Fire & Ice (Extended Edition)

Chapter 12

“This is boring,” Tripp complains from his place on Lee's couch. His back and his left leg are propped up with pillows from the playroom bed, his left arm is in a sling across his chest. Not a sling the hospital gave them, mind you, but one that Lee finally fashioned out of satin scarves when Tripp wouldn’t stop trying to use his injured hand. It might be securing his arm to his chest a touch tighter than is strictly necessary.

“This is the worst,” Tripp adds, when Leander doesn’t rise to his bait, allowing his head to loll dramatically against the pillow behind him. To be fair, Leander doesn’t disagree, especially regarding the misuse of BDSM equipment. All they’re missing is the ball gag, not that he hasn’t considered it.

“You’re a terrible patient,” Leander deadpans from the recliner next to Tripp, replying without so much as looking up from the book lying open in his lap. “I’m taking care of you. Catering to your every whim. You should be grateful. Falling at my feet to worship my benevolence in thanks. Instead, you’re whining. You know how much I detest whining.”

Tripp scoffs. “I’d rather do that first thing,” he agrees, and Leander stifles a smile, still focused on the pages of his book but no longer actively reading. “C’mon, Lee,” Tripp needles. “My limbs might be broken but my mouth ain’t.”

When Leander glances up and catches Tripp’s eye, he knows that he’s been caught. “Anymore,” he says pointedly, trying and failing to not look amused at the way Tripp bites his lip and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “God, you’re awful.”

“I think I’m adorable,” Tripp retorts.

It’s not as if Leander isn’t planning to give in— eventually —but being unable to physically turn Tripp over his knee and spank him, he’s had to get creative with keeping the bratty attitude in check. Especially now that Tripp’s injured and stuck in one place, completely at Leander’s mercy (though not exactly in the way they’re used to). That dynamic shift has been…interesting, to say the least.

Unfortunately for both of them, dramatic, life-threatening events that end in sweeping romantic gestures only go so far towards softening reality, and theirs has been tough.

Three weeks have passed since Tripp’s release from the hospital, and while Tripp might enjoy being Leander’s submissive in the bedroom—and perhaps occasionally outside of it, when the mood strikes—he hates being dependent on anyone for anything. Which means that Leander is constantly walking an incredibly fine line between caring for Tripp and pissing him off. More than one evening has devolved into Leander storming out of the living room and onto his own balcony to cool off, shutting the sliding glass door behind him and knowing full-well that it’s a dick move because Tripp can’t follow.

Although, knowing Tripp, he’d crawl across the hardwood floors hand over fist if he thought it would drive home a point. That awareness has Leander perpetually ensuring that—even when he’s angry—his phone remains charged and tucked in his pocket... just in case . Tripp always lets him have his space, though, and likely needs his own. It’s such that usually, by the time Leander ventures back inside, Tripp is ready to push past whatever it is they were bickering about and let it go.

Usually. Sometimes he’s not, choosing instead to ignore Leander and pout on the sofa like a beer-drinking toddler well into the early hours of the morning. Meanwhile, Leander retreats to their bedroom and screams his frustrations into a pillow.

Even then, he unfailingly plugs in his phone and leaves it on low volume by his bedside—just in case.

If Leander thought that he loved Tripp before, he’s really beginning to understand what that means, and it’s not all sunshine and roses.

Still, Leander wouldn’t trade it. If anything, their struggles make the quiet, peaceful moments they share together taste that much sweeter. Life is not perfect, and Leander never expected it to be.

So they’re fine. It’s all temporary, and they’ll get through this. In a few more weeks, Tripp’s casts will come off, Leander will return to work, and Tripp will start intensive outpatient physical therapy in the name of eventually being cleared to do the same.

All in all, Leander has no regrets about this path he volunteered to walk—both personally and in regards to Tripp’s recovery. In fact, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’s not remotely sorry for shouldering the primary caretaker responsibility ( not that he would ever admit to Tripp that’s what it is), or for not passing Tripp off to Beau, back when he had the chance.

That’s another thing Leander doesn’t ever plan on admitting to Tripp—that he and Beau held a post-intubation conference with just the two of them regarding what would come next. A heated back and forth outside of Tripp’s I.C.U. bay while he was still down for the count inside, snoring away on his painkillers. It’s probable that Tripp would disown them both if he knew, and he definitely would do so if he found out that the argument involved who was best suited to care for him in his (however temporary) infirmity.

As far as the conversation itself went, it honestly surprised Leander that Beau even wanted the job, never mind the fact that he was willing to raise his voice to Leander in pursuit of it. Beau's aggressive insistence that he needed to bring Tripp home to the Truett’s apartment, needed to look after his brother himself, raised Leander’s hackles and resulted in him snapping off a comment or two about the inappropriateness of that entire scenario. It’s possible that Leander implied that he was the obvious and only suitable choice, which only made Beau increasingly irritated and prickly.

The whole encounter felt strange and left Leander feeling completely off-balance, especially when Beau abruptly cut himself off and stormed away in a very un -Beau-like manner. Stomping down the hall holding one hand high, like he just couldn’t with Leander anymore. It’s the most Tripp-like Leander’s ever seen him act, which was quite terrible, because Beau is definitely not Tripp, and Leander’s usual tactics for coping with Truett dramatics would certainly not have been welcomed.

He briefly contemplated texting Beau to apologize, but in truth, Leander wasn’t sorry in the least. Beau's actions didn’t make any sense to him, outside of the theory that Beau perhaps didn’t trust Leander to care for Tripp, which hurt too much to seriously consider. Why would a just - married young man want to postpone his entire life— and his honeymoon —to play nursemaid to his brother? Especially when there was a superior, sensible alternative for everyone involved?!

