Part Thirteen Post Haste
Halfway through pouring a beer for one of the regulars at the club, Joe glanced up.
Scott was standing just two yards down the bar.
Joe smiled. He could always tell when Scott had arrived.
A sixth sense, that he’d never been aware of possessing before he met Scott, drew his attention to him every damn time.
Joe mentally shook his head at himself. A sixth sense? He wasn’t even out of his twenties and he was already getting soppy in his old age!
It was probably just the nervous energy that swirled around Scott like an emotional typhoon that pulled Joe’s attention, no matter how many drunks and flirts stood between them.
As Joe served drinks, turned down propositions, and brought sloshed customers quickly into line, most of his attention remained on Scott. He seemed even more nervous than usual today. Whatever he’d written in his note had to be a real doozey.
Joe’s cock strained against the inside of his fly in anticipation. What would Scott consider extreme?
It was impossible to be certain. There were times when Scott seemed to take the kinkiest of things in his stride and almost managed to act like the kind of subs Joe was used to.
But on other occasions, even a chaste little kiss could have Scott blushing and stammering like an inexperienced teenager.
Joe kept doing his job, but he was working almost entirely on automatic pilot now. He’d never in his life been more grateful to be on the early shift. He glanced impatiently at the clock placed discretely under the bar. Finally!
Catching the eye of the other bartender working that night, Joe pointed at his wrist. He wasn’t actually wearing a watch, but the guy got the idea and waved goodbye in return.
Joe moved quickly to the other side of the bar. Within moments, he stood right in front of Scott.
Tilting back his head, Scott looked up at him. “Hello, s-sir.”
Joe grinned at the honorific. Yeah, Scott was definitely in the mood to get kinky.
Taking Scott by the wrist, Joe headed for a quieter part of the club, so he could read Scott’s note and hear what he had to say without the pounding beat from the speakers drowning out every other stuttered word.
Three rooms later, Joe finally found two seats in a cosy little corner that wasn’t already occupied by guys making out and scrabbling at each other’s flies.
Two high stools stood alongside a bar-height table. Joe hopped up onto a seat and held out his hand.
Scott took his right hand out of his pocket in response, but kept his fist tightly clenched around the envelope he held. He made no attempt to hand it over.
“Scott?”
Scott continued to stare at his hand and the envelope as if completely transfixed by how white his knuckles were and how creased the paper was getting.
“Scott?” Joe repeated.
Nothing. Scott didn’t even blink.
Joe frowned. He reached out, intending to grab Scott’s shoulder and shake him out of whatever daydream he was lost in.
Scott jerked his head up. His hand disappeared behind his back, taking the envelope with it and hiding it from Joe like a kid who was afraid that the school bully might steal his favourite toy.
“What the hell’s got into you tonight?” Joe demanded.
Scott dropped his gaze. Bringing his hand back in front of him, he smoothed the crumpled envelope out against his knee. But Joe didn’t miss the fact that Scott’s grip on the corner of the letter remained as firm as ever.
Joe’s heart raced faster and faster as he tried to work out what was wrong and what had suddenly changed between them. It soon felt like his chest might explode from the sheer pressure behind his pulse.
Joe stopped trying to hide his annoyance. “Scott, start talking,” he ordered. “Now.”
“Can I ask you f-for a f-f-favour, s-sir?” Scott rushed out.
Was that all? That’s what he was so nervous about? “Ask.”
Scott swallowed several times in quick succession. “C-c-can we do whatever you w-want tonight instead?”
Joe glanced down at the envelope. “Couldn’t make up your mind what to write?” he guessed.
“No. I…I d-did write s-s-something. I j-just…” Scott paused for a deep breath. “I’d r-rather you didn’t read it until the end of our d-d-date, if you don’t m-mind, sir.”
Joe studied Scott for a moment. He was damned if he could work out why, but the thing seemed to be important to Scott. And, for better or worse, that made it important to Joe too.
“Fine.” Joe stood up, glad that was all sorted out and dealt with so they could move on to the more enjoyable part of their evening. “You can give it to me at the end of the scene.”
“No!” Scott grabbed hold of Joe’s arm.
Joe raised an eyebrow at him. “No?”
“I have to g-give it to you now, sir.” Desperation filled every syllable. “But, I’d really r-rather you didn’t read it s-s-straight away.”
Joe held out his hand once more. Scott stared at his empty palm for several seconds before he finally placed the envelope there. The hairs on the back of Joe’s neck prickled with unease. He quickly tore open the letter.
Scott’s eyes opened very wide, but he made no complaint. He just sat on his stool with a look of pure horror on his face.
Unicorn.
That was it. Just that one word—Scott’s safe word. Joe broke it down into syllables, then into single letters, but there was no way to avoid what the word was, to avoid what it meant.
Very slowly, Joe tore his gaze away from the mangled piece of paper. Scott had gone from one extreme to another. He now had his eyes closed so tightly deep creases appeared at the sides of his face.
“Scott?” Joe thought he sounded very calm, all things considered.
Scott opened his eyes and moved to the edge of his seat. “I’ll…B-before I go, can I just s-s-say how much I’ve enj-j-joyed…how g-g-grateful I am for everything you’ve—”
“Wait.” Joe held up a hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Scott blinked. “H-home, I—”
“The only place you’re going is back to my place with me,” Joe cut in.
Scott frowned. “But—”
“But nothing. I’ll respect your safe word, Scott. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you walk away without a hell of a sight more than this as explanation!” Joe pushed the envelope into his pocket. “Come on.”
He took hold of Scott’s hand and led him out of the club. Scott made no protest. He didn’t even try to hang back. He left his hand in Joe’s and meekly followed him through the crowd. He’d never projected a more submissive persona in all the time Joe had known him.
Joe’s steps sped up as he noticed other men run their eyes over Scott as he walked passed them.
Did one of them have something to do with this?
If Scott thought he could wander off just because another dom had propositioned him, just because he thought someone bastard had made some sort of “better offer”, then he was going to find out he was very wrong.
Joe didn’t give up what was his without a fight. And Scott was his. Joe increased his grip on Scott’s hand and frantically tried to quell the army of screaming banshees that raced through his head telling him that his relationship with Scott was under threat, that he could lose him.
Joe shook his head.
No. That wasn’t going to happen.
Scott was his, and Scott was going to stay his.
* * * * *
As Joe slammed the door to his flat behind them, Scott pushed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet. He had no idea what to do next, no idea what Joe expected from him. He didn’t even have an order to follow.
The silence was unbearable. “I’m s-sor—”
“No.”
Scott met Joe’s eyes for a moment, then looked quickly away, hating the anger he saw there, hating himself for being the focus of it.
“Don’t apologise for using your safe word,” Joe corrected. “It’s not something a sub ever needs to apologise for. That’s not the way things work.” Joe pushed his hand through his hair. He paced along the corridor before retracing his steps back to Scott’s side.
Joe nodded then, as if he’d made a decision. He took hold of Scott’s hand and led him into the bedroom without saying a word.
When nudged to do so, Scott sat on the edge of the bed. Joe pulled a chair across the room and sat down facing him. Barely a foot of empty air lingered between their knees, but Scott had never felt further away from Joe.
“We’re going to talk. That’s all we’re going to do,” Joe said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not s-scared of you—”
Joe held up a hand. “We’re going to talk. And the first thing you’re going to tell me is why you wrote your safe word on the note you gave me.”
When Joe fell silent, Scott knew that was his cue to start talking.
This. This was the reason why he’d written it down, because all he wanted to say when he sat face to face with Joe was “yes, sir”. Scott closed his eyes. Joe wanted an answer from him. He couldn’t keep him waiting forever. He had to say something.
“You t-told me that saying my s-safe word would stop everything that was h-h-happening between us.”
“And that’s what you want?” Joe asked, his tone of voice just slightly off. “For everything to stop?”
“I th-think it would be best,” Scott said, unable to manage anything more than a whisper.
“That’s not what I asked. Forget about what’s best. Is it what you want?”
Scott opened his eyes. Joe was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one fist wrapped around the other. Scott stared down at Joe’s hands.
“I w-want…”
A complete hush reigned for what felt like hours. Scott had never realised Joe had so much patience. He’d never realised he could hold his own breath for so long either.
“I’m n-not like you,” Scott blurted out, when suffocation was his only option other than some sort of speech.
“Oh?” Joe prompted.
“I’ve never been able to move from one g-guy to the next without g-g-giving a damn about anyone I s-screw,” Scott stammered.
“Good.” Joe said it so simply, as if everything was that easy.
“But it’s not g-good!”
“It isn’t?”
Finally, Scott met Joe’s gaze. “N-no. Because…b-because you’re y-you and…and I’m m-me, and…”