Part Two R.S.V.P.
Part Two: RSVP
There was no way anyone in the club could have guessed that Scott wasn’t wearing underwear, but, as he tried to weave his way through the mass of gyrating bodies on the dance floor, he felt like there was a flashing red light floating above his head to signal that he’d left his boxers at home.
When yet another man tried to grab his arse, Scott started to wonder if that light also indicated that he’d be more than happy for every man in the club to cop a feel and check out his lack of underwear for themselves.
Scott pulled away as unfamiliar hands slid around his body and tried to draw him into the dance. He stumbled forward, deafened by the music blaring from the speakers. By the time Scott made it to the bar on the far side of the room, his head was spinning, and his heart was racing.
Gasping for breath, he pushed his hair back from his face. The moment he looked up, he saw Joe standing on the opposite side of the bar.
Joe looked Scott slowly up and down.
Forget underwear; Scott might as well have been stark bollock naked. Joe seemed to look straight through the black denim stretched over Scott’s hard on, as if x-ray vision were par for the course in his own very special version of the world.
Scott’s mouth went dry. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His palms turned slick with sweat. It was more luck than judgement that he didn’t come in his jeans.
He screwed you just a couple of hours ago. He flogged you, screwed you and ordered you to turn up here minus your underwear.
Scott whimpered. Whatever stupid little part of his brain insisted on reminding him of those facts really wasn’t helping him not to come before they even got started.
Without warning, a flailing elbow caught Scott painfully in the ribs. He looked over his shoulder, but the drunken dancer didn’t seem to have noticed the collision. Scott rubbed absentmindedly at his side as he turned back to Joe.
Joe was frowning. Scott instantly wanted to apologise. He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, but the need to make Joe happy was damn near overwhelming.
Before Scott got a word out, Joe pointedly turned his attention toward an empty stool at the end of the bar. Every other seat was taken, but that one stood aloof from the crowd, with a reserved notice in the shape of a sharply pointed pyramid on top of it.
Take the empty stool at the end of the bar.
That was one of the orders Joe had put in his note. Scott hurried across, moved the reserved sign aside and clambered onto the high stool. He looked toward Joe, hoping for some hint of approval, but Joe was already serving someone a drink as if he’d completely forgotten about Scott.
Scott squirmed in his seat, and only partly because his arse was still a little sore from the combination of the leather flogger striking his skin, and Joe’s cock sinking into him earlier that evening.
Never taking his eyes off Joe, Scott reached into the pocket of his coat and took out the note Joe had written for him. He glanced down at it. There was barely enough light to read by, but that was okay. Scott had already memorised every word.
Arrive at the club at two am. Take the empty stool at the end of the bar.
Okay, Scott had done that. He hadn’t screwed up yet. The world was still spinning away on its axis. No need to panic.
No alcohol. No talking. No fidgeting. No underwear.
Scott shifted uneasily on the stool. All of those things could be mentally ticked off.
Expect to obey every order I give you. Disobedience will be punished.
“Stay there.”
Scott jerked his head up. The lighting behind the bar did a great job of creating a brooding, sexy atmosphere, but it was bloody useless to actually see by. Their gazes locked. Joe’s eyes were so dark, they looked completely black.
All too soon, Joe turned away. Scott was vaguely aware of another bartender calling out closing time and all the other customers being ushered toward the exits.
Your safe word is still unicorn.
Scott took a deep breath and slid the note back into his pocket. The important thing now was to not hyperventilate. Scott tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt.
No fidgeting.
Damn! He’d known that would be the hardest order to obey. Intertwining his fingers, Scott stared down at his knotted knuckles as the noise from the crowd faded away.
A door slammed, making Scott jump. His trainer slid off the foot rest attached to the legs of his stool. His hands skidded against the bar as he tried to brace himself against it, but somehow he kept his balance.
Closing his eyes, he cursed himself for a fool.
“You still want to lock up?”
Rather than peering over his shoulder to find out who had spoken, when Scott opened his eyes, he instinctively looked for Joe. He spotted him standing at the far end of the bar, mopping up spilt beer.
“Yeah, I’ll be here a while yet.”
Someone out of Scott’s line of sight tossed a heavy set of keys to Joe.
