Fire & Ice (Extended Edition)

Chapter 9

A morning like this after a night like the last should not feel so good. Or maybe— fuck, is this how it feels to have a real partner? In life, in crime (literal, this time), in— nope, not there yet, Tripp thinks to himself, wiggling down into the mattress and refusing to open his eyes, pupils protesting against the tendril of sun leaking around the far edge of his bedroom curtain.

Next to him, Leander is snoring, heavily enough that Tripp can’t imagine him waking anytime soon. Good, he thinks. It’s not that he doesn’t want to interact with Lee, he’s just basking right now . He isn’t ready to break this feeling yet, this sense of peace, tranquility, and relief that’s infusing the morning stillness. Reasonably sure that he won’t be caught, Tripp cracks one eye open and checks out the situation in his room. What he sees has a smile spreading across his face that he couldn’t suppress if he tried.

An unconscious Leander is wrapped around Tripp’s spare pillow, treating it like a life preserver floating in the middle of the ocean. Usually, that’s Tripp’s job in the bed, and actually, he’s not entirely convinced Lee doesn’t think the pillow is him. Especially since their legs are tangled together underneath the covers, leaving Leander sleeping at a weird angle, one that has his body taking up the majority of the mattress space.

Tripp doesn’t even care. Fuck, he’d let Lee starfish on top of his face ( mind out of the gutter, Truett) if that’s what he wanted, if that’s what was needed to make him stay. Not that Lee has even remotely required something so lame as a reason to spend the night beside him, not for a long time now.

Even last night, outside of a scene and absent any good excuse other than a severe lack of beds, Leander didn’t blink. Tripp honestly wasn’t sure what he might do, since after all, the surprise lack of groomsmen meant ample couch and floor space were available. Separating was never on the table in Lee’s mind, though.

The two of them stumbled into Tripp and Beau's shared apartment long before the rest of the groomsmen—well, whatever was left of them, anyway—made it back from the scene of the crime. In all likelihood, the group was either stuck cleaning up the mess at the restaurant, or drinking away the memory of it over at the Hot Plate. Beau isn’t him, though, so Tripp’s betting on the former. It sucks that this is how the night before his brother’s wedding went down, but Tripp only feels minutely guilty about that. After all, Beau is the one who brought that douchebag into their lives, and Tripp has zero regrets about the way Leander effectively escorted him out.

And damn, did he look good doing it. So much so, that when they found the apartment empty, Tripp still had Lee's furious, ‘I’ll smite you,’ expression burned into his brain, and therefore had plans. He was all about baiting Leander into a little scene, into taking advantage of their alone time before they both knocked out or the other guys came home. Unfortunately, after stripping down to his boxers, Tripp accidentally fell asleep on his bed ( sweet, sweet memory foam) before Lee even made it back from the bathroom.

To be fair, he did have one hell of an exhausting day.

Excuses aside, that meant that not only did Tripp not get laid a second time, he also has yet to encounter Beau. The two of them haven’t spoken since Tripp left his brother nodding dazedly at Mickey, while he and Lee bravely fled the scene.

By nature, Tripp therefore has also not yet faced up to any possible consequences of what he and Lee did, all in the name of…of freedom , and—and social justice, and— oh hell, Tripp just wanted to watch that asshole take one to the face. Pretty much since the day Beau re-introduced them as adults, aiming for family unity, or whatever. It’s bunk, but if that other stuff helps Beau to not be mad at him, then Tripp’s not above a couple of little white lies.

Stretching carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping and righteously bed-headed Leander at his side, Tripp slowly extricates his legs and swings them over the edge of the bed. There’s barely a token reaction from the pillow-hogging octopus, save for a quiet grumble directed down into the bedding. Watching that, Tripp barely resists the urge to leave a kiss on some part of Lee's plethora of exposed skin.

He scratches an itch on his stomach instead.

Stifling a yawn, Tripp pads down the hall and finds Beau easily, taking up the majority of the space in their tiny kitchen with his giant frame. His brother’s not only awake, he’s dressed and unpacking ribbon-tied boxes from an oversized, plastic take-out bag marked with the logo of the bakery from down the street that Tripp loves. Behind him, there’s a percolating pot of coffee on the counter, and Tripp heads straight for it.

As he passes Beau, Tripp shoulder checks him hard, making the Bigfoot-imposter masquerading as his younger sibling grunt and stumble to the side.

“Clown,” Tripp grunts, like everything is totally normal.

“Ow,” Beau complains, rubbing his bicep for what feels like a goddamn eternity before cracking a smile. “Burnout.”

Coffee pot in hand, Tripp stops what he’s doing to return Beau's semi-uncertain look with his own grin and a nod of affirmation. To his relief, Beau relaxes in kind as something unspoken passes between them, and whatever tension might have been simmering breaks and dissolves.

Despite the sigh of relief he exhales upon replacing the coffee pot, Tripp knows in his heart that he has no reason to worry. He and Beau may bicker, may piss and moan and make mistakes with each other, but they’re true family, and they’ve always worked things out. Whatever Beau's reasons were for wanting Christian around, Tripp’s already decided that it’s something he can and will get past. Beau will talk about it when he’s ready, or he won’t, and the two of them will be just fine.

It’s silent in the kitchen over the next few minutes as both Truetts move around each other easily and in practiced rhythms. It’s different for Tripp than at Lee's place or with Lee in general—this sort of familiarity is the kind that feels like coming home, like stepping into somewhere safe and familiar after being away for months on end. It’s like sitting at a shared table in a childhood home on Thanksgiving, or putting up a tree filled with sentimental ornaments at Christmas.

It’s the memory of years and years of shared experiences, both happy and sad, and the way he and Beau have carved each other into a place that’s so much deeper than DNA or material things they never had.

It’s a feeling that’s beyond words, and it’s not until they’re both settled in front of pastries and bagels at the crappy breakfast bar, fake-marble-laminate peeling worse than Tripp remembers at one corner, that Beau breaks the quiet.

“I’m really sorry, Tripp,” he blurts out, setting his coffee mug down a little too forcefully.

Black liquid sloshes over the side, and Beau curses under his breath. He reaches for a novelty napkin, plucked from a stack that says, “I need my bro when I marry my ho,” which has Briana written all over it. As far as Tripp’s concerned, Beau is marrying up. Bri has a way better sense of humor than his brother does.

“Ugh,” Beau exclaims, wrinkling his nose as he reads the message for himself, which makes Tripp laugh out loud and also feel increasingly relieved. This is Beau. They were never not going to work this out.

“Anyway,” Beau continues, crumpling the napkin in his hand, “I really messed this up, Tripp, I know it.” He pauses, staring down at his plate, so Tripp does the same, never being particularly good at showing his own emotions. “I know this doesn’t make it right, but the hospital is cutthroat, man. Back when I was a resident, there were five of us competing for one attending spot the next year. Christian—”

Beau cuts himself off, groaning in frustration. He ruffles his own hair before sighing and letting his shoulders droop. “It was more than just family with him, more than obligation. He took me under his wing, he had my back. Whether you believe it or not, he’s a really good doctor, Tripp.”

Tripp snorts but otherwise remains quiet, reserving airing his thoughts out loud for another time. Beau's entitled to his opinion, and Tripp’s no doctor himself, but he’s reasonably sure that being empathic and non-judgemental when it comes to others’ differences are important qualities for one to have. Factually speaking, those are traits that Christian is sorely lacking. A person can have all the knowledge in the world, all the technique and skill in the palm of their hand, but if they don’t care about people, they’re missing the entire point of saving lives.

Doctor or not, Tripp knows all about that, firsthand.

He clears his throat. “So, he made you feel like part of the team. Had your back with the big bosses. Got you that cushy, six-figure job you like so much. Pop a shoulder back in place, buy a new Lexus. Gangbanger with a knife to the gut? Couple stitches, bam! Money in the bank.” Tripp knows he sounds like an ass, but it’s intentional banter between them, testing the waters, and Beau passes. He rolls his eyes, elbowing Tripp in the ribs.

“Earlier this week, I repaired a bullet wound that caused cardiac tamponade. Red Room activation, open chest, in the trauma bay, with none of my usual OR support staff or equipment. Guy’s wife is pregnant.”

“Alright, alright, you’re a fucking hero. Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Beau laughs, but his smile fades quickly. “Tripp, all of that aside—it’s not an excuse. Listen, I knew Christian could be an asshole, but I thought—okay, I don’t know what I thought. Sometimes two people just don’t get along and it’s not deep, you know? I figured your personalities didn’t mesh. I knew he could be a jerk, but honestly, Tripp, until last night I didn’t know he meant it. Sometimes guys like that, they say stupid things.”

Tripp stops chewing mid-bagel-bite to bestow an incredulous, are you fucking serious? look on Beau that he’s sure would make Leander proud. Or maybe earn him a spanking—either way’s a win. Beau glances over, his shoulders drooping again as he registers the face, while Tripp tips his head to the side in order to make his nonverbal message even more pointed.

