bunker jacket over her shoulders, and dons her helmet.

“He’s a good dad.” She stands on her toes to kiss Leander’s cheek, and he pretends he’s not entirely warmed by it. “So are you. Later. Later, Fireman Sam. Enjoy riding the pine.” As Chloe steps over the leaking five-inch line and disappears around a drafting engine parked between them and the actual fire, Leander sighs.

“I’m not whipped,” Tripp protests from somewhere behind him, and Leander raises his eyes to the sky. Lord help him. Is it six a.m. yet?

***

06:30 A.M

Much as Leander enjoys having Tripp in his space and would never, ever turn him away, he’s secretly relieved when Tripp doesn’t come home with him in the morning. The night was long and cold and exhausting for both of them, and uninterrupted sleep is a necessity, considering what they have planned for later. Still, as Leander hauls his overnight bag from the warmth of the EMS station out to his running car, the way his breath puffs clouds into the freezing morning air makes the quiet of the still-sleeping street feel that much more lonely.

All around him, in row homes and apartment buildings, families are just beginning to stir, waking up to a new day and to each other. Secretly, Leander wants that, but has no idea how to go about getting it. Solitary as he must seem to others, he always feels least alone when he’s with Tripp, secondarily when he’s working or out with his EMS family. Increasingly as of late, returning to his empty apartment feels less like sanctuary, less of a reprieve from the violent, hectic hustle and bustle of the world. These days, it feels more like a punishment for demiromantic failures who can’t force themselves to snatch the first warm body they can reasonably tolerate in order to fulfill the goal of not ending up alone.

The door to the station bangs open behind him, sent flying into the outside wall by the sole of Marley’s boot, culminating in a noisy crash of metal on brick. She staggers out, full-handed with a stack of books, her laptop and charger, and the fluffy blanket and pillow she insists on carting along to every shift. Leander pauses to watch as she blinks tiredly against the low-set morning sun. After pausing to indulge an enormous yawn—complete with eye-closing and some extremely dramatic noises—Marley waves awkwardly without removing either arm from around her pile.

“See ya, Lee,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Are you alright to drive home?”

“Taking the bus,” Marley replies. “Always take the bus. Cars are for flush paramedics, I can barely pay rent in this city on my salary.”

Leander scrunches up his face and narrows his eyes at her. “You regularly skim off of the R.N.C.’s fundraising efforts and you live in a rent-controlled walk-up with your ‘mother’,” he reminds her, putting the last word in air quotes. Marley’s mother passed away years ago, but her greedy landlord doesn’t need to know that.

“True,” Marley replies brightly. “Still, girl’s gotta save for Comic-Con.”

“Get in,” Leander tells her, gesturing toward his passenger seat as he slides behind the wheel.

“Well, if you insist. Girl’s also gotta save her strength for da club tonight!!”

During their ride, Marley seems to gain her second wind, chattering on about Beau's impending bachelor party and how awesome it is that he and Bri are hosting a combined outing that still includes a trip to the strip club. By the time he lets her off a good ten blocks from his own place, Leander’s even more exhausted. Oblivious to his state, Marley thanks him and waves goodbye enthusiastically, still yelling about plans for the night when Leander drives off.

Finally back inside his apartment, Leander only gets as far as his living room couch, stripping off his multiple shirts and dropping them carelessly on the floor before collapsing down onto the cushions. It’s just one of those mornings, and he’s not in the mood to walk even one step further. With his duty pants on and boots still firmly in place on his feet, Leander passes out cold, an arm slung across his face and a leg trailing over the side of the sofa.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Groaning, Leander unsticks his forearm from his face, rubbing fingertips into eyes that are still heavy with sleep. If ever there were a day to turn over and let blissful unconsciousness sweep him away again, this would be it. Unfortunately for Leander, he has plans.

Stupid plans.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm on Leander’s phone is relentless and irritating, buzzing against the glass of his coffee table what feels like a very distant two feet away. Without so much as opening his eyes, Leander throws an arm out to grab for the device and blindly turn it off. Unfortunately, his hand never makes it to the table, colliding instead (and with oomph ) into something that feels worryingly flesh-and-bone-like.

Oh, dear.

“Oof—oh, fuck!” Tripp grunts as Leander’s eyes fly open and he bolts upright, finding his lovely submissive kneeling and naked, save for his collar and those gorgeous lacy green panties. While welcome, their presence does have Leander beginning to wonder if they’re perhaps some sort of cursed item.

Down on the floor, Tripp is wincing, pressing gingerly with the tips of his fingers at the curve of his cheekbone and around his left eye socket, because apparently, Leander has just cold-clocked him in the face.

“Oh, Tripp,” he sympathizes, reaching out to cup Tripp’s face and tip it towards the dying evening sunlight for better examination. No red or purple is blossoming beneath the skin just yet, so with any luck, Leander didn’t hit him as hard as the impact felt against his knuckles. Oops. “I am so sorry, darling. Come with me, let’s put some ice on that. Quickly, so that it doesn’t bruise.”

Once he’s up off of the couch, Leander bends down to scoop an arm underneath Tripp’s bicep in order to help him stand. He’s a bit slow to straighten, and his knees both crack in protest, which suggests to Leander that he’s been on the floor for quite some time.

“This was a very considerate and welcome surprise,” he offers, an ironic little smile playing over his lips as Tripp glares up at him, struggling to get vertical.

“I spend over an hour on my knees tryin’ to apologize for my shitty attitude last night and I still get punched in the face,” he grumbles half-heartedly, before gesturing to his own ass. As previously noted, it’s beautifully-encased in lace and silk, and it flexes as Tripp limps ahead of Leander towards the kitchen. “Wrapped up your present all pretty and everything.”

“I adore it,” Leander assures him, pulling a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and wrapping it up in a dishtowel. Instead of placing the bundle in Tripp’s outstretched palm, Leander crowds him up against the counter and steps between his legs. He holds onto the makeshift ice pack himself, pressing the compress gently to the side of Tripp’s face. Difficult as always, Tripp makes a face at the contact and tips his head away, but Leander fusses and insists, squeezing Tripp’s ass cheek in warning with his free hand when he doesn’t immediately comply.

“Alright, alright,” Tripp mutters, settling for covering Leander’s hand with his own until he slips it out and lets the stubborn brat hold the ice himself. “Only because I don’t need to hear the jokes Christian will definitely make if he sees me walking in with a shiner.”