Scott heard footsteps walking away, but the sound stopped registering with him when Joe turned toward him.
“Ever been behind a bar?”
No talking.
Scott remembered the command just in time. He shook his head.
“It’s about time you corrected that, don’t you think?”
It took far too long for Scott’s brain to put the words together inside his head and work out what sort of order they represented.
“Get around here,” Joe translated for him. “Now.”
Scott looked both ways along the long length of dark wood, but he was damned if he could work out how the hell anyone was supposed to get from one side of it to the other.
Joe offered no help or instruction. He just stood there with his arms folded across his chest. He’d given the order.
He obviously expected it to be obeyed. How Scott managed to do that wasn’t Joe’s problem.
Messages fizzed through Scott’s brain. Most of them came straight from his cock. Joe wanted him on the other side of the bar. Before he could think better of it, Scott had his palms pressed against the stained wood. Levering himself up, he clumsily swung his legs over the bar.
Dropping down onto the floor on the other side, Scott managed to steady himself without knocking over anything breakable through sheer luck.
His body was still completely over-ruling his brain.
His feet took him to stand directly in front of Joe before Scott even had a chance to consider his actions.
Joe didn’t move a muscle. He merely stared down at Scott, somehow managing to seem a damn sight taller than the real difference in their heights implied he should be.
Scott blinked. As some small part of his brain came back on line, heat rushed to his cheeks. Dear God, he’d actually leapt over the bar in his rush to get screwed, hadn’t he?
“I’m—”
Scott hadn’t been sure what he was going to say, and he was never destined to find out what words he might have come up with.
His back hit into the edge of the work surface behind the bar.
Bottles rattled on the shelf behind him.
An empty glass fell over and rolled along the countertop.
All the air rushed out of Scott’s lungs.
But none of that was important, because Joe’s lips were covering his, and Joe’s hands were on his body.
Joe seemed to have far more hands than any one person should be able to lay claim to. He slid one hand into Scott’s hair and gripped the strands tightly, holding Scott still so he could take complete possession of his mouth. But Joe’s other hand somehow managed to be everywhere at the same time.
Joe slid his hand down Scott’s back and tugged at his T-shirt, pulling the fabric up so he could caress the bare skin beneath. The next moment, Joe was working that same hand down the back of Scott’s jeans, burrowing beneath the denim, obviously determined to see if the dress code had been obeyed.
Scott whimpered into the kiss. His limbs didn’t seem to belong to him. While Joe was capable of doing all sorts of things that made Scott gasp and writhe against him, Scott could only fumble at Joe’s body like a teenager who didn’t even know where the best bits to grope were located.
Scott couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, but somehow, in his panic, he scraped up the coordination to push against Joe’s shoulders with both hands.
Joe actually growled at him as he lifted his head and broke the kiss.
Scott stared up at him, wide-eyed in surprise.
“Do you remember what your safe word is?” Joe demanded,
Scott blinked. Moments passed. The world slowed down around them, allowing a few seconds to stretch out until they felt more like several consecutive life times. Finally, Scott managed to nod.
Joe’s right hand now rested on Scott’s neck, the thumb pressing up against his jaw, keeping his head tilted back. It didn’t shift as Scott moved his head. It pushed unyieldingly against the sensitive skin on his throat.
“Do you want to say it?” Joe asked, his expression more serious than Scott could have ever believed possible.
Scott shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
Scott swallowed several times in quick succession. He nodded. “I’m so s-sorry, I’m j-j-just…”
No talking. Scott’s words faded away to be replaced by mental curses.
“Go on, you’re just…”
Scott glanced up again. Joe’s voice had changed. It was softer now, more intimate. It invited both spoken words and something longer than a one-word answer.
“J-just n-nervous,” Scott whispered. He closed his eyes, sure he sounded like an idiot, especially to someone like Joe—a man who probably did far more daring things several times a day.
Joe slid his hand slowly around Scott’s neck and into the hair at his nape. Suddenly, Joe pulled him forward. Scott found himself pressed against Joe’s body from shoulder to knee.
“There’s no need to be nervous—”
“I k-know, I—”
“Hush.” Joe’s put his other hand on the small of Scott’s back, keeping him where he was.
Speaking after that order had been issued, gentle though it had been, was impossible.