“I’m serious, Tripp!” Beau persists, despite his defeated stature. “Yeah, I hear you, it sounds stupid. But it’s the truth.”

Tripp opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue loaded with chewed food to express what he thinks about that. Beau just sighs and drops his fork, because he’s been cutting his bagel into tiny pieces like he’s eighty. Good luck, Briana.

“You’re right. You’re right. It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about the same shit all night, ever since you guys left the restaurant. You’re good, by the way,” Beau tacks on, hitching a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Tripp’s room, and presumably, his criminal best friend. “Mickey took care of everything, and Brett didn’t say one damn word to argue with his version of events.”

Brett. They’re definitely circling back to that dude later. Tripp makes a mental note, as Beau continues talking.

“But I just kept thinking, how did I not realize he was that kind of person? That he was serious when he put you down, when he made jokes about patients…” Beau trails off, looking a little green around the gills and genuinely upset, his hacked-up breakfast now completely abandoned in front of him. And maybe Beau's made mistakes, sure, but Tripp would forgive his little brother anything, least of all this. The majority of the mess is all on Christian’s head, anyway.

“Beau,” he starts, reaching out a hand to squeeze his brother’s bicep, but Beau shakes him off.

“No, Tripp,” he says firmly. “I’m not looking for your sympathy, or whatever. I fucked up. Christian is family and he’s done a lot for me, but I never should have let those things overshadow what a goddamn asshole he is. Tripp, I’ve always thought I was pretty smart, practical.”

“You are—”

“I wasn’t, though,” Beau interrupts, turning on his stool to more fully face Tripp, and he’s angry now, very clearly at himself. “Christian showed me who he was and I didn’t believe him. Even before last night—I told you, he said things about patients, too.” Beau goes quiet for a second and then raises his eyes, looking resolved.

“I’m going to make this right, Tripp. I’m done with him, first of all, I don’t care what anyone else from their side of the family says about it. Our family comes first. And shit, if they accept his behavior, that says it all, doesn’t it? But beyond that—I’m going to talk to our superiors about his attitude, about my concerns regarding his bigotry and how it may be affecting patients. Can’t guarantee they’ll do anything—he’s a surgical star at Central—but I’ll try, and I won’t stop trying.”

Beau looks so fervent, so desperate for his absolution, that Tripp can’t help but give it to him. It’s what he’s always done for his baby brother, and it feels kind of right that they’re getting back to their roots on his wedding day. Anyway, so what if Beau got lost? No one’s perfect, least of all Tripp, and if he has faith in anything, it’s that Beau will be true to his word. Tripp absolutely believes that he’ll do everything possible to make things better.

“‘Course you will, Bozo,” he replies around another mouthful of bagel, reaching out again to clap Beau on the back. Swallowing and dusting off his hands, Tripp struggles as the bagel goes down a little rough, his bite too big. “So, about Brett—”

“He’s not like Christian,” Beau rushes to reply. “I mean, maybe he’s not great,” he amends. “At least, these days. But he was never the way you’ve seen before I introduced him to Christian. I feel like it’s sort of my fault. He’s here,” Beau adds, nodding his head towards his own room. “Slept on my blowup mattress. Not that you should feel any obligation to hear him out, but he told me that he wants to apologize to you and Lee. Not that—I mean, Tripp, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t forgive me , never mind some guy you barely know, but—”

“Listen,” Tripp interrupts, sensing that his brother is about to dissolve into an unfixable ramble. He stands up and puts his plate in the sink before returning to Beau’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder, one finger pressed pointedly into his chest. He waits until his brother makes eye contact before continuing.

“Shut up. I heard you, and I promise I’ll think about everything you said. Maybe. Alright, I’ll at least listen if you need to talk about it sometime in the future. But you and me? We’re good. Everything else? Gravy. This is your day, Bozo. I’m your best man, it’s my job to do exactly three things. One, keep a beer in your hand. Two, Bri's ring in my pocket, and three, steal the whole damn show with my good looks and the best wedding toast in history. Simple as that. You just find your way to the altar and I’ll be right behind you. Got it?”

Like the big, sappy, gentle giant he is, Beau's eyes rapidly fill with tears as he nods, and Tripp isn’t remotely surprised when he stands up to drag him into a hug.

“Alright,” Tripp says gruffly, patting Beau’s shoulder blade and acting mock-grumpy. Secretly, he loves every second of having his brother back, rescued from the jaws of that homophobic piece of shit for good.

Actually, he thinks, fuck it. It’s Beau's day, he deserves to hear the truth.

“Love you, man,” Tripp grunts at a nearly inaudible decibel, attempting to pull away and flee before Beau can—

“Dammit, Tripp,” Beau sobs, yanking him back with a grip that Tripp is not nearly strong enough to break. “I love you, too. So much. You’re the most important family I have, and—”

“Oh Jesus, Beau, don’t make it weird,” Tripp groans, finally extricating himself from the soggy Sasquatch and high-tailing it back to his room. “Don’t follow me, we’ve hugged enough for one decade.”

“You can’t take it back!” Beau calls after him, like the unrepentant brat he’s always been. “You love me!”

“I do not,” Tripp grumbles, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

***

Hours Later

“I have a surprise for you,” Leander says, when Tripp returns to the bedroom with both of their tuxes, each hanging in its respective garment bag. They still have the better part of two hours until the wedding, but the photographer will be here soon, and the limo to take them to the church should be arriving shortly after. So much for Tripp’s plan to talk Lee into letting him blow off some steam before having to behave in public.

Oh, well.

There’s always Plan B, and Tripp’s got the commitment to prove it. In fact, he’s already wearing his collar wrapped around his wrist, and under Lee's instruction, he prepped and popped a plug in when he showered.

Dear God, he thinks. Please never, ever let Beau find out we used his wedding as elaborate foreplay.

“What’s that?” Tripp asks Lee, doing his best to both refocus (for Beau's sake) and sound nonchalant (for his own).

Currently, Leander is hanging out on the other side of Tripp’s bed, wearing nothing but a threadbare t-shirt and boxers, and he looks ridiculously angelic haloed by the noonday sun streaming in through the window. While Tripp hangs the two garment bags over the door to his closet, Lee rummages inside his duffle, surfacing with a coiled length of thin, white rope raised triumphantly in one hand and his eyebrow deviously quirked.

“Oh, hell yes,” Tripp agrees immediately, pulling his own shirt swiftly over his head without an ounce of hesitation. “Boxer-briefs?”

“Take them off,” Leander instructs, patting the edge of the mattress next to him, and Tripp nearly trips over his underwear trying to lose it, stumbling in his hurry to obey. Leander’s stern expression turns amused but fond as Tripp sits down, back ramrod-straight, eager to please.

“I thought you might appreciate some grounding today,” he explains, pulling lengths of the soft rope absently through his hands, like he has no idea what it’s doing to Tripp, having to sit still and watch.

Tease.

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies eagerly, and then more calmly, “thank you, Sir.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Leander steps between Tripp’s legs and cups the base of his skull, gripping his hair for leverage to tip his head back so that they’re making eye contact. “One thing I would like for you to think about,” he says, “is whether you’d be open to taking some pictures later. I would love to add onto the harness I’m going to tie for the wedding, to suspend you from the ceiling and push you to the edge of your limits. And I would love to take some pictures of how incredible you look while that happens. Something for us to have, to look back on. Perhaps even frame and hang in the playroom.”

Up until that point, Tripp was all-fucking-in for whatever kinks Leander wanted to break out tonight, but that last sentence has him tripping inside his own head and nearly choking on his tongue. “Frame?” he sputters, holding up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You want naked pictures of me on the walls of your house?”

Leander just smirks and shrugs, releasing Tripp’s hair to loop the soft, satiny rope around the back of his neck, twisting each side together across the middle of Tripp’s chest, dead-center over his sternum. “If you’re self-conscious, perhaps we should have some taken together. Then we can both be on the walls of my house.”

That proposition makes Tripp’s mouth go completely dry for more than one reason, and thankfully, that seems to be Leander’s intention, because he doesn’t look for a reply. Instead, he sets about weaving a fairly simple diamond harness over Tripp’s torso. It’s just as well—there aren’t many non-sexual aspects of his and Lee's relationship that Tripp enjoys more than this, and he relaxes easily into Leander’s touch, relishing the feel of the rope sliding across his bare skin.

“Comfortable?” Leander murmurs as he nears the bottom of Tripp’s abdomen, touching his hip in a nonverbal directive to stand, which he understands and obeys intuitively.

“Yes, Sir,” he replies, his voice breathy, and if this was anyone other than Lee, that would be embarrassing. By this point, he and Leander have dabbled in shibari quite a few times, and suspension is a favorite for both of them, but Tripp’s not yet had the opportunity to wear one of his Dom’s woven creations in public. They’ve discussed it, mostly as an option for Lee to ‘ be with ’ Tripp when he isn’t physically able, but the majority of the time they spend apart lately is for work.