It was odd, no doubt, but Leander didn’t dwell too much. He simply chalked his confusion up to a severe lack in both familial bonds and / or romantic awareness. It’s not as if he was in any position to judge whatever worked for Beau in his relationship with Bri. Not when Leander’s behavior was a solid part of the reason he and Tripp were so messed up in the first place.

Ultimately, Leander opted to let Beau storm off in his self-righteous huff without protest, only to watch him be escorted right back down the hallway by his ear—in spirit if not in practice—by his wife, less than sixty minutes later.

“Tell him,” Briana demanded, flipping her curly blonde ponytail back over her shoulder and crossing both arms over a stained, white sundress. The outfit was jarring to Leander’s eye, totally out of place for the cold weather, and only then did he realize that she was probably dressed to go to the airport. Dressed for her honeymoon, having changed out of her scrubs once her shift ended. The dried reddish-brown smear marring her torso caught his notice, but Leander didn’t say so. It would appear that he and Beau weren’t the only ones having a rough day.

Looking like a chastised puppy, Beau was busy averting his eyes and pulling at his own fingers, eventually revealing that he was not actually upset at Leander, he was feeling guilty. Apparently, he’d been planning to move out of the shared Truett apartment and into a brand new condo with Briana within the next couple of months, but had never gotten around to telling Tripp that.

“Our lease is up soon,” he mumbled. “Tripp can afford the place on his income alone, but I figured if he wasn’t cool with me leaving, I’d just continue paying my share until he found somewhere new. I can’t spring that on him now, though! We’ll just have to stay. We’ll lose our deposit on the condo, but that’s not a huge deal. Tripp needs me, anyway.”

With an exasperated grumble, Briana leaned in and used her elbow to nudge Beau’s ribs, making him grimace. “And?”

“And…” Beau sighed, tipping his head back and rolling his neck. “And I feel like I owe it to him,” he reluctantly explained, raising his hands before allowing them to drop and clap against his thighs . “Lee, Tripp practically raised me. Changed my diapers, got me dressed for school, always made sure I had something to eat, and that my homework was done. I can’t just…” He shook his head. “I would never leave him like this, the one time he really needs me.”

That, at least, made heaps more sense than whatever Leander was previously assuming, but if Beau expected unconditional support for his unnecessarily self-flagellation, he had another thing coming.

“Beau,” Leander said gently, catching Briana’s eye and receiving a reassuring nod. “Tripp wants you to live your life. You spoke to him this morning, he told you so himself. He would hate it if you skipped out on your honeymoon because of him, after he told you to go. In fact, I think you know that he would never forgive himself if you did, warranted or not. I do think you’re probably right to be concerned about the apartment news, because you know how he hates change and loves you, but you can’t possibly believe that Tripp would actually want you to give all that up?”

Somewhat sadly, Beau hung his head, lifting a hand to swipe somewhat angrily across his face before shaking his head in the negative. “No, I know,” he replied softly.

“Guilt isn’t logical, baby,” Briana chimed in sympathetically, reaching out to rub Beau's arm. “You need to talk to him.”

Leander held up a finger. “If you’re open to it, I have another idea,” he suggested, and unsurprisingly, Beau and Bri were all ears as Leander filled them in.

In the end, Leander is reasonably certain that Beau was glad to be let off the hook, no matter what he claimed. Both in regards to being Tripp’s caretaker, and for the responsibility of breaking the news about moving out (at least, with no safety net in place). Instead, while Beau and Bri were calculatedly unreachable on their flight to Aruba, Leander approached Tripp first with a request of his own. One that he was very careful to frame clearly and accurately, and to not make sound like he was only offering because of the circumstances—even if Tripp only knew about half of them at the time.

“Will you move in with me?” put the ball in Tripp’s court, and by the time he spoke to Beau the next morning, Tripp was practically glowing about it. Which meant that when Beau casually dropped his bomb in regards to moving, Tripp had already decided he didn’t give two shits because he was too.

In the interest of full disclosure and honest communication, later that night, Leander did cop to knowing about Beau's plans, emphasizing that they weren’t relevant—he’d already been anticipating asking Tripp to move in before they ever came up. Considering that his story had the benefit of actually being true, added to the fact that—at this point in their hospital stay—Leander was way too worn out to lie convincingly, Tripp believed him.

In true Tripp fashion, though, he did hold his forgiveness temporarily at bay—only agreeing to trade it for a blowjob, value to be cashed in at some point in the not-too-distant future.

That joke is on Tripp, though, as he never negotiated “to completion,” a card which Leander intends to play to his full advantage just as soon as the opportunity arises.

With their immediate future settled, Leander had contacted EMS Chief Maxwell and gone on official leave from work, which strangely, the Chief didn’t even question. It was almost like Maxwell expected him to do so, as if he already believed that Leander and Tripp were together and serious about it.

Leander chalks that up to his love declaration over the radio, as surely that moment had not remained sacred between himself and Tripp. A private channel only indicates that the band is for side communications, not that others can’t listen in. With the way the emergency services community thrives on drama, Leander is sure that plenty of his co-workers were treating their crisis like some kind of reality soap.

Lifestyles of the Sexually Deviant and Emotionally Constipated, coming soon to a radio wave near you.

Thankfully, Leander is a workaholic whose social pursuits have essentially always been limited to BDSM and beekeeping, one of which he’s never actually translated from copious research into any sort of practical effort. Therefore, the majority of his sick and vacation PTO have simply been accumulating. The department’s administrative end took care of rolling his benefits over from year to year, at least until he hit the max hours allowed to bank. As Maxwell told it, Leander could finagle up to six full months of paid leave, if he chose to do so.

Not necessary, Leander told him. Tripp’s doctors predicted that he would have the casts off in six to eight weeks, and after that, it would be physical therapy’s job to decide when he might be ready to return to work. That could take several additional months, yes, but Tripp won’t be bedridden any longer, not by that point. He won’t need Leander to sit at home and tend to him twenty-four-seven.