“I will never understand what Beau sees in him,” Leander agrees, still fully invading Tripp’s space, both hands on his ass now and mouth freely trailing over his neck and collarbone with increasing interest. “Speaking of which—if you’d woken me when you arrived, we would have actually had time to give these gorgeous panties the attention they deserve. Unfortunately for you, I had that alarm set for the absolute last minute, which means that we need to be out the door in…”

Leander pauses and pulls back from Tripp’s skin for long enough to glance down at his watch. “Less than half an hour.”

The pout that appears on Tripp’s face is all the confirmation Leander needs to feel like he might be open to another outside-the-playroom scene. They haven’t attempted anything since the tuxedo fittings, even though he’s personally been dying to try. Especially since—as far as Leander’s concerned—that whole situation was fairly mild, and Tripp got off extremely easily. Figuratively and literally.

Time to up the ante.

He licks his lips before glancing the scant few inches up at Tripp, unsurprised to find him staring back intently. “Are you up for an uncollared scene tonight?”

The change in Tripp is immediate, and positive—his entire face lights up. “Absolutely, Sir,” he replies. Leander opens his mouth and then closes it again, thoughtful.

“Actually,” he says, tapping a finger against his lips as he steps back and looks Tripp over. “Humor me. Take off your collar for a moment and let me see it.” Tripp complies without hesitation, handing the strip of leather over easily, likely since he knows that it doesn’t genuinely mark an ending to their dynamic. In turn, Leander flips Tripp’s wrist over and wraps the collar around twice, securing it like a bracelet.

“Hmm,” he says, intrigued. “I’m not exactly a font of fashion knowledge, but this seems relatively on trend. And you do wear jewelry, on occasion.”

“I do,” Tripp agrees. “Sir.”

“Thoughts?”

“I like it, Sir. I’m on board. Thank you, Sir.”

“Good,” Leander acknowledges with a smile and another squeeze to Tripp’s ass before he steps away definitively. “Then retrieve your plug from the drawer, go into the bathroom, clean yourself up, and get ready. I expect those panties to be on underneath your jeans when you’re done.”

Watching with poorly-concealed amusement as Tripp scurries away, Leander leans back against the countertop for all of thirty seconds before realizing his error. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself, looking down at his bare chest and the remainder of his duty uniform that he still has on from last night. A quick whiff under his arm has him recoiling, and he sent Tripp to the only bathroom his apartment has to offer. With a sigh, he heads into his bedroom and raps on the adjoining door.

“Quickly, Tripp,” he calls out, not sticking around to try and decipher Tripp’s muffled reply.

Oh well, Leander thinks as he rifles through his drawers, trying to find clothing that’s both club-appropriate and also guaranteed to rile Tripp up. Strip joints aren’t really Leander’s thing, but screwing with Tripp all night definitely is. Beau will forgive them if they’re slightly late, anyway. Lately, whenever he and Tripp turn up together somewhere, Beau reliably gets it into his head that they’re one step closer to declaring their mutual undying love and tying the knot.

Beau clearly doesn’t know his own brother very well.

… Not that Leander thinks for even one second that Beau wants to know all of the dirty details he’s tucked away, regarding what makes Tripp tick.

Smiling wickedly, Leander slips the remote for the plug—the one that’s innocuously replaced Tripp’s usual one—into his pocket. Deviously left in the former plug’s place in the armoire drawer, it was positioned for an opportune moment such as this. Leander doubts very much that Tripp even noticed a difference when he picked the imposter up. Without question, the results of this set-up will be well worth their little delay.

Fifteen toe-tapping minutes later, Tripp emerges from the steamy bathroom flushed and damp, wearing the ripped jeans Leander loves on him and a plain white Henley that hugs his toned biceps and chest like a beautiful dream. The necklace Beau gifted him when they were kids hangs on a leather cord around his neck, and his emerald green collar looks—as Leander suspected it would—fittingly stylish around his wrist. With his hair spiked up and a fresh, new-looking pair of black combat boots on his feet, the whole package is positively mouth-watering.

Briefly, Leander considers whether Beau would still forgive them if they were very late, subsequently forcing himself to dismiss the pantheon of ideas that parade through his mind of all the ways he could ruin Tripp’s outfit before they even step out the front door.

What he’s thinking must show on his face, because Tripp smirks—he knows he looks good. Leander would punish him for the insolence , but they are running behind, and besides, his revenge is already in his hands, in more ways than one. Knowing that, instead of acknowledging the attitude, Leander brushes by Tripp without a single word and shuts himself inside the bathroom. He showers and shaves in record time before quickly throwing on his own clothes and gelling up his hair.

Checking his look in the mirror, it’s Leander’s turn to smirk. Dark jeans, a charcoal gray collared button-down with the sleeves rolled up, topped off with a solid black waistcoat and a deep red tie tucked smartly behind the buttons.

Forearms? Check. Broad chest, trim waist? Check. Ass? Double check.

Tripp is toast.

Spritzing a little of the cologne that he’s noticed Tripp tends to sniff on his skin with heightened interest, Leander jams his feet back into his duty boots (because Tripp loves those, too, but also because they’re already dirty from work, so a strip club floor probably won’t make them worse). He laces them tight and then strides out into the living room like he hasn’t the faintest clue why Tripp’s jaw nearly hits the floor.

“ Lee,” Tripp whines, hands tucked between his thighs as he squirms like a hooked fish on Leander’s couch. Thankfully, his face still appears to be bruise-free.

“ Lee?” Leander repeats with intention, his tone incredulous and his eyebrow raised challengingly.

“Sir,” Tripp amends, easily chastised and shrinking in on himself slightly while still eyeballing Leander’s form with open desire. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Checking his watch for the umpteenth time, Leander sighs. They are already late, what’s another few minutes? “You know,” he says, pacing slowly across the room until he comes to a stop directly in front of Tripp, where he turns a sharp forty-five degrees on his heel to face him. “I let you slide with that often, don’t I?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp mumbles, swallowing visibly, his cheeks turning pink.

“And you’ll be calling me Lee all evening, by mutual agreement. That’s a gift, from me to you. As such, you would think you’d have enough respect for me not to do it here.” Leander taps his foot as Tripp raises his eyes guiltily. “Either we can end the scene now, or you can accept your punishment.”

Right away, Tripp shakes his head and blows out a breath based in what is very clearly relief, just as Leander knew he would. “Oh, I—Sir, I accept whatever you see fit to give me. Sir. Please.”

So predictable. So wonderfully willing.