Everything else aside, wearing something like that underneath firefighting gear could be a safety risk, a hazard to Tripp’s health. If something disastrous were to happen where seconds matter, the paramedics having to cut through his harness could be the difference between life and death for Tripp. And God forbid that paramedic be Lee— neither of them had to say it aloud to understand that Lee wouldn’t survive that happening on his watch.

Suffice it to say, shibari at work isn’t an option for Tripp.

Today, though, Tripp can’t wait to be out there with his and Lee's little secret tied beneath his clothing. Maybe he should be more worried, more careful—after all, he’ll definitely be expected to do a shit ton of hugging, all day long. But the rope is thin, and his dress shirt and jacket are thick, which should take care of hiding the goods. Plus, anyone who does feel something will probably just assume he’s holstered and carrying discreetly, because everyone around here does.

After the business with Christian last night—which Tripp is positive has ripped through the emergency services community like wildfire—no one would blame him, either. Regardless, if anyone has something to say, that’s the lie Tripp’s prepared to serve cold.

Oblivious to his inner monologue, Lee is busying wrapping loops around each of Tripp’s thighs, adding a few twists that result in the rope wound snug at the base of his cock and around his balls. A careful tie-off is situated near his hip so that it won’t stand out, and then they’re done.

“I know that I specified ‘later’,” Leander starts, openly admiring his work and the way Tripp’s dick has plumped up significantly from the incidental contact. “But could we circle back to the photography question early? I would love—”

“Do it,” Tripp interrupts, catching Leander’s surprised gaze head-on and with confidence. “Sir.”

Fake it ‘til you make it, right? He can do this. He wants to do this. Still, Tripp’s unprepared for Leander to surge forward and knock him onto his ass on the bed, to straddle his hips, grab him roughly by the hair, and kiss him like his life depends on it. Their positioning makes it easy for Tripp to rock up into the sweet friction of Lee's barely-clothed groin, moaning into his mouth without reservation, and hoping .

But Leander’s a man with a plan.

“No, Lee, come on,” Tripp pleads when Leander slides backward off of him, his stupid white grandpa boxers tented fully now, but Lee doesn’t even seem to register the change. Without responding to Tripp’s whines, he snatches his phone from the nightstand and swipes open the camera, centering Tripp in the frame with focused intent. Tripp doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

“You can pout,” Leander tells him, unbothered. “You’re very sexy when you pout.” Tripp rolls his eyes and Leander glances up sharply. “Do not ruin this by turning into a brat,” he warns.

They really don’t have the time for Tripp to test Leander’s patience, so he nods and grabs the base of his dick, looking towards the camera through the fan of his eyelashes. He’s not naive—Tripp knows exactly what he looks like all tied up and splayed-out, propped on one elbow against messy, unmade sheets. That’s gonna be one hell of a picture, and suddenly, Tripp finds himself warming to the idea of Lee maybe taking a few more featuring only him, after all. He’s already all-in for the rest of Lee's suggestions, no convincing needed.

Without warning, there’s a loud knock at Tripp’s bedroom door, followed by Beau's voice filtering in from the other side. “The walls are thin, you know,” he yells, less irritated than Tripp would expect, but clearly exasperated. “You think you two could keep it in your pants for one day? Just one.”

“Sorry, Beau,” Leander calls back, sounding apologetic. “We’re behaving, truly. Although, you were right not to come in.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure. Photographer is here, by the way, and whatever ‘getting ready’ you guys are doing isn’t something I was looking to capture for the wedding scrapbook, so. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Be right out, Bozo. You sure you don’t want pictures of this, though?” Tripp chimes in, unable to help himself. Both he and Lee suppress laughs while listening as Beau shuffles away, grumbling loudly.

“Ironic phrasing,” Leander says, holding up his phone. “Do you want to see?”

“ Hell yes,” Tripp replies enthusiastically. “But I’m also kind of worried that if I look, we aren’t going to make it out that door without Beau's soul leaving his body. So—”

“Raincheck,” Leander agrees with a nod, reaching for the garment bag with his name on the front and tugging open the zipper. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Tripp echoes, returning Leander’s smile with a genuine one of his own.

***

The next few hours are a blur for Tripp. The photographer takes candid photos of all of the groomsmen, half-dressed and scattered around Beau and Tripp’s apartment. Shots of them fixing bow ties and clinking beers together, supposedly looking casual while being weirdly posed. Tripp hates it, but he doesn’t say a single word, because Beau is so damn happy his cheeks must hurt from smiling.

Tripp’s pretty sure the photographer catches the moment that Beau walks out of his bedroom looking like a groom, and Tripp loses it like he’s pretty sure only the bride and the mother of the groom are supposed to do.

Well fuck it, Tripp thinks. He’s Beau's mom, much as anybody is. And his dad, and his damn big brother, and for well into Beau's teen years, he was Santa-freaking-Claus, too. Tripp’s pretty sure he’s entitled to a couple of sappy tears on today of all days.

After multiple checks to ensure that they have everything that needs to come along to both the church and the reception venue, Beau's entire entourage heads outside. To Tripp’s dismay, the casual-force-posed picture-taking is repeated under the sun and in front of random trees, next to the limo, and—by Tripp’s insistence—in front of Engine Fifteen when the crew stops by to wish Beau well.

At least when things get tedious, Tripp has the reassuring comfort of the ropes hugging his body to soothe and calm him, tempering his natural tendency towards impatience and irritation.

Plus, Lee is by his side pretty much the whole time, which also helps a not- small amount. The limo ride to the church ends up being a lot more fun than the picture taking, and includes as much beer as Tripp can drink during the twenty-minute trip (four). By the time they’re all lining up in the back of the church, he’s feeling pretty damn good. Pretty damn happy.

In fact, Tripp is relatively sure that he could put up with nearly anything this day might throw at him, all in the name of being the most stellar Best Man Beau could freaking ask for. He deserves it.

Even when Beau heads off down the aisle on Reina’s arm, and the doors to the main church swing closed behind him so the girls can file in and pair off, Tripp manages to hold it together. No emotion, no tears. Not with such a giant audience waiting on the other side to judge him . Even Tripp has his limits.

Right before the music starts and the wedding coordinator motions for him and Ro to start the long walk towards the altar, Tripp glances back over his shoulder to send a tipsy wink Lee's way. Lee must be feeling pretty good himself, because he doesn’t even admonish or scold Tripp, just smiles softly and shakes his head before mouthing the word, “Behave.”

Tripp does, save for a few devilish winks at elderly ladies in pews, and the entire party makes it to the altar unscathed.

The ceremony is beautiful. Flowers everywhere, lots of that white, gauzy shit draped over the seats and the altar itself. Tripp digests the display from Beau's side, deciding that Bri did a bang-up job on the place.

The whole church stands when “Here Comes the Bride” plays and Briana enters, and Tripp, fully-prepared, has a handkerchief ready to hand off to the emotional groom. Hundreds of Beau and Bri's family and friends line the aisle, but the two of them only have eyes for each other. As Tripp watches his baby brother tear up seeing his almost-wife make her way towards him, it’s a much more sobering moment than he thought it would be.

Beau is grown, and somehow, that’s startling. It’s not as if Tripp didn’t know that already, he’s known it for years. And yet, it’s never been demonstrated—never been shoved in his face— quite so clearly as this.

Bri, with her starry-eyes and bright smile that’s for Beau only— she is Beau's future, not Tripp. While he and Beau will always be family, always be irreplaceable in each other’s lives, they aren’t the only thing each of them has to lean on any longer. Beau has Bri, and Tripp—Tripp’s alone.

Except, no.

No, he isn’t, Tripp realizes, feeling the barest tips of Lee's fingers nudging at the edge of his palm. It’s a gentle, careful reassurance, designed to make Tripp feel safe and supported but not to steal the show. Lee knows him, likely knows exactly what he’s feeling right now, and he cares enough to reach out. And while Tripp can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from his brother exchanging his vows, he does have the strangest thought go through his mind, one that he can’t quite shake loose.

It’s the idea that—if he did turn and look at Lee—he might find him looking back with the same expression that Bri is wearing while smiling up at Beau, right now.

That thought scares and excites him so much and in equal measure that Tripp can’t bring himself to glance Leander’s way at all. At least, not until Beau and Bri have been pronounced “husband and wife,” and the whole party has paraded back down the center aisle of the church, ushered off into one of the side rooms so that everyone in the cheap seats can exit and form their rice-throwing lines outside.

Inside the cramped holding area, Tripp gets about four seconds to congratulate Beau before his newly-hitched self is swept away by other members of the bridal party, a whirl of back-slapping, face-kissing, and loud cheering erupting before the happy couple manages to break away and steal a moment for themselves in a far corner.

As Tripp watches them cup each others’ cheeks with a wistful little smile on his face, an unmistakable presence appears by his side, accompanying giant hand coming to rest at the small of his back.

“Hey, Lee,” Tripp says, finally glancing over to find Leander looking back exactly the way he always stares at Tripp, and somehow, that’s even more confusing.

“Hello, Tripp,” Leander replies, holding his gaze from just a few inches too close for two (otherwise) platonic (fuck) buddies, and it’s right then when Tripp realizes that maybe the answer is that Lee has been looking at him this way all along.

“Alright, everybody line up! Opposite order as the procession, please. Bride and groom, you’ll be bringing up the rear.” The wedding planner calls out instructions from where she’s popped only her head into the too-small space. Tripp can’t help but think that if Christian was here, her remark would have definitely been turned into a dig at him and Lee, so thank fuck he isn’t.

Their exit from the church is cliché and cute, rice raining down over all of their heads while the crowd cheers and the girls yell and try in vain to cover their carefully-styled hair. With the procession reversed, Tripp and Ro are following Lee and Avery to the limo, and Lee is the one who turns to wink over his shoulder this time. He’s all bright smiles and perfect, rice-strewn hair to match his gorgeous tux, everything Tripp ever wanted all wrapped up in a fancy, bow-topped package for today.

Tripp’s chest aches.

There are more pictures. Lots more pictures at multiple locations, and no alcohol to make the taking of them more tolerable. Tripp grins and bears it, because it’s for Beau, but even inside the limo, he’s not having any fun. The beer and champagne have long-since run out, and Lee gets stuck several seats away from him, no matter how Tripp tries to position them otherwise, each and every time they pile in and out of the vehicle.

By the time the bridal party makes it to the reception venue, Tripp’s harness isn’t doing jack shit for his mood, and he’s ornery enough to consider making amends with Christian if the reward would come in the form of a double whiskey on the rocks. Things get better once Mickey makes that wish come true for both of them, and Tripp’s never been more grateful for his and Beau's surrogate father. That’s saying a lot, considering this weekend alone.

Bri and Beau's reception is being held at a swanky hotel downtown, and the ballroom the party is set up in sits right off of the hotel lobby. Just inside the open double doors to the room, the lights are dim, the disco ball is spinning, and the DJ is talking, getting ready to announce the wedding party’s big entrance. Furtively, Mickey and Tripp gulp down their drinks in a far corner of the hallway, and then ditch both empty glasses in a decorative ficus.

Looking significantly happier, Mickey wipes his mouth and claps Tripp on the shoulder before taking his place in line behind Brett and in front of Lee. Ahead of them all, Sandy and one of Bri's friends are already dancing their way into the ballroom to the sounds of “Marry You” by Bruno Mars.

Tripp rolls his eyes— talk about cliché.

The two fingers of whiskey hit his bloodstream in a rush, mellowing him out more and more the closer he gets to the door. The alcohol also serves to relax his limbs and smooth his rough, antsy edges, which is maybe why he misses the covert glances being exchanged between Ro and Avery, right over Leander’s shoulder.

Minutes later, when Lee and Avery are up to bat and the DJ is calling their names, Tripp’s feeling pretty damn good again. He’s dancing in place, swaying his hips to the music and bopping his head along to the beat. Ro is hanging casually on his arm, more or less doing the same by his side, until very suddenly, she’s not.

As Tripp stands there and gapes, she friggin’ bolts, rushing forward to hip-check Lee aside and take Avery by the arm. Even more surprisingly, Avery laughs openly and lets herself be swept out onto the floor, where she and Ro break it down like the two scheming assholes they are.

To his credit, the DJ pivots easily, announcing the correction with humor and grace, and the girls wave their bouquets and lean into each other affectionately as they skip happily off to the right of the dance floor. Tripp’s so busy being confused and then watching the show they put on that he doesn’t even realize he’s been set up until it’s way too late to do anything about it.

And then there’s Lee, looking twice as surprised as he feels, but still offering up an arm, and— God damn it, and now he’s the girl , too. Fuckin’ Ro. Tripp’s gonna put a laxative in her martini.

Oh, hell.

With a shake of his head and a resigned sigh, Tripp takes Leander’s arm and allows himself to be led out onto the dance floor, under the sparkling disco ball. He leans into the buzz he has going, biting his lip and shaking his ass to the beat, like the rhythmless white boy he knows he is.

Of course, that isn’t good enough for Lee, who gets a wild hair up his ass and takes Tripp by the hand, sending him whirling and twirling underneath his own fucking arm until suddenly he’s falling—and humiliatingly, screeching —backward. Lee catches him in a dip, grinning down at Tripp’s answering scowl with poorly-concealed smug satisfaction.

“Dick,” Tripp grumbles, but that only makes Leander’s smile widen as he sets him gently back on his feet.

“Kiss!” Someone yells out from the crowd, and the rest of them laugh while Tripp jumps back hastily, abruptly realizing that he’s standing way too close to Leander.

“Whose wedding is this?” Beau calls out from where he and Bri are lingering in the open doorway, just as the Bruno Mars song is coming to an end. It’s clearly good-natured, but as an apology, Tripp darts back across the dance floor to grab his brother’s face and lay a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He waves apologetically to the crowd as he skates away again, finding his way back to where the bridal party is lining the edge of the dance floor and sliding in between Ro and Lee.

“That was so not cool,” he mutters to Ro as the room explodes around them, everyone cheering and clapping for the new Mr. and Mrs. Truett!

Ro gestures vaguely to her ear and smirks. “Sorry, can’t hear you!”

While his friends are definitely assholes, Tripp’s seething over their plotting against him lasts only until the end of Beau and Bri's first dance. The adorable sappiness of his brother’s pure, palpable joy succeeds in melting the ice cube Tripp assumes he has in place of a heart, at least enough that he’s once again ready to get his drink and party on.

Several drinks, what feels like a thousand hugs, dinner, and a round of semi-memorable toasts later, the reception is in full swing, and Tripp finally feels like he can relax. While most of the guests are out jumping around and grinding on the dance floor, Tripp’s lurking by the bar, stealing a few quiet moments with his old friend, Mister Macallan. The whiskey is smooth and hot in his throat, and Tripp savors every drop, so much so that he doesn’t notice the figure sidling up beside him until it’s too late to escape.

“Fancy meeting you here, Acid Tripp.” Autumn's sultry voice cuts into Tripp’s peaceful reverie, making him grimace. “Oh, relax,” she says, presumably when she notices his eyes start to roll. “I’m not your enemy, you know.”

“Why are you even here?” Tripp doesn’t make eye contact, just signals the bartender for a refill and drinks half of it way faster than a whiskey of that caliber deserves.

“I transferred to Bri's floor at Central earlier this year,” Autumn explains and Tripp nods, already sick of the small talk, but she doesn’t leave. “We’re friends. Seriously, relax, dewdrop. I just came to say hello. Figured Lee would be with you, but I don’t see him.”

“He’s around.”

“Hmm,” Autumn hums noncommittally, sipping from her own drink and leaving a bright red lipstick smear on the rim. It twists Tripp’s stomach a little to see, makes him wonder—however irrationally and against his will—if she ever left marks like that on Lee. Damn, but he’s becoming a possessive son of a bitch, not that he has any right to it.

“Anyway, like I said, no need for the cold shoulder.” Autumn continues talking, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “You know, you and me? We have a lot in common, not the least of which is wanting the best for our boy.”

“Yeah, well,” Tripp replies, dropping his tumbler onto the bar just a little harder than necessary before scanning the crowd for the boy in question. “Wanna get technical, Lee isn’t my boy or yours. He isn’t anybody’s anything, not like that. Guess that’s another thing you and I have in common—getting bitch-slapped by that reality the hard way.”

Finally, Tripp’s eyes alight on his target. He’s on the dance floor with Marley, being cajoled into learning the robot. Lee is stiff, awkward, and way too serious as he goes through the stilted motions Marley demonstrates and then prompts him to copy. There’s no sign of the dapper dancer who flung Tripp around so easily earlier— this is a lot closer to the Lee that he knows and loves. Teaching the guy the robot is a little on the nose for Tripp’s taste, but Marley and the other girls gathered nearby are laughing uproariously.

In Tripp’s peripheral vision, Autumn shifts so that her elbow is on the bar and she’s facing him, smirking, waving her hand like she’s reading his aura. “I know you’re all…uptight or whatever with your little feelings, but the pissy anger you’re throwing my way is so misplaced. That’s all I’m saying. Between the two of us, I’m not the danger to Simba. You are.”

That gets Tripp’s attention, and he snaps his gaze back to his uninvited company, incredulous and touching a finger to his ear. “Gonna have to run that one by me again, because I know you did not just imply I would ever intentionally hurt Lee.”

Autumn wiggles a little against the bar, her smile never faltering as she scrutinizes Tripp’s face. “You’re right, I didn’t. I implied that you could hurt him. Never said anything about intention. And if you’re really as oblivious as you’re playing right now, then I was right to say so. Honestly, you two dumbasses can’t see what’s right in front of your adorable little noses.” As if to make a point, she reaches out and boops Tripp on his, making him reflexively scrunch his face in response.

“Hey,” he protests.

With a shrug, Autumn grabs her drink and saunters off. “If you geniuses ever manage to pull your heads out of your asses and stick with each other for the long haul, feel free to call me up when things get boring. I think the three of us would have a magical time together.”

Normally, Tripp would respond with something snarky, but even his repertoire is empty for a snappy comeback to the man he’s in love with’s ex propositioning them for a threesome. Probably for the best—some things are better just left alone. Shaking himself off, Tripp returns to his drink and finishes it up.

Having been at the bar for the better part of an hour, Tripp is once again pleasantly drunk, but his interaction with Autumn has him on edge. Well, that, and the way the stool he’s been occupying shifts the plug in his ass every time he moves, but mostly the first thing. It’s not as if Autumn implied anything Tripp wasn’t already beginning to suspect regarding Lee, but still. It’s definitely more unsettling hearing the speculation from a third party.

A third party, who—arguably—knows Leander better than most other people on the planet. Who has no reason to lie, much as it may pain Tripp to admit that (and he never will out loud).

Still conflicted, Tripp gets to his feet and starts wobbling across the room towards the dance floor. On his way, he passes the dessert table and does a double-take because the spread is a wet-friggin’-dream. Bri and Beau cut the cake a bit ago, so there are copious slices of richly-frosted marble pastry laid out, but there are also pie squares, a chocolate fountain, and candy in bowls with big metal scoops. Tripp’s liquored-up brain suddenly can’t decide what he wants more, Lee or sugar.

Sugar with Lee, his brain decides helpfully, and Tripp pivots back in his original direction, vowing to grab his friend and drag him back to plunder the table.

As he approaches the dance floor, the current upbeat song ends and a slow one begins. The crowd circling Leander looks visibly bummed, most of them dispersing, breaking off to head back to their tables for well-deserved drinks and a rest. By the time Tripp reaches his friends’ sides, Marley and Lee are slow dancing like two Catholic school kids at a middle school social. Rocking awkwardly at least two feet apart, afraid the sisters are going to smack them with rulers while insisting they “leave room for the Holy Spirit!”

When Marley catches Tripp’s eye, she grins and drops her hands from where they’re resting high on Leander’s shoulders. “Don’t mind me,” she squeaks, stepping away and melting into the crowd before Tripp can so much as get a word in edgewise.

“Hello to you too, Marley,” he says to the empty space Marley’s vacated, and Leander chuckles, stepping into it and dragging Tripp close. Without hesitation, Lee’s hand finds its way to the small of Tripp’s back, the other confidently interlacing with one of his. Very sexy, very not Catholic-middle-school-dance. Uncaring of who’s watching, Tripp wraps his free arm around Leander’s neck and allows their torsos to be pressed together, shoulders all the way down to their groins.

Now, Tripp’s drunk, but he’s not so drunk that he doesn’t realize how intimate, how publicly intimate that move is.

And yet tonight, Tripp’s feeling brave, so he lets whatever is happening here happen, and just settles in to enjoy the ride. The song that’s playing is ultra sappy and romantic, your standard wedding fare, really, and Tripp can’t take his eyes off of Leander. They sway together, soft and slow, eyes locked and foreheads nearly touching. Lee's pupils are a little dilated, and Tripp wonders if it’s from alcohol, or something else.

“You look good tonight,” Tripp says softly, even though he’s already done so at least ten times since Leander first put on his tux back at the apartment. Even though he’s heard the sentiment a million times since, Leander’s eyes still crinkle at the corners and he smiles widely, like the fact that Tripp finds him irresistibly hot is brand new information.

As they sway, Leander’s hand releases Tripp’s to come up and cup the side of his face, so Tripp drops his newly freed one to Lee's waist. He can’t help it, blame the alcohol or whatever else, but his eyes slip shut and he leans into Lee's touch easily, not remotely missing the way Lee's breath hitches in response.

“Tripp, I’ve been meaning to—” Leander starts, but he’s cut off by the music fading out and the DJ’s voice booming loudly overhead, announcing that it’s time for the bouquet and garter toss. All of the single women are ordered to the dance floor first, so reluctantly, Tripp forces himself to pull away from Lee and clear off towards the edge to make room.

Despite the hours of drinking, dancing, and mingling, Briana is still a vision. Standing in the middle of the floor with her bouquet in one hand and half of her dress bunched up in the other, she looks straight at Tripp and gives him a wink. That’s kind of odd, in his opinion, but then again, Bri looks drunker than he feels, so Tripp doesn’t think too much of it. He and Lee are off to one side, nowhere near the gaggle of pretty bridesmaids and guests in evening gowns, which is why Tripp couldn’t possibly have foreseen what happens next.

“ Oof,” Tripp grunts, stumbling backward and ultimately plopping down on his ass as Bri's bouquet hits him squarely in the stomach. Fuck, those things are heavier than they look. Blinking and confused, Tripp holds out the bouquet for someone to take and return to the bride for a redo, but Bri is busy jumping around and cheering, and no one will take the fucking flowers from his hand.

“I think you were set up again,” Leander stage-whispers conspiratorially from behind one hand while Tripp struggles to his feet. That suggestion has him glancing around wildly, taking stock of his friends and their varied reactions to this utter bullshit . Beau is over at Briana’s side now, grinning like a jackal, and when Tripp’s eyes find Ro, all she does is shrug and raise her eyebrows innocently. Even Reina has her face buried in Mickey’s bicep, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and Mickey looks like the cat who caught the mouse. He’s red-faced and straining, trying and failing to hold his amusement in.

Fuck all of them, Tripp silently fumes, but he’s a gentleman, so he raises the bouquet a bit sheepishly and waves it in the air to a chorus of cheering approval from the rest of the crowd.

“Hmm,” is all Leander says, stroking his chin. “Let’s test this theory.”

“No, Lee, don’t—”

That’s all Tripp manages before the ‘single men’ are heralded onto the dance floor by order of the DJ, although most of them look a lot less excited than they might’ve been a few minutes prior. Tripp can’t blame them, though he secretly kind of does, because who the hell wouldn’t want a piece of this fine ass?!

It’s all irrelevant anyway, because despite the fact that Leander stands far on the outskirts of the crowd, Bri's garter gets shot directly his way and he catches it easily, Beau barely even pretending to act surprised when he does. True to form, Leander just stands there awkwardly, looking down at the frilly, satiny thing in surprise, like he doesn’t quite understand.

“Ha, ha,” Tripp says loudly, mockingly, waving the bouquet around and rolling his eyes. “Oooh, you really got us now. Guess we have to get married. Tou-fuckin’-ché, assholes.”

“You don’t have to marry him,” Marley interjects, popping up behind Tripp from out of nowhere, only to escort him forward onto the dance floor, where a chair has materialized. She plucks the garter from Leander’s hand as they pass and presses it into Tripp’s palm. “You just have to let him take this off of you. With his teeth,” she adds pointedly, this time to Leander.

“Do it, do it, do it!” Bri cheers excitedly, jumping up and down while holding onto Beau's hand, which, because of his height, yanks him haphazardly all kinds of around. Like the dutiful new husband he is, Beau doesn’t complain at all, just raises his eyebrows at Tripp and gestures to his bride like, better do what she says, it’s her day.

With a long-suffering sigh, Tripp looks down at the garter and then up at Lee, who’s still just standing there, wide-eyed and nervous. It would appear that he’s only now realizing what he’s gotten himself into by “testing his theory.” Dumbass.

Still, what the bride wants, the bride gets. Who is Tripp to deny his new sister-in-law her entertainment? Time to put on a show. With new resolve (and without looking at Lee), Tripp steps up on the chair and waves his arms, hyping the already-rowdy crowd to near-feral levels. He jumps down, stumbling and nearly falling over while tugging on the garter, all the way up to mid-thigh.

The room goes wild.

When Tripp sits, the guests only grow more enthusiastic as Lee follows him down, getting on his knees and shuffling his way forward like that’s a thing Leander’s ever done before in his life. If they only knew. When he’s just between Tripp’s knees, Lee very pointedly and dramatically spreads both of his arms, wrapping them behind his back with one hand grasping the opposite wrist to hold them there.

Whatever the crowd sees, whatever they’re screaming, Tripp barely notices, hardly cares, because his entire world has ground to a halt. All he can see is the way Lee's eyes lock onto his, all he can feel is the hot puff of air from Lee's mouth on his inner thigh, even through the fabric of his dress pants. Lee's teeth barely graze him as they catch the garter, but Leander never looks away, not for one second.

By the time the garter is slipping down over his shoe, Tripp is gravely worried about his ability to stand up without humiliating himself, and wondering where that whiskey dick that he usually resents so much is hiding.

Thankfully, as soon as the garter is free and Lee is standing up, twirling the thing around on his finger in smug success, the DJ switches gears and throws some dance music on. As everyone crowds their way out onto the dance floor, Tripp grabs his chair and lets Leander escort him off of the makeshift stage, holding it strategically in front of his crotch while willing his dick to deflate.

“I believe our friends are trying to send us a message,” Leander murmurs into Tripp’s ear, as he’s dropping the chair at the first table they come upon. Wayward cock sufficiently settled, Tripp allows Leander to slip an arm around his waist, reciprocating in kind as they wander away from the mob scene that’s now dancing wildly to “Jump!”

Usually, this would be the part where Tripp would deflect, where he’d make up some reason as to why their friends are circus material and no one should listen to them ever, about anything. But tonight, taking in the way that Leander is staring up at him, so soft and hopeful, Tripp can’t do it.

God, this is a risk. This is so much harder than fighting or fucking Lee for fun and in the name of “stress relief” could ever be. In fact, it’s harder than anything Tripp has ever done in his entire life not to throw up walls, not to try and protect himself from what feels like obvious, inevitable rejection, and the ensuing heartache.

…but what if?

“Yeah,” he manages finally, completely dry-mouthed and anxious, the weight of his lack of denial sitting heavy on his shoulders. Despite his fear and the pounding of his heart in his chest, Tripp doesn’t look away. “Guess so.”

And then he and Lee are kissing, hands on faces, sloppy because they’ve both had more than their fair share of alcohol, but hot and delicious all the same.

“What—” Leander starts, but Tripp cuts him off with a tongue in his mouth, a nip to his top lip, and Lee growls a little in the back of his throat. When Tripp pulls away, his friend looks positively predatory.

“When does this party end?” he asks, blue eyes dark, lips slick and kiss-bitten, and right the fuck now, if Tripp has anything to say about it.

He starts to reply with exactly that sentiment, but groans and reels himself in at the very last second. This is his little brother’s wedding. Tripp is not going to bounce early just to get laid. Even if he does have to repeat that phrase in his head two more times before it fully sinks in. Once he has a handle on himself again, Tripp steps forward, grabbing Leander by the hips and sighing.

“Soon,” he replies, and then actually looks at his watch. “Half-hour, tops. Newlyweds are leaving, they’re staying the night at some B&B out in the ‘burbs, something about banging in proximity to relatives…I dunno.”

“No honeymoon?”

“Schedules didn’t sync for extended time off until next week. Whatever, who cares? Are you going to fuck me? When we get home?”

“I’m going to do unspeakable things to you,” Leander replies softly, way too gentle for the absolute promise those words hold, and damn it, Tripp’s pants are tight again. He wants to take Leander into a dark corner of the room right now and investigate this—whatever they fuck they’re doing—further, but there are giggling girls nearby, whispering and definitively pointing in their direction.

Again, Tripp sighs and throws up a middle finger towards Ro and Marley (and probably fuckin’ Avery— he doesn’t even know Avery ), looping his arm through Leander’s and dragging him away to the only adequate or available replacement for sex.

Sugar.

That turns out to be somewhat of a mistake, since watching Leander lick chocolate off of his dexterous fingers does nothing to settle Tripp’s once-again-dire pants situation. Lee notices— because of course, he notices— and grins, something feral and knowing, and he puts on a real show of finishing cleaning off his index finger. Tripp keens, but Leander makes it up to him by finding a piece of cake and hand-feeding it to him with those same fingers, letting each one linger in Tripp’s mouth so that he can tongue around it.

“Been awhile since we did that,” Tripp observes with his mouth still full, all faux-casual as Leander wipes his wet fingers off on a napkin.

“Mmm,” he agrees. “We should rectify that tomorrow morning. Breakfast in bed, I’ll feed it to you and then ride your cock. Perhaps I’ll feed it to you while riding your cock.”

“Jesus Christ, Lee,” Tripp swears, crossing one leg over the other and glancing around to see if anyone heard him.

Leander just shrugs, undoing his work with the napkin by sticking another strawberry under the spill of the chocolate fountain and failing to keep his fingers out of the way. “Most everyone here is certainly asking for it. They’re the ones who keep shoving us together, rigged wedding games and all. If they happen to overhear the fruits of their labor, that is exclusively on them.”

Tripp just blinks back at him, mid-chew.

“Besides,” Leander continues, eating the strawberry himself and sorely disappointing Tripp. “That was meant to be motivation. A theoretical reward. You only get it if you behave tonight, and survive everything I have to throw at you.”

“Fuck,” Tripp swears. “I’m going to go see if Beau and Bri's ride is here.” He turns on his heel, needing to press a hand against his crotch as he tries to appear nonchalant in his saunter away. The low laugh that follows in his wake suggests that he is not very successful, and Tripp doesn’t care at all.

***

The door to the newlywed's limo is barely closed behind the poofy train of Bri's giant dress when Leander’s still-sticky fingers are twisting into Tripp’s. Without asking, Lee high-tails it in the opposite direction, yanking Tripp along after him.

“Wait,” Tripp protests, digging in his heels. “Shouldn’t we say goodnight to everyone? Offer to help clean up, or whatever? I got no idea how this fancy shit works, the last wedding I went to was in a fire hall and everyone was supposed to bring their own chairs.”

Leander snorts, but doesn’t slow down or even so much as glance back over his shoulder. “I said our goodbyes while you were speaking to Beau, and our bags are already in the car. Trust me, Tripp, no one is expecting us back.”

While the concept of Leander saying “their” goodbyes to all of his friends and family sinks slowly into Tripp’s head, Lee leads them directly to a waiting black sedan. It’s idling by the curb with a driver already seated at the wheel.

“No regrets on skipping out on the hotel stay?” Tripp asks, as they both slide into the back seat. “This place is pretty swanky.”

After confirming his address with the driver, Leander turns and raises an eyebrow at Tripp. “The hotel doesn’t have heavy-duty suspension hooks driven into the ceiling joists,” he remarks. In front of them, the driver does a double-take into the rearview mirror that has Tripp thanking God it’s too dark for the guy to make out the blush surely staining his face.

Despite the sexual tension that has been following him and Leander everywhere they roamed—especially the dessert table—all damn night, the ride home in the car is surprisingly low-key. Both of them are exhausted, spending the majority of the trip slumped back in their seats and staring aimlessly out the window. Leander’s hand finds Tripp’s in the middle of the seat, though, tracing patterns over his palm with a warm thumb before working open the button of his cuff and absently fingering the collar that’s still wrapped around his wrist.

As they pull onto the street where Leander’s apartment building sits, they both happen to tear their eyes away from their respective windows at the same time. The look Leander gives him is heated, purposeful, and Tripp instantly feels wide awake. As Tripp gathers their things, Leander tips the driver with barely a glance in the guy’s direction or down at his wallet. Hopefully, he doesn’t regret that later.

Inside, Leander nods a greeting to his doorman as he sweeps Tripp through the lobby and into the waiting elevator, and seriously, Tripp’s gotta ask about Lee’s money situation, because this place is bananas. His own building barely has a damn lock on the front door.

It’s quiet on the ride up, but Leander stands right at Tripp’s side, invading his personal space with confidence, despite the otherwise emptiness of the elevator. Tripp can tell by his energy and the way he’s holding himself that he’s shifting into Hardcore Dom Mode—not that Leander ever really leaves it. Tripp snorts a little at that thought, and Lee looks at him sideways, eyes narrowing like he can read Tripp’s mind.

Fuck, that’s hot.

“When we get inside the apartment,” Leander starts, and his words come out slow and deliberate, enough to prick the hairs on the back of Tripp’s neck up to full attention. Lee’s nose dropping to his shoulder doesn’t help, either. “You’re going to head directly to the bathroom. Remove the plug, clean up, but don’t take off your harness. Obviously,” he adds as an afterthought, exiting the elevator rather abruptly and leaving Tripp to trail behind him with the bags.

Tripp eyes his friend suspiciously once he’s dumped their things on the living room floor, but Leander just folds his arms across his chest and raises an eyebrow. “Was something I said unclear?”

“No, Sir,” Tripp replies quickly, shaking his head before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind him, because some things are just not sexy to walk in on, no matter how into someone you might be. He does as he was instructed, leaving his tux pieces folded a bit haphazardly on the sink. They’ll be sent for dry cleaning—no need to be precious there.

Clearly, Leander wanted him out of the way so that he could set something up, that much was apparent. Despite knowing that, Tripp is not prepared to walk out of the bathroom and into the scene that’s awaiting him. In fact, he stops dead in the middle of the doorway, completely forgetting that he’s supposed to both be kneeling and keeping his eyes down.

No, Tripp’s definitely staring, but who could blame him?

On top of the bed, Leander is standing barefoot on his toes, suit jacket gone and long dress sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His bowtie is also missing, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone, but his waistcoat’s still there, accentuating his broad chest and trim hips. No way is this look anything but extremely intentional—it’s pushing nearly every button Tripp has that Leander knows exists (at least in the clothing department), and if Lee is planning on teasing him by looking like that, Tripp might as well grab a white flag now, because he’s not going to last very long.

“Kneel,” Leander says dismissively, otherwise failing to acknowledge Tripp’s existence at all as he reaches up to clip an already-threaded pulley onto a ceiling hook. Tripp obliges, but can’t help noticing the way Lee's shirt pulls slightly free from where it’s tucked into his pants, watching with interest as it separates between two of the buttons.

Why that particular tease is so hot, Tripp will never know, but here he is, drooling over the barest flash of tummy skin. Woe.

When Lee finally jumps down from the bed onto the ground, he lands softly, crouched directly in front of Tripp where he reaches out with one finger to tip his chin up. It all happens in one smooth motion that Tripp can’t quite process. God knows he’s still tipsy, and if he tried that move, he’d be down for the count. True, he’s got no idea how much Lee actually drank tonight, and maybe he’s basically sober. That’s not impossible, per se, but Tripp has his suspicions that Lee's dismount was curated specifically to keep him from falling on his ass. From breaking the tension or the tone he’s gone out of his way to set in the room.

Watching Lee straighten up, Tripp lets him have it. While he’s unquestionably a brat, those aren’t the kind of buttons he cares to press when it comes to their dynamic. He’s smart enough to leave well enough alone and just blink innocently up at his Dom.

From this close, Lee smells good . Not that too-fresh sort of clean that comes with hopping out of the shower, but a manly, musky scent that mixes with the expensive material of the suit he’s wearing and into his cologne— intoxicating . It’s all Tripp can do not to lean into it, to bury his face in between those spread legs and mouth there until he can feel Lee filling out. With any luck, that’s on the guy’s to-do list, because Tripp’s mouth is watering at the mere thought.

“Safeword?” Leander prompts gently, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he stares down at Tripp. His gaze is soft and hard at the same time, like he’s looking right through him, straight into his soul.

Holy shit, he’s really drunk.

“Halligan,” Tripp replies, his voice cracking a little. Embarrassed, he flushes and tries to duck his head, but Leander is quicker—grabbing Tripp’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“Don’t look away from me,” he commands.

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies, keeping his voice soft and quiet, because he knows that Lee loves when he’s compliant and submissive, but also so that it doesn’t crack again. A man can only take so much.

“And your safeword, are you using it?”

“No, Sir.”

Leander nods. “I’m not going to gag you. I want you to let me hear every pretty noise you feel compelled to make tonight.” Starting to move and then thinking better of it, Leander settles back into a crouch as he looks pointedly down his nose at Tripp.

“Noises,” he clarifies, because he knows Tripp all too well. “Not words. No back-talk, no questions, no talking at all unless you’re feeling unsafe. As usual, you may say ‘yellow’, ‘red,’ or safeword if that’s the case, and I will respond accordingly. Otherwise, noises only. Am I understood?”

The still-tipsy part of Tripp’s brain just can’t help itself.

“Mmhmm,” Tripp hums, barely suppressing a smirk as he stares wide-eyed back at Lee. After all, he’s only following instructions. Before he can so much as blink, Tripp’s cheek is smarting and he’s looking at the floor instead of his friend. The smack of Lee's hand making contact with his face sends a thrill through Tripp’s body—he’s so fucking ready, so desperate for this.

His hands clench behind his back as he breathes, in and out, closing his eyes and allowing himself an extended second to relish the sting of his skin before Lee is grabbing his hair and yanking his head up.

“Brat,” Leander growls. “We don’t mess around with safety. Answer my question immediately or I’ll stop the scene right now.”

“I understand, Sir,” Tripp gasps. Lee's grip on his hair is more ferocious than usual, and when he releases it, he does so with a little jerk that has Tripp toppling over from his knees onto his hip. “I’m sorry, Sir.” He’s not sorry, and Leander knows it, judging by the roll of his eyes he gives in return as he stands and beckons for Tripp to do the same.

“Up. Feet slightly apart, arms straight out, like you’re reaching for the walls.” As Leander saunters over to the far armoire, the one that holds all of his bondage supplies, Tripp complies with his instructions. While he watches Leander rooting casually around in the top drawer, he regrets doing it so quickly, realization slowly dawning that holding his arms out in this way was not necessary positioning for shibari, it’s punishment for his sass.

When Leander finally turns around, several lengths of rope in hand, he looks smug. As he returns to Tripp’s side, he quirks an eyebrow. “Comfortable?” he asks. Tripp stays silent, recognizing that trap for what it is, but in the quiet, the noise his teeth make when he clamps them shut is loud, and Leander’s smile widens.

“Alright,” Lee relents. “As fun as you’re making this for me, it’s not exactly what I had planned. You can rest your arms and lay down on the bed. Ass at the very edge, please.”

This time when Tripp does what he’s told, Leander watches, making his own pleased little noises as Tripp splays himself out without an ounce of shame. As soon as he’s down, Lee is between his legs, hands all over Tripp’s body, threading rope this way and that. He’s soft, gentle, pressing kisses between the twists, scraping fingers down over Tripp’s sides, tying ropes off to the loops that already hang from one end of the pulley.

He disappears once, only to return with something that makes a thump and a clank when he sets it down on the floor. Unable to look and see what it is, Tripp’s heart races, his nerves over what might be coming next preventing him from fully relaxing and enjoying the remainder of Leander’s hands working to tie him up.

“This is new,” Leander says suddenly, startling Tripp out of his nervous daydream, making his eyelids pop open and his pupils focus on the silhouette towering over him in the now-dim light. Lee is holding a spreader bar, one with four limb restraints attached, and Tripp’s already hard, but seeing his Dom with that in his hand spikes the arousal he’s feeling significantly.

It’s difficult for Tripp to ask plainly for what he wants and needs, it always has been. And even though he’s gotten better about it, feels more at ease around Leander than ever before, Tripp still has his hangups. This kind of bondage is something he’s lusted over Leander putting him in for a long time, but asking to be made powerless and vulnerable? It’s just not something Tripp’s been able to give voice to wanting. Maybe that’s silly, considering all of the things he and Lee have already done together, combined with the fact that Lee has never judged him, but that’s just the way it is.

Tonight, though, all Tripp can do is whine and nod as his dick sells him out completely by drooling precum all over his stomach. After pressing a kiss to the inside of Tripp’s knee, Leander is quick to oblige. Pretty soon, the bar’s end restraints are fastened around Tripp’s thighs and it’s positioned to press into the flesh just above his knees. After that, Lee’s onto securing the cuffs near the middle of the device to each of Tripp’s wrists. The final result is him on his back, legs in the air, hands caught uselessly somewhere in between.

His abs burn within minutes. This would be a sadistic as hell position if Leander didn’t help Tripp out by securing each of his ankles to the suspension system he’s already rigged, taking the burden off of his limbs to hold himself up. It’s still not entirely comfortable, but it’s better.

“We’re not trying to dislocate your shoulders,” Leander explains, and despite the fact that Tripp’s slipping quickly into subspace, that he understands. Without the ankle support, he’d have to either use his thigh muscles to hold his legs up, or strain his shoulder joints trying to give them a break. This way, he’s restrained, he’s exposed, he’s at Lee's mercy, but the carefully-tied ropes are doing most of the heavy lifting.

“Color?” Leander checks in again before putting the suspension rigging he’s so carefully tied to the test.

“Green.” Tripp sighs dreamily, tugging gently against his restraints, testing his limits, enjoying the way he’s held captive, the way nothing even remotely budges. Leander can truly do whatever he wants to him now, and there’s nothing Tripp can do about it. That thought should terrify him, and it does leave goosebump-chased chills running down his arms, but not because he’s afraid. Trusting someone so completely, the way he’s learned to trust Lee? It changes everything.

Tripp doesn’t feel restrained, he feels free.

As Leander manipulates his torso and moves him around—checking ties and circulation before eventually lifting Tripp’s body the rest of the way off the bed and into the air by way of the pulley—that feeling only multiplies. The actual act of suspension isn’t as dramatic as it sounds, in fact, Tripp’s only hovering a few inches above the mattress, his ass slightly higher than his head. If he really works hard to arch his back, he can actually skim the top of the rumpled sheets below with his hair.

“I also need to know,” Leander says, so casually they could be discussing plans to meet up at the Hot Plate after work, “—and you may use your words to answer—what you’ve decided regarding the taking of pictures.”

“Take whatever pictures you want,” Tripp replies immediately, even as he feels himself moving further into the air, watching Leander secure the ropes so that he stays there. “I trust you.”

“I appreciate your trust in me,” Leander replies, coming to stand in-between Tripp’s legs again, and it’s suddenly clear why he didn’t pull the ropes higher. He’s now suspended at the perfect height for Leander to fuck him without bending down or having to lean on the bed at all, and Tripp is so into this. The anticipation, the excitement —it’s causing his breath to come fast, making his cock twitch against the plane of his abdomen.

Things become a bit hazy and blurry after that—mentally, Tripp commits to letting go, succumbing to the submissive headspace he’s begun to crave so badly. It’s been too long since he and Lee have done something this intense, and Tripp suddenly remembers why they started playing and sceneing to begin with. It’s been easy to forget lately with how he’s been stressing, worrying over the possibility of things between him and Lee changing emotionally.

This scene is a reminder—they’re so fucking good together this way, too. Just this. It’s more than enough.

One minute bleeds into the next, and while Leander is definitely talking, murmuring explanations and sweet reassuring praise, Tripp doesn’t always hear the words. There are wax sticks—hot, burning drops that Leander drips all across his body while Tripp moans and twists beneath, and he drifts, focusing on the sensory ride.

Lee doesn’t stay between his legs, either—he’s everywhere, all at once . He’s biting Tripp’s collarbone, he’s rubbing still-warm wax into the skin of his tender inner thighs, he’s pressing Tripp’s face into the bulge of his crotch, just the way he hoped for earlier. As much as he can, Tripp mouths at the fabric enthusiastically, leaving damp spots behind as his way of saying ‘ thank you’ to his Dom before Leander pulls away.

At some point, Leander breaks out a vibrator, sticks it inside Tripp’s ass, and levels it directly over his prostate while continuing to torment and tease the rest of his exposed body. First the wax, then clothespins on his nipples, clipping them on and then flicking them off while deftly stroking his cock. Lee keeps that up until tears stream from Tripp’s eyes and he’s thisclose to breaking the rule about words, if only just to beg for mercy.

He doesn’t need to, not in the end, because Lee is so fucking good at reading Tripp’s body language, at anticipating both his desires and his limits, that he’s already soothing a tongue over one abused nipple right as Tripp is teetering on the edge of losing it.

And then, like the master torturer he is, Lee switches the game up completely, abandoning pain for pleasure completely as he gets down between Tripp’s thighs and presses the flat of his tongue unabashedly to Tripp’s rim. Right around the edge of the vibrator, teasing and aggressive, Leander licks and sucks in a way that makes Tripp twist and shake and cry out without shame, jerking in the air.

“Fuck, Lee!”

Damn it— he slipped, he knows he slipped, fuck, but Tripp’s half out of his mind, nearly delirious, couldn’t have helped it if he tried. “Sorry,” he half-mumbles, half-gasps as another tear leaks from his eye and tracks down over his temple and into his hair. “Sorry, Sir,” he repeats, but Leander is already taking his sweet, sweet mouth away, making clicking sounds with a tongue that should be working on other things, and Tripp can’t do anything but groan to hear it.

“Naughty, naughty,” Leander chastises as he climbs onto the bed, shuffling towards Tripp’s head on his knees. As he does, his hands are already unbuckling his pants and pulling his cock out without ceremony. “Open,” he says, pressing a thumb to Tripp’s chin to encourage him to comply while rubbing the crown of his cock across his barely-parted lips.

Even in Tripp’s floaty, altered state, it’s not hard for him to tell what Leander wants, what he’s trying to do. With the vibrator shoved far up his ass, it’s hardly a punishment, but Tripp’s certainly not going to say so. He opens his mouth wide, moaning and relaxing his jaw as Leander slides in deep, giving a few gentle, testing thrusts before pulling him in by the back of his neck.

Breathing carefully through his nose, which winds up flush to the crease between Lee's groin and thigh, Tripp goes pliant as much as he can. He swallows when he’s able around the intrusion in his throat, allowing saliva to otherwise run freely down his cheek. He’d love to grab onto Leander’s thighs for leverage, but he can’t, just has to let whatever his Dom wants to happen, happen.

Like always, Leander remains perfectly poised and unaffected in his control, even as he ravages Tripp, using Tripp’s hair to set the speed and rhythm more than his own hips. It’s likely in part because he just loves to pull hair, but also (probably) because he knows that Tripp enjoys it too. Leander thrusts in and out of his mouth and Tripp follows along as best he can, sucking and licking and trying so damn hard to be good after accidentally messing up.

A mere handful of minutes later, he’s rewarded, and it feels like turning his face up to the sun.

“There’s my good boy,” Leander croons, smoothing a hand over Tripp’s cheek, even as he chokes a little, the head of Leander’s cock bumping against his soft palate. Despite that, Tripp is still, he doesn’t pull away. “So good for me when he wants to be.” At that, Leander withdraws. He shifts backward on the mattress, creating room for him to bend down to Tripp’s eye level.

“Answer me, Tripp,” he demands softly. “Are you mine?”

Somewhat dazed, Tripp has to suck in a deep, steadying breath to even process the question. His eyes are suddenly exhausted and heavy, struggling to remain open as he stares back at Leander, knowing he must look exactly how he feels—completely undone.

“Yes, Sir,” he manages, the sound rough and used, even to Tripp’s own ears. For a minute, he thinks that Lee is going to close the distance between them and kiss his mouth, but he only dips his head to nose at the pulse point of Tripp’s throat before pulling away.

It’s a loss. Tripp’s close, he’s really close, despite not having been fucked yet, despite the lack of consistent attention to his cock, despite a lot of things. He’s so hard that it’s painful, so needy and desperate for Lee to take him over the edge that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stay silent.

He wants, God, he wants. But, he also wants to be good. He is good, for Lee, Lee said so. Fixating on that thought instead of giving into his desire to break the rules and beg, Tripp exhales a stream of air from his lungs and tips his head back, very slowly counting to ten inside his head. Silently, Tripp does his best to center his mind and regain both a modicum of patience and some semblance of control over his body.

He’s so preoccupied with maintaining that control that he almost misses Leander removing the vibrator and saying, “I think we’ve both earned this,” right before he spreads Tripp’s cheeks and slides home.

After so many hours of wearing a plug, stacked with the way Lee has played with, tortured, and toyed with his body all night long, there’s nothing but near-agonizing relief when Leander’s cock pushes inside. Tripp expects him to use the spreader bar for leverage, but he doesn’t—he grabs Tripp’s hips, grips him tight , and fucks him mercilessly. Tripp’s hands flex in his restraints and his head falls back, eyes closed and mouth open, unable to even pretend that he has the strength to hold it up anymore.

And Lee— he’s an animal.

Suddenly, Tripp is flashing back to the Dom’s little speech about noises and wanting to hear them all, because Lee is loud. Not that he’s usually quiet, but this is next level. He growls and grunts, propping a foot on the bed so that he can thrust more forcefully. He moans and cries out, and Tripp is shaking, he’s so fucking overwhelmed, struggling to believe that he could really make someone— Lee— feel this way, especially while tied up and doing virtually nothing except clenching his ass.

Seeing him unravel makes it so much easier for Tripp to let go, to return Lee's moans with his own. There’s nothing subtle or slow about his orgasm tonight—no, this one barrels down the track like a thundering freight train.

When Tripp comes, it’s with Leander’s fingers shoved down his throat, Leander’s hips grinding figure eights into his pelvis, and his own cock untouched. The sensation is so powerful that Tripp’s vision whites the fuck out, his legs are shaking relentlessly, and he feels like he actually stops breathing for a moment. By the time he sorts himself out, his ass feels warm and wetter than before, and Lee's thrusts are slow, lazy—he’s already done.

Holy fuck, did they finish at the same time? That’s a thought Tripp’s going to have to circle back to at a later date, when he can actually think, because—yeah. No one actually does that. Climaxing at the same time is for porn flicks and romance novels, but here Lee is, slipping out of him like that’s what the fuck happened here.

As Tripp dazedly muses over his mini-revelation, Leander gently lowers the rigging and starts undoing his bindings. Everything in reverse, and it takes longer than Tripp would like, considering how tired he is. Also, because Lee is Lee, he insists on working each of Tripp’s joints out individually, testing their range of motion and checking for any injury, tenderness, or other signs of a problem.

Thankfully—because Tripp just wants to go the fuck to sleep— he passes whatever tests Lee is giving and earns his reward of orange juice, a banana, and a warm washcloth to the groin, which for some reason feels extra enjoyable tonight. He also gets Lee leaning up against the headboard and insisting Tripp lay back against his chest, for the sole purpose of continuing the massage Tripp grumbled his way out of after being initially released from his restraints.

It does not escape Tripp’s notice that he’s still covered in wax, but the patches that pull at hairs are easily picked off, and the rest aren’t terribly uncomfortable. Therefore, they can wait until a time when his eyes don’t have sandbags weighing them down to be dealt with.

When he’s finally allowed to pass out, even half-asleep, Tripp has to admit that there’s nothing wrong with being pampered like this. As he’s drifting off with Lee surrounding him—Lee’s hands on his skin, Lee’s lips in his hair—it occurs to Tripp that there was something Lee wanted to talk to him about earlier. He can’t quite put his finger on it, he’s so fucking tired, but he could swear—they were definitely interrupted at some point, and there was something Lee wanted to say.

Oh, well. If it’s important, Lee will come back to it, he thinks sleepily. Lee is the responsible one, after all. If he’s got something to say, he’ll say it.

Right?