Actually, Leander felt fairly certain in his belief that by then, it would be good for him and Tripp to have some scheduled time apart. To be working their way back into a regular routine.

… Or perhaps the idea of coming home from work to Tripp waiting for him was just far too tempting to dismiss outright.

Still, time off sorted and discharge location decided, there was plenty more to negotiate between the two of them, and not all of it went so smoothly. In fact, Tripp about blew a gasket when he discovered that Leander had been working on his ‘ caregiver skills’ the entire time Tripp was unconscious.

It hadn’t come up in casual conversation, so Leander hadn’t outright mentioned it, but Tripp’s assumptions about what his discharged life would look like required swift correction. Before that, Tripp was under the false impression that when he was finally sent home, a nurse would be there all of the time—to take him to the toilet, to wash him in the shower, and generally, to help with everything else “humiliating” (his words) that came with being disabled and unable to care for oneself.

When Tripp found out that in actuality, the nurse would only be stopping by for an hour or so, two, maybe three times per week, he had been very confused. It was then that Leander helpfully pointed out that he would be there, that he was more than capable of doing all of the things Tripp listed in the nurse’s stead, and in fact, that he had been doing much worse all along.

“You—you what? ” Tripp had paled, face going slack in disbelief as the implications of what Leander was saying sunk in. “You can’t—Lee, you— please tell me this is one of your weird jokes that I don’t get. Tell me you’re not serious.”

Leander, for his part, didn’t understand what the big fuss was about. After all, he’s had his tongue inside Tripp’s ass. Cleaning him up while he was unconscious and gravely ill wasn’t something he even thought to blink at. In fact, if anyone was going to do it, it seemed only right for that person to be him.

In response to Tripp’s marked horror, Leander furrowed his brow and tipped his head to the side, confused. “Believe me, it was not at all funny seeing you so helpless. Caring for your needs made me feel useful, which was a rarity that week. But yes, I am serious. I’ve already been doing those things, and then some. It doesn’t bother me in the least.”

Releasing a strangled noise that made him sound more like a dying cat than a human being, Tripp clawed his pillow out from behind his head and smashed it over his face, though not before Leander witnessed his cheeks beginning to turn bright red.

“Never tell me,” Tripp said, into the pillow. “Lee, we have sex! Never, ever tell me.”

“Tripp, I don’t see you any differently, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Leander had reached out a hand to touch one of Tripp’s, but his freckled fingers immediately curled into a fist and buried their way into the bedding as Tripp moaned in apparent agony.

Leander tried his best to provide additional reassurance, but that didn’t go over well, either. “Many people, both men and women, watch their partners give birth to their children, which I can assure you is a far more graphic and disturbing event, and they still—”

“ Lee!” Tripp whipped the pillow away from his face, looking up at him incredulously. “Not helping.” He pushed his finger pointedly into Leander’s chest and narrowed his eyes. “And I swear to God, if you finish that comparison, I will live to make you regret it.”

Putting his hands in the air, Leander sank into the depths of the comfy chair, smart enough to know when to quit. As they both sat there in silence, the air between them remained stilted and awkward. Steadily avoiding eye contact, Tripp pretended to watch a King of Queens rerun that Leander knew for a fact he’d seen twice already that week. Central Hospital’s media catalog truly left something to be desired.

To his own credit, Leander tolerated that atmosphere for over an hour before he broke. Genuinely upset that Tripp felt so uncomfortable over what he felt was simply the least he could do for the person he loved, Leander opted to try and explain his feelings one more time. For this round, though, he took a different approach.

“When we…” He paused to clear his throat, waiting as Tripp reluctantly tore his eyes away from the TV. “Before, on the day—well, you know. Earlier, at my home, you enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

Clearly surprised and probably slightly confused at Leander’s shift in tack, Tripp just blinked back at him for an extended moment before nodding slowly. “‘Course,” he replied, somewhat guarded, clearly harboring the suspicion that Leander was not actually changing the subject. Fair enough, he wasn’t.

“You came out of the bedroom with your collar on. You... we maintained our roles in a purely non-sexual manner.”

“Oh,” Tripp said, and he sounded disappointed, maybe even slightly angry, flushing a little and scratching at the back of his neck. He gave a small shrug. “Yeah, I guess we should’ve discussed that or something first. What, you’re going to tell me that made you uncomfortable?”

“Quite the opposite,” Leander assured him, reaching out to brush fingers over his thigh. “I always enjoy having you as my sub. And to be frank, I enjoyed watching you be so at ease outside of the bedroom. You seemed…content, even though you were essentially acting as a service sub.”

Tripp shrugged again, a small thing that barely disturbed his shoulder as his fingers fidgeted with the folds of the bedsheets pooled around his hips. “I like taking care of you,” he admitted quietly.

“Some of the tasks I gave you were gross,” Leander noted. “Stripping and washing all of our soiled linens, cleaning the toys we used by hand. I can’t imagine you enjoyed that.”

“Life is gross,” Tripp retorted. “And I enjoyed it because it was for you. I knew it would make you happy or whatever. I didn’t even think about—” Tripp stopped talking abruptly and snapped his mouth shut, dipping his chin to glare down his nose at Leander. “Not cool,” he grumbled, waving a finger in Leander’s smirking direction. “And not the same, either.”

“Isn’t it?” Leander pressed, scooting forward on his chair to grab Tripp’s accusatory hand and cup it between his own while Tripp scowled. “Even if you were just my sub, it would be well within our relationship construct and my own ideals for me to care for you in your time of need. If you would allow it, of course. However,” Leander paused, licking his lips and squeezing Tripp’s hand for emphasis. “It is my understanding that you are no longer just my sub.”

“Yeah,” Tripp replied breathily, staring down at the sheets before chancing a glance up and meeting Leander’s earnest gaze. “Guess not.”

“It’s not weird to care for someone you love,” Leander added, only when he felt sure he was receiving Tripp’s full and undivided attention. The resulting pink that spread down over his freckled neck and under the edges of his hospital gown was softer than his embarrassed flush, and entirely too rewarding. “Please don’t be angry with me for wanting to take care of you. You have no idea how hard it was to just—to sit here and be useless to you.”

“Lee,” Tripp said with a sigh, head dropping back against his pillow. “I’m not pissed at you, alright? I’m just…” He waved his free, albeit casted, hand around in the air, presumably gesturing to his current situation as a whole. “I’m having the opposite fuckin’ problem, and it sucks.”

“Agreed,” Leander said easily, squeezing the hand he’s holding again. “So how about this. I promise to ensure that I do everything within my power to keep you independent once we’re home. Whatever that may entail. We’ll make modifications to the bathroom, the bedroom. We’ll have occupational therapy get you every device and aid known to man, so that you can do as many activities as possible without requiring outside assistance. We’ll work together, and if there is something you absolutely cannot stand to have me help you with, we’ll figure a way around it.”

Tripp was back to picking at his blanket, but he did look relieved. “I just—Lee, I don’t want you to see me differently. When I’m all healed up and blowing you in the shower, I don’t want you flashing back on washing my ass in a shower chair meant for eighty year olds in nursing homes.”

Now, that remark came as a surprise. Caught off guard, Leander laughed loudly and Tripp startled. While he did feel somewhat bad for laughing, the idea was just— “Ludicrous,” Leander said simply, with a shrug of his own. As Tripp opened his mouth to protest, Leander waved him off.

“Listen. You know that I am…not like other people. I process things differently, am frequently too logical, too blunt, too literal. In this particular situation, those things happen to work in your favor. I will never see you differently because of some physical limitation, or because you let yourself be weak in front of me. I just do not operate that way, Tripp. It’s not something you have to worry about. I can try and reassure you more, if you like, but I’m hoping you’ll trust me.”

From beneath his lashes, Tripp was still looking at him skeptically, so Leander kissed the back of his hand and gave it a pat. “You know, sometimes I think that I was built to love you,” he said casually, tracing the patterns imprinted on Tripp’s skin, the remnants of superficial burns that were nearly all healed. “It’s as if I was programmed to be one thing, one way, and then you came along and—”

Leander looked up, finding emerald green eyes already staring back, wide and unflinching. “Things that never made sense to me suddenly clicked. I am happy loving you, Tripp. Caring for each other’s bodies is just part of that, but this is no different to me than what we do in the playroom, because it’s what you need. Perhaps that doesn’t make any sense to you, but there it is.”

Suspiciously quiet for a moment, Tripp broke the heavy silence in the room by saying, “Alright, well, just so long as you don’t develop some kind of diaper-play kink. That shit is still a hard no on my list.”

“Noted,” Leander replied with a smile, as he leaned back in his chair.

Surprisingly, though, Tripp isn’t finished. “Thing is,” he started. “I dunno if I can afford all that stuff, Lee. I mean, our insurance is decent, but we still have like, a fifty percent co-pay on D.M.E. So, you know. Your idea is great in theory, but buddy, I’m still waiting to hear how much rent I’m gonna owe before I can even think about that. Place like yours…”

From his chair, Leander just rolled his eyes, having tried and failed (multiple times by that point) to convince Tripp that moving in didn’t automatically mean having to split expenses. Still, he should have known better than to be surprised when Tripp wanted to try and insist on doing that very thing.

“We don’t need to do this right now.”

“I think we do,” Tripp challenged, sitting up a little straighter and attempting to cross his arms over his chest before remembering he had a cast on. Leander watched with one eyebrow lifted as Tripp struggled to wiggle into a comfortable, yet intimidating position, waiting him out. “You’re obviously rolling in cash, dude. If I’m gonna come and be your kept boy—” Leander snorted. “—or whatever, I should at least get to know who’s bankrolling my sugar daddy.”

Tripp raised his own eyebrows pointedly, the unbelievable brat, and therefore, it was Leander’s turn to scowl.

“Don’t be crass, Tripp.”

“Then just tell me, Lee, c’mon. We’re—we’re like, building a life together here, man. Aren’t we? I mean, I’m not reading this wrong, am I? You love me, I love you, we’re moving in together. You’re talking about wiping my ass for me and saying you don’t even care if I pay rent—shit, Lee, that’s more than my own old man ever did for me.”

The smug look disappeared from Tripp’s face, his confrontational attitude bleeding away the more he talked, and Leander was in the wrong, completely. He knew it. Tripp deserved better than Leander’s usual avoidance of all things personal. Despite that, he couldn’t help teasing Tripp, just a little.

“For someone who supposedly hates the idea, you seemingly can’t stop bringing up the ass-wiping—”

“Lee!” Tripp snapped, exasperated, snatching a crumpled straw wrapper from his overbed table and chucking it at Leander’s head. “Start talking or I’m gonna call Beau and tell him I changed my mind on giving him his life back. Then he’ll be my designated ass-wiper and the two of us will stay living together in that crummy apartment until we’re old and gray and Briana divorces him, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“That is one polluted stream of thought,” Leander remarked as Tripp threw up his hands. “Fine,” he added quietly. “I’m rich.”

“Yeah, no duh, Lee,” Tripp replied sarcastically and Leander closed his mouth, folded his arms across his chest, and raised an eyebrow at Tripp, who almost immediately shrunk down into his bedding.

“Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp replied meekly, and internally, Leander found himself gloating. He quickly sobered up, though, when he remembered what, exactly, he was supposed to be explaining.

Swiftly, Leander wracked his brain for a starting point, trying to recall what he might’ve revealed to Tripp in the past and how many years he could skip over while still making sense. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that my mother died when I was young,” he began carefully. “Not as young as you and Beau experienced, I was fourteen. Although, if I had to venture a guess, you likely spent more time with your mother in those four short years than I did with mine in triple that. Certainly, from what I’ve heard, your mother at least acted the part.”

Leander paused, but Tripp didn’t interrupt or make any jokes, just sat quietly and waited patiently for the story to continue.

“My mother was…unkind. More interested in ‘fixing’ whatever she perceived was wrong with me than finding out who I was, what I wanted out of life. As soon as I reached an age where there existed a boarding school accepting children that young, I was shipped off. Even when I was home, holidays and such, she was frequently traveling. You know my twin, Lawrence—Chloe’s father—he and our older brother Lorenzo received similar treatment, except Lorenzo—I believe he goes by ‘Loki’ these days—was a difficult child.

“Expelled from school after school, to the point where he wasn’t welcome home again, which is why we’re not as close as we might be these days. We simply have very few shared memories and common experiences, save for the occasional holiday and Mother’s funeral, plus he’s several years our senior. Lawrence, at least—well, being kept together went a long way. But he would also like to pretend that our shared past doesn’t exist. Understandable, considering that most would describe what we went through as ‘abuse,’ both at that ‘Christian’ school and at home.

“It's difficult for him to be around me, even so many years later.” Leander could tell that Tripp had some sort of reaction to the casual way he referred to his mother’s passing, but he wasn’t going to apologize or make excuses for it. This was how he felt, and if Leander was going to be made to talk about his family, it was going to be on his terms. Parched from speaking, Leander reached out and stole Tripp’s styrofoam water cup, sipping intently and then holding it in his lap, fiddling with the lid.

“My father left us. He was an extremely high-ranking military man. Extremely high,” Leander emphasized, with a meaningful look at Tripp. “His relationship with our mother happened to be a second attempt at having a family, and he was much older than she was. Apparently, his experiment failed. He didn’t enjoy raising children any more than he did the first time around, because I wasn’t even out of diapers when he accepted a position serving the incoming Presidential administration and failed to invite any of us along.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tripp said softly, but beyond that, he stayed quiet. Of note, Tripp did leave his hand conspicuously palm-up on the bed, accessible and in easy reach should Leander have wanted to take it, but he didn’t push the issue. It was a greatly appreciated gesture, even if Leander didn’t take advantage—not yet, anyway. He was rooted in a particular state of mind at that moment, and touching wasn’t something he felt especially warm and fuzzy about. He rarely did when reflecting on or recounting his difficult upbringing.

“You probably know him as Robert Grigori.”

That definitely got Tripp’s attention, and he dragged a hand over his mouth before pointing a finger in Leander’s direction. “Hold up,” he said, in obvious disbelief. “Your old man is General Grigori? The dude everyone called ‘God’ because of how much power he had over not one, but two different presidents? You don’t look anything like him.”

“He was SecDef for the better part of a decade, yes,” Leander confirmed. “And…thank you, I suppose.”

“Oh, definitely. Name should’ve been a clue, I guess, but we always called him—”

“God, I know. Everyone did.”

“Yeah, so, God—uh, Robert? Whatever. He always kind of reminded me of a weirdly attractive squirrel.” As Tripp’s eyes went guiltily wide, Leander squinted and tilted his head to the side, suspicious. “And I see now how that was definitely not the right thing to say.”

Rolling his eyes, Leander shifted in his chair and opened his mouth to continue, but Tripp cut him off again.

“You both have really nice eyes,” he offered. “Super…uh, blue.” Closing said eyes in vexation, Leander held up a silencing hand. “Right,” Tripp added. “I’m done.”

“The rest of the story is simple,” Leander continued. “My emotionally and physically cruel mother also had an extremely high-paying job. She didn’t need the child support my father sent, but certainly wasn’t going to beget the satisfaction of allowing him to stop. Every penny went into an account that was meant to collectively fund each of our way through advanced higher education—medicine or law, preferably.

“But then she died, and control of that account went to me, along with all of her other accounts and assets, which were not paltry. Lorenzo—er, Loki, right—wasn’t interested in any of it. He had our mother’s knack for business, he’s a globetrotter, and these days, a very wealthy man in his own right. Or so I’ve heard.

“And Lawrence—” Leander just shook his head. “There was a time when he would accept money to help with Chloe, but nothing else. We’ve talked about the way he turned towards religion to cope. I never understood that draw, not after...everything. Either way, today, as a pastor, he still has no interest in wealth. Chloe will never want for anything, not that I’m allowed to tell her so. I believe that’s part of why Lawrence didn’t fight her becoming a firefighter as much as he might have. At least the work is honest.

“Anyway, as you know, I opted out of a traditional four-year university to attend EMT and then paramedic school at the local community college. The end result, as it applies here, was an already significant amount of cash doing nothing except sitting in the bank earning more money.” Leander stopped talking abruptly, and it took Tripp a full minute to apparently realize that the story was over.

“Wait, that’s it? So you’ve got, what? Thousands of dollars saved up? What about when it runs out?”

“Millions,” Leander corrected flatly, picking at the cuticle of one thumb. “It’s not going to run out. I live modestly. Also, I make a mediocre living as a paramedic. I could almost definitely afford to move into the storage space in the basement of my apartment building, should the need arise.”

That made Tripp laugh and then immediately wince and clutch at his ribs. Without asking for permission, Leander shot a glance at the clock before pressing the nurse’s call button and requesting Tripp’s pain medication over the intercom.

“Anyway,” he said, flopping back into his chair. “The way I see things, it’s not my money, either. I didn’t earn it. In fact, this is probably a good time to disclose that Marley has full access to all of my accounts. She directs much of the overflow towards various progressive and social causes that would infuriate Robert Grigori if he ever discovered what his hard-earned cash was funding.”

“I ain’t no charity case,” Tripp said gruffly, but he was smiling. “Though, now I understand why you’re always picking up our bar tab.”

Leander nodded in agreement. “The money allows me to do what I love without worry. The least I can do is assist my partner in doing the same.”

Before Tripp had a chance to reply, the nurse bustled in, taking the opportunity to assess Tripp from head to toe before administering his pain medication through the IV. In truth, Leander thought it was opportune timing. No doubt, this was a hard concept for Tripp to accept—the idea of anyone providing for him, as if he was incapable of doing so for himself. Not that Leander thought anything of the sort—but that was just Tripp’s nature.

With any luck, the morphine coursing through his veins would create some sort of Pavlovian effect, a positive feeling when Tripp eventually thought back on the conversation as a whole. Leander could only hope.

The nurse lingered by the computer attached to the step-down unit’s wall to complete her charting, clicking rhythmically away at the keyboard. By the time she finished, Tripp’s eyelids were looking heavy, and he was visibly fighting sleep.

“This isn’t over,” he slurred, while Leander busied himself pulling his chair closer to Tripp’s beside and holding his hand while he drifted off.

“Of course, Tripp,” Leander replied good-naturedly.

But Tripp hadn’t brought up the discussion— any of it—ever again. Not the money situation, and not the “ass-wiping” one, either. There was no lack of opportunity for him to do so—discharge planning was taken as seriously as an Olympic sport at Central, so by the time they were walking (wheeling, for Tripp) out the front doors, not a single aspect of Tripp’s continuing care was left to guesswork.

Despite that, Tripp didn’t say another word about his misgivings, just accepted things as they came and allowed Leander to cleanly step into the role of “partner and caregiver” without further protest.

As far as Leander was concerned, that was a win, and one he wasn’t about to question.

And so, they were discharged home to Leander’s apartment. Between the visiting nurses, the physical and occupational therapists, the follow-up doctor’s appointments, and everything that came with both transforming Leander’s space and caring for Tripp in it, the following weeks flew by. Once Beau returned from Aruba, he came over frequently. His presence allowed Leander and Tripp to have some breathing room, under the guise of grocery shopping or some other errand, creating natural space so that neither had to actually admit they needed it.

On her off-nights from work, Bri came too, and the four of them would play poker and try their best to make Tripp feel as normal as humanly possible. They’d prop his leg on an extra chair and set him up with a nonalcoholic beer, and everything would seem like usual—at least, until Tripp began to nod off against his will right there at the table. Then Beau and Bri would bid them both goodnight, pretending not to look concerned as Leander wrangled Tripp into his wheelchair and carted him off to the bathroom to get ready for bed, both of them bickering amiably about it the whole way there.

It was fine, though. Leander kept his promises to Tripp regarding going the extra mile to ensure he stayed independent, and Tripp, while frequently grumpy and miserable about his situation, tried his best not to direct those frustrations at Leander.

Most importantly, nearly every night after returning home, they slept curled together in Leander’s bed. Most frequently with Tripp on his right side, head resting on Leander’s chest. The pillows from the playroom never made their way back, journeying only from the couch to the bedroom so that Tripp could stay comfortable no matter where he might be, and Leander didn’t mind that, either.

The first time he woke to Tripp stuffing a pillow behind his own back and another behind his legs so he could more effectively position his injured limbs over Leander’s body was a bit of a shock, but the end effect was entirely nest-like and not unpleasant at all.

So they adapted. More easily than Leander might have guessed, even.

The well-wisher brigade was another thing altogether. A never-ending stream of firefighters and EMTs knocking on the door began immediately the afternoon they arrived home, and didn’t slow until well after two full weeks had passed. Only then because Reina stepped in and threatened to ban anyone who “kept Tripp from getting his rest” from her bar, and none of them could afford to drink anywhere else.

All of that said and done, Tripp was exhausted during that period of time. He was still taking powerful, ‘round the clock narcotics, his various aches and pains fresh enough to keep him grumpy and uninterested in pushing his limits. For Leander and Tripp, this made things like learning each other’s romantic interests and inclinations difficult, and for the most part, their non-platonic relationship ended up temporarily shelved.

It was for the best. Leander would be lying if he claimed he had the energy for sorting through any of that on top of everything else they were dealing with. At the end of any given day, all he wanted to do was sleep. While he missed the playroom and dominating in general, the drowsy, dopey kisses he and Tripp exchanged while they were both on the verge of passing out were plenty to keep Leander satisfied for the time being.

Right around the time Reina cut off his visitors, though, Tripp also began cutting back on his medications. That left him quite a bit more alert during the day, and far more reminiscent of his normal self. He stopped falling asleep while binging Netflix, started grabbing Leander’s ass and winking whenever he walked by. He cracked jokes, and pushed Leander’s buttons, and was both intensely frustrating and wholly charming to be around. He was Tripp again.

The newly-resurfaced but still very much the same Tripp also didn’t pull any punches about what he wanted or what he thought he could handle. He had yet to be cleared by his doctor for sex, but that didn’t stop Tripp from asking, begging, and then eventually, attempting to bait Leander into fucking him. Not being cleared didn’t stop him from getting pissed when Leander wouldn’t do it, either, and the first night Tripp spent on the couch and Leander spent alone in their bed was over that very thing.

The morning that followed the spat, Leander made Tripp an enormous stack of bacon as an apology, even though he didn’t feel that he had done anything wrong. In turn, Tripp confessed that it was his own insecurities about himself, his body, and their somewhat-stalled relationship driving him to pick a fight more than anything else.

“I think it’s very normal for there to be a learning curve in these situations,” Leander replied gently, carefully lifting Tripp’s legs and sliding onto the couch beneath them. He took Tripp’s uninjured foot between his hands and began massaging the arch until Tripp’s tense body relaxed and he laid back, staring somewhat dejectedly up at the ceiling. “I am well out of my depth here, too, Tripp. I’ve never been in a ‘romantic relationship’ before, and I have no idea what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

“Won’t catch me complaining about this,” Tripp offered, wiggling his toes.

“Yes,” Leander agreed, his tone edged with frustration. “But this—I would do this for a sub. I—sometimes when I see you, I just want to grab you and kiss you for no reason. But I have no idea whether that would be welcomed or not. Just because you were open to certain things as my submissive doesn’t automatically mean you’re interested outside of that context.”

Tripp was silent for a moment and then he laughed. “Well, fuck if I know how to reply to that, Lee. I mean, sometimes I’d be into that, yeah. Cuddling and touching for no reason? Hell, yeah. But sometimes I just don’t want to be touched. Gotta be honest, doesn’t happen often when it comes to you, but, you know. Sometimes.” Tripp shrugged. “It’s just how I am.”

Working his hands up Tripp’s calf, Leander nodded slowly. “It is becoming apparent to me that both of us are very bad at this. Relationships. Romantic relationships, specifically—with all of our mounting failures, I think that it’s possible we are the last two people on this planet who should be attempting one together. And yet, you are the only person I can imagine trying to do so with.”

“So you’re saying we’re a couple of dumbasses?”

Leander smiled. “Just ‘a couple’ is fine. Less dumb, less ass. But also, yes.”

“Could be a lot more ass, if you’d let me seduce you.”

“Tripp.”

“C’mon Lee,” Tripp whined, reaching down to tug at Leander’s sleeve, encouraging him to make eye contact. “I’m busted up, not dead. I haven’t gone this long without getting off since before we started hooking up. Look, see?” Tripp opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, as if that was going to prove something. “Huh? Looking good, right? No swelling. Totally good to go. You could just kneel on either side of my face, I’ll suck you off, you do the same for me, everybody wins. I mean, if you wanted to, we could even scene. Not like I need all my limbs for that, anyway.”

Hearing that remark, Leander pulled away, grabbing Tripp’s wandering hands and relocating them to his own stomach. “This is not a rejection of you,” he said bluntly. “But you’ve taken one too many narcotics if you think I’m going to scene with you while you’re still healing.”

“Lee,” Tripp complained, tossing his good arm over his eyes. “You’re killing me.”

“I will, however, promise to take you to the club downtown once your casts are off and you are cleared for strenuous activity. I’ll even let you help plan the scene. How is that?”

“Strenuous?” Tripp repeated, perking up significantly as he peeked out from underneath his arm. Because he’s Tripp, he followed that with a gesture towards his crotch, using his casted hand. “Sounds awesome, but doesn’t help me right now.”

“I’m working on that,” Leander agreed, moving Tripp’s legs out of the way and getting up off of the couch. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be back with you. Watch your Real Housewives.”

“I’m living Real Housewives now,” Tripp replied gleefully, predictably reaching up to pinch Leander as he passed. “Got me a sexy sugar daddy to spank my ass and everything.”

“He must be a very tolerant man,” Leander deadpanned as he headed for the kitchen and his junk drawer.

Twenty minutes later had him returning to Tripp’s side with a clipboard stolen from one of the ambulances and two matching, hand-written lists clipped to it. He passed one over to Tripp and asked, “What do you think?”

Squinting and bringing the paper close to his nose in order to read Leander’s writing, Tripp’s face scrunched in confusion as he processed. “Romantic kink negotiation?” he asked. “What—why?”

“Why not?” Leander quipped. “We both admit to feeling out of sorts in this department. This exercise will at least give us a starting point, a basis for communication and to build on. I also thought that we could use the stoplight system. If one of us initiates affection that the other isn’t interested in at the moment, ‘yellow’ could help them to relay that. Just like in the bedroom, it’s not personal, it’s simply a boundary. Boundaries are healthy.”

Tripp stared blankly down at the paper for a moment and then looked up. “Lee, this is actually kinda brilliant. You know what? You’re awesome. Alright, let’s do this.”

Surprised, Leander just sat there and blinked. “I anticipated more cajoling would be needed. I had planned to offer you that blow job I owe you in exchange for your enthusiastic participation.”

The laugh he got in reply was whole-hearted and bright. “I’ll show you ‘enthusiastic’,” Tripp said with a grin, stretching up to wrap a hand around the back of Leander’s head and draw him in for a kiss. Just before their lips met, he paused, so close Leander could feel Tripp’s breath on his face.

“Color?”

“Green,” Leander replied with a smile, and Tripp finished closing the space between them, kissing him soft and thorough, with far more tongue, energy, and enthusiasm than his healthcare team would likely approve of being used. Too bad, because they’re not the ones living with Tripp day in and day out, not the ones who have to decide when it’s safer to just let him have something he wants. And on that note, honestly, Leander did see Tripp’s point. After all the man has been through, he should be able to set his own limits.

Moreso, Leander should trust him to do so.

When they were done kissing—and one did lead to another—Leander managed to wrangle a very soft and affectionate Tripp back into filling out his list. There was some kind of irony to doing so while sporadically trading even more kisses and gentle touches, but he and Tripp have never been what anyone would call typical, anyway.

In the end, their lists were surprisingly (or perhaps not, considering) compatible, and whether the activity actually changed anything between them or not, Leander didn’t care. He felt more comfortable moving forward with Tripp, like they were once again on level footing, the same way they were after filling out their kink lists. It’s possible that this was a somewhat useless exercise in practice, but Leander couldn’t be sorry for utilizing the communication tools that worked for him (and Tripp) in the past.

Not to mention, seeing Tripp dive in so readily was a turn-on. Realizing that Tripp would likely do just about any silly thing Leander proposed if he thought it meant something to him reminded Leander of why he was so attracted to Tripp in the first place. Once their pens were down, Tripp barely had the chance to flippantly remind him of his promise before Leander was knocking Tripp’s good leg down off of the couch and crawling between them.

While he didn’t end up caving to Tripp’s pleas to fuck his mouth, he did give him a pretty stellar orgasm, if Leander does say so himself. Good enough that Tripp succumbed almost immediately to the hormones and residual pain medication floating around in his system, passing out cold for nearly three hours straight, right there on the couch.

Hard as a rock, Leander cleaned Tripp up and then took his ass directly to the shower. He finished himself off by stroking his cock to the memory of Tripp in there with him— on his knees, at his feet —and had not one fleeting regret about it.

The rest of their third week home unraveled in the same way, with Leander pacifying Tripp by blowing or jerking him off nearly anytime he asked, but nothing more, and no reciprocation. However much Tripp may have enjoyed what he was getting, it quickly became clear to Leander that those acts weren’t doing anything to quell Tripp’s desire for the “real thing.”

…Which brings them to today, and Tripp’s continued, relentless attempts to bait Leander and drag him down into the depths of depravity alongside him, whether it’s in Tripp’s own best interests or not. Oh, what Leander wouldn’t give for that parade of visitors to start back up again, to provide him with an excuse for not letting Tripp goad him into what would inevitably be very satisfying but very dangerous sex.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

The truth is, he’s so weak for Tripp. God, Leander loves him so much, wants to be near him and all over him in a way he’s never experienced before and is only growing stronger. Even when Tripp is doing his best to saw away at the last string connecting him to sanity, Leander craves him. Ever since he cracked the door by blowing him on the couch, Leander knew he’d cave eventually.

It was only a matter of time.

Well, we behaved for a while, Leander thinks, sighing internally and deciding that if he’s going to give in, he’d better do it right.

“Give me twenty minutes,” Leander tells Tripp for the second time this week, patting his shoulder and exiting to the bedroom without another solitary word. The look of sheer excitement mixed with surprise on Tripp’s face is wholly worth whatever fallout this questionable decision may bring, so much so that Leander wonders why, exactly, he’s waited so long to relent.

Fear, probably. But Leander knows that he can navigate this safely and enjoyably for the both of them, of course he can. He’s an experienced Dom, practiced in restraining various people in all manner of incapacitation. How many countless scenes has he guided himself and others through safely in the past? No one has ever left his care with injuries Leander didn’t intentionally put there. No one has ever—to his knowledge—felt unsafe or unsatisfied in his hands.

And it’s important to his and Tripp’s developing relationship that Leander remember that fact. That he not lose confidence in himself or his abilities now. Tripp’s deepest needs have not changed, despite his physical condition, and Leander can make this work. It was easy to become lost in caring for Tripp like a caretaker, enough that Leander might have accidentally forgotten how vital it is that he remain Tripp’s Dom, too—his partner in all things, not just the ones that currently have the loudest presence.

That spiraling thought sparks another, and Leander suddenly knows exactly what he’s going to do. Equally important, he knows where he’s going to do it.

The playroom bed has always been symbolic of the boundaries he and Tripp have set between them, the ones they’re rightfully breaking down now, and it’s time to finish that off in a meaningful way. He and Tripp have had sex in the playroom, Tripp’s submitted to him there. They’ve slowly but surely let that dynamic creep out into the rest of the apartment and even to the world, but never into Leander’s— their— bedroom.

In that bedroom, they’ve slept platonically. They’ve been romantic and sweet, kissing until they fell asleep and holding each other all night long. They haven’t bridged both worlds, not yet, and Leander thinks that it’s about time he brought the pieces together.

Before setting the scene, Leander retreats to the bathroom. There, he showers, shaves, and cleans himself up. There’s a bottle of lube that’s made itself a home next to the shampoo and body wash, untouched since Tripp’s accident. Leander picks it up to consider and shrugs, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to prep himself ahead of time. The bathroom fills with misty steam, fogging the mirrors and the door handles as Leander’s shower drags on, but beneath the hot spray, he’s oblivious.

Two fingers deep in his ass, Leander’s mind drifts easily into another world. His damp forehead presses against the arm he has braced against the tile wall, and he sighs. Imagining Tripp’s fingers in place of his own helps move things along more quickly, though Leander resists touching his cock, insistent as it might be between his legs. Once he’s deemed himself relaxed and ready, he lets his fingers slip free, finishing his shower routine before stepping out and toweling off.

From the drawer below the sink, Leander extracts a clean plug, lubing and inserting the metal piece before stepping into a fresh pair of cotton pajama pants. No need to ruin the surprise. Or, the mystique, anyway—with Tripp’s current condition, there’s pretty much only one reasonable way to go about honoring his request, and Leander is positive Tripp already knows that.

He still does the work of transforming their bedroom into something reminiscent of the playroom, but softer. There is absolutely no doubt in Leander’s mind that if Tripp didn’t want to get laid so badly, these efforts would result in relentless teasing, and not the sexy kind. The lighting of candles ( scented—summer campfire) , the mood music, the general outing of himself as a huge sap who has never done this before—Tripp is absolutely going to be dying internally over his inability to crack jokes.

But fuck Tripp, Leander’s got a stake in this, too. He’s never done a scene with someone for whom he has feelings, and who openly admits to loving him back. He’s been in a variety of convoluted alternate versions of that scenario, but not this one in particular, and it has him fighting off a certain amount of anxiety.

Should he act differently? Will he want to act differently, once they’re physically together? