53. Expertise
Chapter fifty-three
Expertise
Ronan
There was a time when the basement was concrete, exposed beams, and an idea I could not stop thinking about.
I remember standing upstairs with coffee in my hand while Micah casually pointed out that the beams were load-bearing and Dex reacted as if the phrase overhead attachment points was pornography.
At the time, none of us had enough practical experience to do anything particularly ambitious with that information, but that did not stop my brain from immediately trying to design the room.
Now the design exists.
The suspension hardware was professionally installed, rated for considerably more weight than we will ever put on it, then tested anyway because the manufacturer says it's fine is not a safety protocol I am willing to rely on when another person will be hanging from it.
There are mats beneath the rig, designated storage along one wall, the table we've used often enough that it no longer feels like new equipment, and an aftercare area that has gradually accumulated blankets, water, first-aid supplies, glucose, and the other things we've learned are useful enough to deserve permanent residence down here.
It is still recognizably our basement.
It is also finally the room I kept imagining.
Micah runs his fingers along one of the prepared lines beside me, checking something we both already checked twenty minutes ago, and I decide not to point out the redundancy because I have checked the suspension point three times myself.
We've completed another round of Shibari instruction since Cami's last suspension.
She's been fully off the floor with an instructor present before, clothed and considerably less exposed than she is about to be.
Tonight is the first time Micah and I are responsible for all of it without someone more experienced watching us.
That should make me more anxious than it does.
It doesn't, because we've prepared for it.
There is a meaningful difference between confidence and assuming nothing will go wrong. The second is dangerous. The first is what happens when you have considered what could go wrong and know what you will do about it.
Cami stands beneath the suspension point completely naked, arms folded loosely over her stomach while she looks up at the hardware.
The rest of us are still wearing pants because there is no practical reason not to. Cami's clothing had to come off before the rope went on; ours remains perfectly removable later.
She's smiling.
“You're excited,” I say.
Her attention drops from the ceiling to me. “Was I supposed to pretend I'm not?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure I was reading you correctly.”
“You are.”
Dex, behind us, says, “Dangerous thing to tell her while she's naked in a sex dungeon.”
“Playroom,” Griffin corrects.
“I stand by sex dungeon. Better branding.”
Micah doesn't even turn around. “Dex, stop touching that.”
There is a pause.
“I wasn't doing anything.”
I look over.
His index finger is resting on one of the rope tails.
“You are literally touching it.”
“I was looking with my fingers.”
“That defense was stupid when you used it at the D&D table, and time has not improved it.”
Cami laughs.
Dex removes his hand with exaggerated care. “Hostile environment for tactile learners.”
“You are still not a tactile learner.”
“You don't know how I've evolved.”
There are several possible responses to that. None will make him less irritating, so I return my attention to Cami.
Her laughter has lowered her shoulders another fraction.
I don't need Dex to manage her nerves, and she does not appear particularly nervous anyway, but familiarity has its own regulatory value. If everyone suddenly became silent and solemn, she would notice that before anything else.
I take her left arm first, turning it enough to confirm the placement of the Dexcom on the back. The Omnipod is in the corresponding area of her other arm. Micah and I already designed around both, but I check because assumptions are how people make preventable mistakes.
Griffin steps closer. “I've got her Dexcom alerts on.”
“Ours are all muted so if it alarms, you deal with it,” I tell him.
“Just as planned,” he responds.
Cami sighs dramatically. “Nothing says erotic suspension like diabetes management.”
Griffin bends and kisses her temple. “Very sexy pancreas.”
“My pancreas is trying.”
“Your pancreas has completely abandoned the assignment.”
She snorts and looks toward me again.
I wait until her attention is fully back.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
“Micah?”
He glances at me, and the easy expression he had during the conversation disappears under concentration. “Ready.”
So we begin.
The first part of rope work is not particularly sexy from my perspective, despite the fact that the person we're tying is naked and somebody I am very attracted to. Suspension requires too much attention to allow that kind of distraction.
I track where the load will sit, how Cami's breathing changes as the structure builds, whether any line is migrating toward a place we did not intend, and every small shift in color or tension that might mean something needs to be adjusted before it becomes a problem.
Micah is paying attention to all of that too.
He is simply seeing more.
His brain does something with rope that mine does not.
I see pressure, load, access, and function.
Micah sees those things and the relationship between every line on Cami's body—the way changing one angle makes another look cleaner, how the rope frames rather than hides her curves, where symmetry helps and where perfect symmetry would actually make the whole tie less visually interesting.
He studies the line through her hips for several seconds, then looks at me.
“If I bring this section a little higher, I can clean this up without changing where she's carrying weight.”
I follow his hand and check what he's proposing.
He's right.
“Your geometry,” I tell him. “I'll watch the load.”
His eyes meet mine for half a second longer than necessary.
The reaction is subtle, because most of Micah's reactions are, but I see it anyway.
Trust matters to him when it is spoken aloud.
I let him make the adjustment without hovering over his hands.
That is more difficult for me than I would like to admit.
Not because I think he'll do it wrong. If I thought that, I wouldn't let him do it at all.
My problem is that I am very comfortable being responsible for every variable myself, and sharing responsibility requires accepting that another competent person can own part of the outcome without me supervising every movement.
That is apparently one of tonight's lessons.
It is also, unfortunately, the exact moment Dex decides Griffin needs feedback on his appearance.
“So we're all ignoring the fact that Griff looks like he should be modeling in firefighter calendars?”
I close my eyes briefly.
Cami laughs again.
We're all shirtless now because rope work gets warm and excess fabric gets irritating. Griffin looks down at himself as if he has somehow forgotten this.
Dex gestures at him. “I know you're aggressively heterosexual, but I still have eyes. And you are one fine specimen of a human being”
Griffin gives him one long look. “I know.”
Micah stops moving.
Cami makes a strangled noise.
I turn my face away for a second because that was, objectively, an excellent answer.
Dex looks almost offended. “I'm sorry?”
Griffin shrugs. “I own mirrors.”
“That level of confidence is deeply unsettling.”
“Good.”
Micah is still laughing quietly when we resume.
Dex manages to behave for approximately another minute.
Then he moves close enough to Cami that I notice him in my peripheral vision.
“Dex.”
“I'm not touching the rope.”
Technically true.
His finger brushes over Cami's nipple instead.
Her breath catches and her mouth curves.
Micah looks up very slowly.
I straighten.
Dex pulls his hand back, although he looks entirely unrepentant. “She liked it.”
“I did,” Cami says.
“That is not the relevant issue,” Micah tells him. “We're working.”
“I feel like whether she liked it is at least adjacent to relevant.”
Cami turns her head toward Dex. “Keep it up, and I'll have Ronan make you keep your hands to yourself.”
My attention shifts to her.
The satisfaction on her face tells me she knows exactly what she just did.
She is not attempting to exercise authority over me. She's threatening Dex with an authority she knows I am perfectly willing to use.
I like that more than I should.
Dex apparently likes it too. “You promise?”
I point toward the chair. “Sit down.”
His grin survives, but something in his posture changes as soon as my tone does. The shift is familiar enough now that I know he hears the difference even when nobody else would.
He looks at the chair.
Then back at me.
“Is that the cuck chair?”
“It's a chair.”
“It feels emotionally like a cuck chair.”
“Dexter.”
He sits.
I step in front of him. “Hands where I can see them. You don't touch yourself. You don't touch anyone else. You sit still, stay quiet, and watch.”
His eyes flick toward Cami and then back to mine. “Yes, Sir.”
The first thirty seconds go better than expected.
Then Micah adjusts a line.
Dex inhales.
I look toward him before he even speaks.
He closes his mouth.
Ten seconds later, he tries again. “I'm just saying aesthetically—”
“Dex.”
He stops.
Micah keeps working.
Another pause.
Dex opens his mouth.
Micah doesn't bother looking at him this time. “Please gag him.”
Cami laughs hard enough that we have to wait for her to settle before continuing.
Dex, predictably, looks delighted.
I retrieve the same ball gag we've used with him before, along with the clicker, and the humor in his expression recedes just enough that I know the anticipation underneath is real.
I place the clicker in his palm. “You remember how it works?”
He looks up at me and presses it once.
Green.
“Good boy.”
His eyes darken immediately.