“From your mouth…” Leander says with a shrug, like he couldn’t care less ( he cares). “Alright, as you wish. Stand up, pull your jeans down to your thighs and bend over, hands on the arm of the couch.” Tripp complies swiftly and Leander struggles to hold back a groan of arousal when the panties appear once again. Stretched tight over the curve of Tripp’s ass, the jewel-toned fabric accentuates the freckles on his skin, making them stand out. Adorable and enticing, all in one.

“Safeword,” Leander requests softly, running gentle fingers over one of Tripp’s cheeks, dipping down under the satin just to feel the plug nestled in place there. This whole scene provokes a wildly intense wave of possessiveness over his sub, and Leander feels very pleased with himself that he’s found a way— an excuse, if you will —to mark him up before they venture out in public.

“Halligan,” Tripp replies dutifully, his words slightly muffled by the way he has his face buried in his own arms.

“And are you using it?”

“No, Sir.”

The first smack to each cheek is reasonably gentle, just warming the skin up. Leander loves this part, would linger here a lot longer if they didn’t have other places to be. Alas . Five strikes on each side: that’s what Leander decided on before Tripp even accepted his punishment, and it’s what he doles out accordingly. When it comes to strength of impact, he doesn’t hold back—Tripp can take it, he’s practically a pro by now—and after ten, his own hand is smarting something fierce.

When he’s finished, both of Tripp’s cheeks are delightfully red. They’re stunningly contrasted against the pretty green panties, and it takes every fucking ounce of Leander’s self-restraint and practiced control of both his body and mind to stop himself from yanking Tripp’s plug and taking him right then and there. God knows, Tripp wouldn’t protest.

In the end, it’s the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment—a deterrent even—for Tripp that stops him, but Leander’s still slightly regretful. By his own estimation, there’s less than a five percent chance they’re going to make it back to this apartment tonight without him coming at least once, preferably inside Tripp and hopefully while finally getting his hands on those damn panties.

Leander indulges in the possibilities that lay ahead regarding that very thing while he considers whether to put gel on Tripp’s ass (no), ultimately yanking him to his feet from behind and tucking him back into the jeans himself.

The cage Tripp was wearing last night is gone, Leander can’t help notice, though he did give permission for Tripp to take it off before going to sleep this morning. In truth, not having it on will likely make this night much harder for a sub new to public play, which is interesting, and not something Leander is going to point out. He’s anxious to see what Tripp does with it.

Adorably, Tripp gasps a little when Leander turns him around, but he goes pliant when Lee fists a hand in his hair and tugs him into a pretty intense, brutal kiss that’s mostly tongue in his mouth and teeth against his bottom lip. The effect is pleasing to Leander’s eye when he pulls away—Tripp’s still plenty put together, but just mussed enough that a discerning eye could guess what he’s been up to.

Tonight, Leander’s feeling reckless. Most of their friends know by now that he and Tripp are hooking up, and Leander wants people to notice, wants them to ask. Wants them to be aware that in nearly every way that matters, Tripp is his.

Fuck propriety.

***

As it turns out, Beau did not forgive them for their lateness quite so easily. In fact, when Leander and Tripp didn’t show up at the designated meeting spot outside the Truetts’ apartment building for a full thirty minutes after they were supposed to arrive, and neither of them were answering their phones, Beau instructed the rented party bus to leave them behind.

That alone was enough to wreck Tripp’s good mood, sending him into a spiral of moping and grumbling that Leander tires of extremely quickly. It’s nearly enough to prompt him to bust out the secret weapon in his pocket, but they are driving, and Leander isn’t interested in spending the remainder of his evening being pried off of whatever tree he and this bunch of metal become forcibly wrapped around.

“Marley doesn’t drink, Tripp,” Leander finally interjects with a heavy sigh, interrupting an endless rant about Beau’s expectation that Tripp would leave his beloved vehicle overnight downtown for “just anyone” to come along and “violate”.

The wrinkles in Tripp’s forehead deepen and he looks honestly confused. “So?”

“Sooo, she can drive us home. Back to my place.” Leander corrects his misstep quickly and casually, and thankfully, Tripp doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Or at least, he doesn’t say anything if he does.

When he chances to glance over at him again, Tripp is still scowling, but he doesn’t look quite so miserable, and Leander recognizes that the night might yet be salvaged. If not, then the hell with it, he will stay sober and drive the damn car home. He’ll do anything to stop this whining.

“Fine,” Tripp grumbles eventually. “I’ll find her when we get there, make sure she’s cool with that.”

“She’ll be the one buried beneath the largest pile of ladies, of that I am sure,” Leander replies mildly before turning his attention back to the passing scenery.

As they’re pulling into the club’s parking lot, Tripp suddenly clears his throat, his tone taking on the particular hesitant twang that only appears when he knows he’s about to say something Leander won’t like. Well, when he knows he’s about to say something Leander won’t like and he’s not excited about it. Let’s face it, sometimes Tripp is an asshole.

Luckily for Tripp, this is not one of those times.

“You do know that this is my ex’s club, right?”

“Suzy works here?” Leander’s slightly surprised, but not overly put out. Tripp’s past is his own business, it’s not as if either of them thought the other was a pristine, blushing virgin when they started hooking up.

“Yeah, well.” Tripp pulls the key out of the ignition and fiddles with it in one hand before shrugging. “Not a lot of choice around here. Pretty sure this is the only club within fifty miles where you aren’t risking some kind of disease just by walking in.”

That, Leander can’t argue with. He knows of at least two additional strip joints—one in the depths of the city and one on the outskirts—but both have a reputation for unsavory activities occurring on the premises. Leander himself has taken several overdoses out of the bathrooms in both places, and responded to at least one stabbing. To be fair, that was in the parking lot.

Regardless, Suzy being present tonight doesn’t bother him. If anything, he’s much more surprised by this venue’s proximity to the BDSM social club he’s visited on rare occasion, and is busy wondering if there’s any overlap in clientele. The idea that Tripp is nervous because he wants to flirt with Suzy or because he’s concerned about Suzy flirting with him—those possibilities hardly register, never mind faze Leander in the least, but then again, he’s perhaps overly practical in that way.

If Tripp wanted to be with Suzy, he would undoubtedly still be with her. If he wanted boring, vanilla sex with a hot female stripper, he wouldn’t have thrown it away when he had it grinding in his lap. What is there to be jealous of? For Leander, it’s easy as anything to shrug Tripp’s warning off and head inside to get on with the night.

Somehow, none of those very common-sense-infused, very logical thoughts translate when Leander actually sees Suzy, mostly naked and with her ass raised high as heaven in her stiletto heels, straddling Tripp where he’s sprawled in a chair next to Beau.

It’s less than an hour into the party at this point, and Beau, drunk and happy as he is, was already completely over Leander and Tripp’s fashionably late entrance by the time they arrived. Tucked back into the booth beside Tripp’s chair, Bri is perched on Beau's lap, their friends scattered around them, all laughing and talking and oblivious to Leander plotting the murder of a stripper at the bar.

He only even came over here to surprise Tripp with a glass of expensive whiskey, and now he’s regretting it. Leander supposes he’ll never know what would have happened had he been sitting next to Tripp, perhaps with their ankles intertwined beneath the table, when Suzy came over to say hello. Would Tripp have introduced him as his…his what? They aren’t boyfriends. Leander scratches his head, completely aware that he’s being unfair and petulant, and all of the many things he regularly scolds Tripp for being.

Instead of acting the part of a well-adjusted adult, he gulps the thirty-five dollar glass of whiskey in front of him like it’s a two dollar shot and pulls the remote free from his pocket. The club is dark but relatively airy and cool, not overly sticky or hot or smelly. Leander’s glad for that as he tries his best to melt into the shadows off to the side of the bar, hoping that none of Suzy’s probable sticky-sweet perfume or her glittery sweat will cling to Tripp once she’s gone.

Across the room, ‘Candy’— Suzy ’s stage name, Leander is…sixty percent sure—undulates her hips in Tripp’s lap, her arms wrapping lazily over his shoulders and around his neck. She’s breaking the no-touching rule so casually, so intimately , like it’s nothing. Like Tripp is something special to her, so he’s an exception.

A semi-drunk Leander sees red, especially when Tripp’s head tips back slightly, seductively, to make eye contact with his ex and smile, his hand brushing the small of her back.

With a roll of his eyes, Leander switches the remote in his hand to “on,” cranks the voltage up, and watches with barely-concealed glee as Tripp jerks violently in his chair and sends Chastity-Cinnamon-whatever-her-name-is tumbling down onto the ground.

Feeling merciful, Leander dials back the intensity on the vibrating butt plug as Tripp doubles over, struggling to wheeze out an apology and simultaneously help Tiffani Amber Annoying back to her feet. As Leander cocks his head to the side and swivels on his stool in amusement, Tripp sends the dazed stripper on her way before whipping his head around the room until his eyes land on their target, narrowing dangerously.

Busted.

Before Leander can so much as grin back at him, a redheaded blur appears in front of his face, forcing his eyes to blink and refocus. It takes him several seconds to do so, his vision not quite as clear as it was when he and Tripp walked into the bar. Whether that’s from jealousy, whiskey, or a lethal combination of the two, Leander can’t be entirely certain.

“Hiya!” Marley says brightly, fixing him with a knowing look and bouncing her eyebrows as she gestures to the remote. Leander glances down at it guiltily, having failed to conceal the device swiftly enough in his pocket to escape her keen notice. “Petty revenge? One step away from a public claiming, there. Hmm, you never seemed like the jealous type to me, but it’s always the quiet ones.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Psh, save it, Leander,” Marley interrupts in a huff as she slides onto the stool next to him and waves down the bartender. “Two of whatever the fruitiest, most ridiculous thing on the menu is, please,” she orders before turning her attention back on to him. “Listen. There’s not a thing about battery-operated sex toys your girl doesn’t know about. For both of our sakes, let’s assume I’m telling the truth and leave it at that.”

“Fair enough,” Leander agrees with a nod, flipping the remote to its lowest setting and tucking it away. Once again, he finds himself grateful for the low lighting, hoping it’s enough to mask his rising blush at being called out.

“So?” Marley persists, and as much as he could use an ear, she’s Tripp’s friend too, so Leander decides to play dumb.

“It’s just a game,” he deflects. “You know Tripp and I…” He trails off as the bartender produces two enormous hurricane glasses filled with blue liquid swirled in purple, plus what appears to be a sampling of every fruit the bar has on offer, and then some. Each monstrosity is delicately-topped with a colorful little umbrella.

“Oh, I know, ” Marley assures him, rolling her own eyes and patting the bar with her open palm. “Hey, I gotta get back. Ro's keeping my seat by the stage warm, and there’s a really hot girl dancing next. She came by the table earlier, flirted like crazy with Tripp.”

“Oh?” Leander replies, doing his best to sound casual, keeping his eyes focused on the neon alcohol in front of him and the way it shimmers as he plunges the accompanying straw further into the glass. I don’t care, he tells himself.

“Mmhmm,” Marley says, punctuating with a nod before continuing. “Right after you two came in. Not that Tripp had any clue, or even noticed her at all. He was busy watching some oblivious, tall, dark, and dreamy dude apologizing to Bri halfway across the room.” Startled, Leander’s head snaps up to find Marley beaming at him. She sighs, all pretend-exasperation before ruffling his hair and hopping down off of her bar stool. “Yes, you , doofus. God, if you two weren’t so deliciously perfect together, I swear I’d wash my hands of you both. The angst!”

“Hey,” Leander calls after her as she starts to walk away. “You forgot your drink.”

Marley throws him a wink and a cocky finger gun. “I don’t drink, remember? But I know someone who does, and I think you owe him an apology.” With that, Marley saunters away, back to the splintered group from their party hanging out by the stage. They’re chatting and spilling drinks, preparing to throw some bills, and Leander clocks Christian and Brett sitting among them, feeling secretly glad that they’re nowhere near Tripp.

After shooting a glance in Tripp’s direction and finding him very guardedly sitting with his arms folded, legs crossed, blatantly not looking his way, Leander sighs and picks up the two glasses. With absolutely no intention of apologizing—for this or anything else he’s going to rain down on Tripp’s head tonight—he makes his way over and slides into the booth next to his friend, where Tripp has relocated from his former chair. Leander supposes that it’s probably easier to hide any discomfort, sunk back into the bench seat the way that he is.

Across the table, Bri and Beau are making out enthusiastically, groping at each other in a more graphic manner than Leander’s ever seen from either normally-reserved person in public.

Good for them, he thinks, a small smile tugging up the corner of his lips. Without a word, Leander slides Tripp’s drink in front of him and then slips a hand beneath the table to squeeze his thigh. Still pouting, Tripp leans forward and drinks half of the concoction in one go, unable to resist letting a pleased little noise slip from his throat. It’s terribly, painfully endearing.

“Hey Leeee,” Beau slurs, finally surfacing from Bri's embrace and taking notice of the new arrival at the table. “Havin’ fun?”

“Yes. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this drunk,” Leander points out good-naturedly, as an equally intoxicated Briana drops her head to Beau's shoulder. After beaming happily at Leander, she then switches to sloppily draining some water from a random glass on the table, before ultimately returning to mouthing at Beau's neck. Tripp wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“I need to piss,” he announces loudly, shoving at Leander’s shoulder in an effort to get him to move out of the seat. It’s not the need, but the way he goes about it that has Leander swearing internally he’ll make the man pay. He growls quietly in warning, even as he stands, but Tripp’s only response is to nearly fall over him in his haste to escape the booth. Lee's hand drifts across his ass as he goes, mostly accidental, the low key vibrations only noticeable because he’s checking.

As Leander sits back down, his eyes never leave Tripp’s retreating form—watching, waiting for a sign, and— there. Right before he disappears inside the unisex restroom, Tripp glances back over his shoulder, making pointed eye contact that absolutely cannot be mistaken for anything other than what it is.

An invitation. The implications of that look, that offer, steal Leander’s entire brain capacity, and only after Beau has said his name several times does Leander even realize anyone was talking. With reluctance, he tears his eyes away from the still-closing bathroom door, redirecting his attention to the pair of tipsy lovebirds openly laughing at him.

“Wow,” Bri remarks, lolling against Beau's side as she waves her index finger vaguely in Leander’s direction. “You…you’re...” She trails off and squints, tipping her head up and slapping Beau's cheek gently. “What is he, again?”

“I’unno,” Beau slurs back. “A dumbass, just like my brother.” He laughs, loudly, and then smacks the table hard, rattling the glasses. “Lee, don’ hate me for telling you the truth, alright?”

“Never, Beau,” Leander replies automatically, sipping at Tripp’s abandoned drink, since he’s already emptied his own. His brain is starting to turn extremely fuzzy, so it’s probably time to slow down, but a few more swallows of what seems to be mostly sugar won’t hurt.

“Tripp…” Beau slurs. “He is so gone on you. And you,” Beau says more firmly, sitting up in a way that causes Bri to fall over and planting his elbow on the table so he can jab an accusatory finger across it. “You’re not any better.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Leander replies noncommittally, still stirring at his drink.

“Well, aren’t you going to go after him?” Bri pipes up, smiling knowingly, and Leander glances over at her, surprised.

“Oh, just go,” Beau chimes in, waving Leander off and turning back into his bride-to-be’s embrace to continue making out. Pretty soon after, Leander might as well be sewn into the vinyl of the booth, for all the attention he’s being paid. He squints at the still-closed bathroom door, chews his lip for a moment, and then makes a break for it.

Leander barely has a foot through the narrow opening when his shirt is grabbed and he’s yanked the rest of the way inside, Tripp’s hand in his hair and a tongue down his throat. Making a surprised noise, Leander reacts immediately, ripping Tripp away and slapping him across the face before shoving him up against the wall from behind. With a hand twisted in the hair at the crown of Tripp’s head and the other pinning the hand Tripp was using to grope his crotch to the door, Leander uses the length of his body to keep a struggling Tripp still.

“You really think you call the shots, don’t you?”

Tripp doesn’t respond, just wiggles valiantly beneath him, and that ass moving against his groin isn’t doing anything to slow things down. “I know what you’re doing,” Leander continues, dropping Tripp’s wrist in favor of yanking his jeans to his thighs, keeping his own shoulders pressed against Tripp’s so that he’s still effectively trapped.

“Teasing me, trying to make me jealous, now baiting me into fucking you. Fine,” Leander snaps, yanking Tripp away from the door by his hair, pants low enough to make the move awkward. Predictably, he stumbles, and Leander is there to catch, recalibrating them both in front of the sink and the mirror above it.

Tripp is beautifully messy in his reflection, pupils dilated from both the alcohol and arousal, hair destroyed, cheeks pink and lips parted—Leander couldn’t say no to him if he tried.

“I’ll give you what you want, and I’ll make you regret it.”

The skin peeking out from beneath green lace is still slightly pink, and Leander kneads both of Tripp’s cheeks greedily before tugging the fabric to one side. After that, he doesn’t mess around. Leander unzips his pants, pulls his cock out over his boxer briefs and then removes Tripp’s plug, holding it in his hand.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” he murmurs. “Or you won’t be coming at all tonight.”

In his drunken state, Leander’s a little unsteady, and it takes him two tries to line himself up and push inside. Tripp doesn’t seem to notice or care, rocking on his heels and whimpering with need. His rim is wonderfully slick and relaxed when Leander nudges at it, allowing him to sink inside easily, sliding until his hips are flush with Tripp’s gorgeous ass.

With his free hand, he wraps fingers around Tripp’s neck from behind, forcing the man to keep his head up and to look himself in the eyes as Leander fucks him, slow and deep. “Don’t bait me, Tripp,” he warns, tightening his fingers just enough to make Tripp’s eyes go wide and his lips part, before relaxing them again. “Tell me, who do you belong to?”

Tripp works to catch his breath, moaning as Leander punches out a particularly emphatic thrust against his prostate, but Leander only leans in, plastering their bodies together from shoulder to thigh and nipping at Tripp’s ear.

“Who do you belong to, Tripp? Whose ass is this?” He removes his hand from Tripp’s throat for just long enough to give said ass a little spank. Not fighting the visceral urge to expose his sub further, Leander grabs at the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it upward, shoving the material through the opening around his tanned, collarless— but not ownerless —neck. He likes the way it looks, Tripp's body on display, the fabric bunched at his nape.

“Tell me, Tripp!”

“You!” Tripp gasps out, “Yours! Oh, God, yes, Lee! I’m yours, Lee!”

“You’re damn right,” Leander replies, picking up the pace with his hips and chasing his own orgasm, tempting and powerful on the horizon. He’d love to yank Tripp’s thigh up, really bend him over and push his head down onto the counter, but they’re limited by the constraints of Tripp’s jeans, so what he has will have to do.

He settles for twisting a hand into the knot of Tripp’s rucked-up shirt, admiring the way he appears mostly naked despite all of his clothing still technically being on. As his peak approaches, fueled by Tripp’s gorgeous little noises and moans beneath him, Leander fucks him hard straight through it: no warning, no mercy.

He’s so overcome by pleasure and the sight of Tripp totally wrecked in the mirror, that Leander barely reacts when the door to the bathroom clicks open and Suzy is standing there, her lipstick-painted mouth frozen in a perfect “O”.

It’s ludicrous and delicious, and Leander loves every second of watching her react and flee. He’s never laughed his way through an orgasm until now, but there’s a first time for everything. At the very least, Leander still has the presence of mind to grab the base of Tripp’s cock and stop him from coming, since by the sound of it, he was working up to a pretty amazing finish.

As soon as he’s milked himself dry in Tripp’s ass and he’s sure that releasing Tripp’s dick won’t result in anything besides raging disappointment, Leander pulls out and replaces his cock with the plug. Meanwhile, Tripp catches on, all too quick to start crying and begging, pleading his case.

“No, no, no, Lee, please, please let me come,” he sobs into his folded arms, awkwardly still bent over the counter next to the sink.

Since Tripp is in no state to do so—and they’ll be in here all night if they wait until he is—Leander rights Tripp’s underwear and jeans, buttoning them up and turning him around to cradle him in his arms. Tripp’s still-hard cock strains against the unforgiving material of his pants and he looks positively destroyed, just how Leander likes him.

“Lee,” he whines, as Leander kisses the side of his neck, his jaw, and finally, his lips. “This is so cruel.”

“Oh, baby,” Leander soothes, flashing a devious grin as his palm caresses softly down the side of Tripp’s face. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

As he’s leading a reluctant (but no longer mopey, surprisingly) Tripp back out onto the club floor, Tripp seems to abruptly remember the details of what happened in the bathroom. He stops Leander with a hand on his chest, looking horrified. “Please tell me I imagined Suzy walking in on us,” he says, eyes wide, and when Leander simply grins in return, slaps a hand over his mouth. “Jesus Christ. What a way to out yourself to an ex.”

“I thought it was spectacular,” Leander tells him, resuming their walk back to the table. “Now we all know who you belong to.”

As he not-so-subtly adjusts his pants, Tripp snorts. “Yeah listen, I’m into this, but if it’s all the same to you, let’s not repeat that display with Christian. Dude already hates me enough for one lifetime.”

Leander snorts derisively but doesn’t promise anything. Truthfully, he’d appreciate the loosest excuse to rearrange Tripp’s cousin’s features, although part of him suspects that the man really only hates himself. Tripp is simply a convenient target, someone who reminds him of all the things he wants but is too damn cowardly to reach out and take.

“We’ll see,” is what he settles on saying aloud, releasing Tripp’s hand so that he can drag over a chair and motion for Tripp to sit in it. He does, albeit with a wary eyebrow raised, like he’s just catching on that Leander still has some major tricks up his sleeve regarding the rest of their night.

“Welcome back,” Marley says smugly from her place on the bench seat Tripp was occupying earlier. To Marley’s right, Ro is tipping the last of her beer out of the glass and into her mouth, and barely-legal Sandy is essentially smushed into the wall on her other side. He doesn’t look as if he minds, though, glitter and a bright smudge of lipstick visible on one rosy cheek, the hazy glow of alcohol glazing his eyes.

“Another round!” Ro yells, haphazardly flagging down a waitress by waving her empty glass around in the air. Across the table, Beau and Bri are still busy with each other, and Leander doubts they even realize that he left and was replaced.

“Alright,” Leander begins, clearing his throat as he looks around and beckons for the first unoccupied stripper he sees to come over to their group. He’s already aware that the no-touching rule at this club can seemingly be bent at the dancer’s discretion, courtesy of Tripp’s ex’s display and possibly Sandy’s cheek, but a quick conversation with the lovely girl he’s engaged confirms that’s the case.

Stepping to the side so that Tripp can’t overhear, Leander holds a brief but pointed discussion with his new friend about what he would like and what he expects from the house before handing over a very large wad of cash.

With a knowing wink, the girl agrees and disappears, promising to be return shortly, and Leander thanks her with a smile. Turning back to the group, they’ve all barely even noticed his distraction, probably assuming he’s just doing what normal men do at a strip club and enjoying the talent. In a way, that’s true.

Bending down, Leander places his lips adjacent to Tripp’s ear so that only he can hear when he says, “Remember, you are not to come tonight until you have my permission. Will that be a problem?”

Tripp makes a dismissive noise. “I’ve got it under control, Lee, thanks,” he replies, patting his crotch. “System standby, I think I’ll make it.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” Leander murmurs before he pulls back, catching the eye of the dancer as she approaches again, a friend by her side. Hiding his smile, Leander moves a chair so that it’s almost perpendicular to Tripp’s, his left knee nearly touching Tripp’s right, but not quite. They’re in perfect line of sight to each other, which is exactly what Leander wants.

“You wanted a lap dance?” Leander asks casually, conversationally. “You’ve got it.”

Before Tripp can protest, the recruited dancer is straddling his lap, grinding down on him. She’s good, Leander can tell from where he’s sitting. Just the right kind of pressure, just enough tease and torment. While she gyrates in Tripp’s lap, her friend waits patiently nearby, and after fifteen or so minutes, the girl gets up and Tripp looks abjectly relieved, flushed and adjusting himself where he sits, clearly thinking that he’s survived.

Unfortunately for Tripp, this torture session is far from over. The girl that’s waiting in the wings takes the previous one’s place in Tripp’s lap, and this one is topless. Now, Leander may be jealous, but he’s not an idiot. He knows that Tripp is attracted to him, has zero insecurities about what he offers and what Tripp needs in the bedroom. On the other hand, he’s known Tripp for many years, and the man enjoys looking at women, especially naked women. It’s just a fact, and in this situation, Leander’s wielding that attraction like a weapon.

It’s a beautiful thing to witness.

Seated catty-corner to Tripp, Leander laughs—he can’t help it, Tripp’s face just looks so pained. As he watches the endless lap dance progress, something hits him softly in the side of his head before tumbling into his lap. It’s a wadded-up napkin, and its wielder is Marley, who’s looking over at him rather incredulously.

“Baller,” she says, nodding in Tripp’s direction with what seems like awe. “Mad respect. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You’d be surprised what I have in me,” Leander replies evenly, shooting her what he knows is a devilish smirk. A waitress stops to drop off their refill pitcher, and Leander accepts the glass of beer Ro offers with thanks. He sips it, the crisp, cold liquid immensely satisfying gliding down his throat after the last hour’s activities.

Impatient for some reason, Marley raises her eyebrows and leans in. “Well?” she prompts. “Did you like my present?” Confused, Leander cocks his head to the side and shakes it slightly as if to say, I don’t know what you’re talking about. In response, Marley’s eyes fixate on something just over his shoulder, and she tips her chin at it. When he turns around to see what’s so interesting, Leander finds Suzy walking past. While he watches, the girl shoots Tripp a brief glance, her cheeks pinkening up as she drops her gaze to the floor and hurries by.

But she— oh.

Turning back to Marley, Leander doesn’t know whether to try and look appreciative, or skeptical, or what. Ultimately, he goes with the night’s theme and just laughs, truly shocked, which is not an emotion that Leander feels very frequently.

“ You did that?” he remarks, leaning forward to clink his beer against Marley’s when she holds it out in a toast.

“Did what?” Ro chimes in, visibly confused, but neither Marley nor Leander answer, both waving her off with mutually conspiratorial giggles. Luckily, another couple of dancers wander by at that moment and stop to chat, sufficient distraction for the table. That includes Beau and Bri, who have finally surfaced for air. All of them slip into easy conversation, talking and laughing and passing bills, continuing to drink and dance and party until Bri finally falls asleep with her head on the table.

During that time, a number of Beau and Bri's co-workers stop by, many of whom Leander is also peripherally acquainted with, thanks to the ER overlap. That’s very pleasant, and he enjoys feeling like a part of the team. Even Christian and Brett seem to be on their best behavior tonight, or perhaps they’re simply occupied with harassing the dancers instead of Beau's other friends and family.

The only person associated with their group who is not having an easy, laid-back sort of evening is Tripp, since Leander ensures there’s an attractive stripper in his lap for the entirety of the event. By the time his allotted money runs out and the last girl bails, Tripp is visibly struggling. He’s not only half-drunk, he’s clearly so aroused it must be painful. His hair is a mess and damp at the edges from sweat, his face is red and he’s damn near panting, crossing one leg over the other just as soon as there’s no one straddling them.

It surely has not helped that Leander’s been sitting close enough to touch, occasionally— alright, frequently —leaning in to whisper filth. Or that he’s been working the settings on the remote in his pocket like it’s personally offended him. It’s all been very entertaining, but Tripp is starting to look increasingly miserable by the minute, and Leander doesn’t want to push him too far.

The minute Tripp closes the space between their chairs, leaning over to brush lips across the shell of his ear in order to whisper, “Please, Sir,” Leander jumps into action.

At that point, it’s all too easy to excuse both himself and Tripp from the group, since Marley knows pretty much exactly what he’s been up to, and has already agreed to take them home. Leander owes her big, he really does. Like, riding in a four a.m. knee pain, big, but that’s a conversation for another day.

No one else seems to take particular notice of Tripp’s state. In all likelihood, they probably believe he’s simply drunk and horny, which is a pretty average state for a living, breathing man at a strip club bachelor party to be experiencing. The two of them walk out with arms around each other—necessary, due to Tripp’s wobbly legs—to a chorus of ‘thank you’s and ‘goodnight, be safe’ type-sentiments from their friends.

“Lee,” Tripp mumbles in his ear, sounding truly pitiful. “Lee, please don’t make me wait. I’ll do whatever you want, all night, I swear. Dude, it hurts.” He does his best to tug Leander towards the bathroom they visited earlier, but Leander is much more sober now (though not entirely), and has no problem resisting.

Steering them back into Marley’s wake as she heads for the exterior doors of the club, Leander smiles and tightens his grasp around Tripp’s waist. “You’re being very good for me, Tripp,” he reassures the man softly. “All this restraint, without so much as a cock ring to help you out. It’s very impressive. I’ll make you a deal, since you’ve endured so beautifully tonight, and it’s been a true pleasure to watch.”

Tripp’s long-suffering expression peers mournfully up from where he’s (somewhat dramatically) planted his face into the curve of Leander’s neck. Their walking suffers a bit for it, but Leander doesn’t mind. In his tipsy state, he can’t be bothered to worry about the way they’re blurring lines like crazy right now. His friend Tripp Truett would never drunkenly wrap himself around Leander in public, would never be so blatantly needy and affectionate.

This is dangerous—this is not friend behavior, and it barely qualifies as part of their scene. It’s certainly not necessary . And yet, Leander hasn’t the slightest inclination to put a stop to it.

As soon as they’re out of the club and into the frigid night air, Leander allows his reckless side to hijack the reins completely, at least for a minute.

“Whoa, holy shit,” Marley squeaks as Tripp gets slammed against the side of the building, Leander pushing both of his arms up next to his head and kissing him slow, deep . “Hey!” She protests, edging close enough to nudge Leander’s hip with the toe of her boot. “ Hey! Yo, let’s get something straight. I love the two of you like the brothers I never wanted, and I totally ship you as my O.T.P., but this?”

She circles a hand in their general direction as Leander breaks away from Tripp’s mouth, biting his own lip to see Tripp’s desperate, dazed eyes staring back and filled with want. His lips are shiny from Leander’s spit, and he would, he absolutely would take him right here and right now, if it were not for Marley hovering in the background.

“ This is not something I ever want to see,” she continues as they resume their walk towards Tripp’s car. “Got it? And don’t even think about desecrating the back seat while I’m driving. I’m serious, Leander, I will put itching powder in your boots the next time we’re on duty together, I swear to Gaia.”

“Of course,” Leander replies easily.

Clearly skeptical of his word, Marley makes him swear to God, Buddha, Scout’s honor, and General Leia Organa before she’ll let them in the car, never mind into the rear seat together. To be fair, Leander never had any intention of finishing off this night in the back seat of Tripp’s car—that would be terribly anti-climactic—so it’s an easy promise to both make and keep. It doesn’t stop him from running fingernails down the inside of Tripp’s thighs as they drive, though, or from pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck.

“Hey,” Tripp says suddenly, just as they’re pulling into the building’s garage and Leander is finishing an Uber order for Marley on his phone. “You said you’d make me a deal. What was that about?” Not wanting to upset the friend doing them a favor with further sex talk, Leander glances up, ensuring that Marley is fully occupied in navigating the narrow path between parked cars to his apartment’s assigned space.

“Why don’t you guess?” he murmurs quietly. “What could I possibly be leaving up to you, at this point in time?”

Before Tripp can answer, Marley’s pulled in, shifted the car into park, and they’re all exiting, repeating the “ thank you and goodnight ” furious exchange of words and hugs previously shared with their other friends back at the club.

“I owe you,” Leander tells Marley, right before they part.

She waves cheerfully, pulling her earbuds out of her bag and inserting them before shrugging. “I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me,” she says with a wink. Another wave and then she’s gone, leaving Leander and Tripp finally, finally alone.

They don’t even make it all the way to the elevator before they’re pulling at clothing. By the time they’re tripping over each other’s feet struggling down the hallway that leads to Leander’s door, both of their pants are undone and Tripp’s shirt is off, hanging from his forearm. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the night and no one is out and about, so they make it inside the apartment without scarring any children, giving little old ladies heart attacks, or having the police called.

They lose the remainder of their clothing on the way to the playroom, save for Tripp’s panties—which, if Leander had his way, he would always have on—and somehow, Tripp ends up flat on his back on the hardwood floor. Unwilling to wait, Leander finds himself straddling Tripp and rutting their groins together.

While he knows that Tripp is in pain and on the edge, Leander can’t help but relish the way he hangs on for dear life. Tripp’s searching fingers slip from sweat as they scrape against the smooth floor, desperately seeking something to grab onto. His jaw is clenching and his head tosses restlessly from side to side, collar still beautifully bright against the pale skin of his wrist. Even the scars on his shoulder—that Tripp picked at incessantly while healing, working to ensure they’d stick around—in the shape of Leander’s handprint seem to stand out in stunning clarity tonight.

“What do you want, Tripp?” Leander demands. “Tell me, I want to give it to you.”

“That…that’s the deal?” Tripp manages to ask, choking on a gasp as his head tips backward when Leander purposefully slides their groins together.

“Delicious,” Leander murmurs, hips gyrating in a way that’s playful for him and must be torturous for Tripp. “Yes, that’s the deal. You may come however you like. Tell me, Tripp.”

“ Ung ,” Tripp groans. “I—fuck me? And...the fleshlight?”

“Done,” Leander agrees easily, sitting back on his heels before standing up. He reaches down to grasp Tripp around his forearm and yank him vertical, with force, so that he slams against Leander’s own chest. They stare at each other for a moment, Tripp breathing hard and their forearms pressed together between their bodies.

Tripp makes the first move this time, Leander’s sure of it. Normally, he’d scold him for the presumption, but—well, he did say that Tripp could have whatever he wanted, and so sue him if Leander fucking loves feeling like Tripp wants him .

Right now, Tripp’s kissing like he’s a man on the verge, and therefore, Leander wastes no time in steering him towards the bed. He only breaks away for a brief moment, necessary to retrieve the fleshlight from the armoire containing the lion’s share of his casual toys, making it back to Tripp’s side in record time. They’re both a little unsteady and sloppy, and Leander’s not sure that he could handle anything overly complicated right now anyway, so he shoves Tripp down onto his back and pours lube into the toy without pretense.

Normally, he’d warm the insert up with water, but there’s no way Tripp is going to sit around and wait for that, nor does Leander care to make him. Removing the plug in Tripp’s ass reminds him that it’s holding his cum inside, some of it immediately leaking out and dripping down Tripp’s crack. The sight leaves Leander grabbing his own dick and trying not to come, his possessive streak showing through in spades.

“Oh, Tripp, ” he murmurs, wiping the leftover lube smeared across his hand over the length of his cock before pushing Tripp’s thighs back and apart even further.

For his part, Tripp barely seems to notice, fumbling at the sheets and mumbling to himself in what Leander’s fairly certain is an incoherent mix of pep-talk and desperate begging meant for him. He’s so gorgeous and pliant like this, exactly how Leander always wants him—broken down and desperate, pure, unspoiled perfection.

Leander pushes inside him without pretense, and Tripp cries loudly with relief, his back arching and his cock blurting a steady stream of precum that dribbles down onto his belly, cock itself purple and angry at the head. Leander’s not an idiot—this will not be some drawn-out event. As tears leak from Tripp’s eyes and his lip gets sucked in between his teeth, Leander slides the fleshlight down over his cock and works it carefully, imagining that the pleasure is borderline painful, in and of itself.

Tripp’s response to his gift is nothing short of stunning, so much so that Leander nearly forgets to actually fuck him. In awe of his sub, he opts to mostly watch—watch the way Tripp’s hips swivel and meet his gentle thrusts, watch the way his muscular chest expands with corresponding choppy breaths and moans, watch the smooth length of his throat and the droplets of sweat that pool in its hollow.

Leander does his best to catalogue every moment, to file each one away and save it forever in his mind. All in all, there are only a short few minutes of him moving the fleshlight and providing soft encouragement to Tripp’s ears before he’s coming, body shaking and trembling and clenching around Leander’s cock as he cries out with unfettered relief and satisfaction.

Once he’s done, Leander tosses the toy aside and gathers Tripp up, pressing his thighs to his chest and fucking him hard, arms wrapped tightly around Tripp’s back and shoulders. It’s incredibly intimate, and a still-vaguely-intoxicated Leander feels like he’s inside of a dream. Tripp is wonderfully boneless beneath him; kissing back passively when Leander licks into his mouth, compliantly allowing himself to be manipulated this way and that.

When Leander comes, it’s with Tripp’s name on his lips and their bodies as close as two people can possibly be. The orgasm is almost as good as the way Tripp’s arms tighten around him, the way he sighs into his ear, how he nuzzles just beneath it. It’s stupidly soft, and Leander can’t even bring himself to worry about the way they’re barely toeing the party line anymore. In fact, it’s all he can do not to shove his fingers into Tripp’s hair, to pull him close and confess all the ways that he loves him, is in love with him.

Instead, Leander forces himself to pull away, to clean them both up, to bring water and aspirin and juice for Tripp over to their bedside table before succumbing to the urge to pass out. Even as that’s happening, Leander finds himself blinking against his heavy lids, staring in awe at Tripp’s peaceful face and his closed eyes, the way he drapes himself so easily over his chest.

What is he even doing with this man?

Any other time, Leander would probably fall down the rabbit hole agonizing about it, but tonight, he just can’t do it. Thinking back on everything they’ve done, Leander has no regrets, can’t bring himself to even pretend. Especially right now: he’s still tipsy, he’s satisfied, the mattress is inviting, and Tripp’s embrace is warm and comfortable.

Perhaps he should be more concerned with how often he tables these particular fears regarding his relationship with Tripp. Perhaps he will try to be better or more careful with his boundaries in the future, whatever that might mean.

But not tonight.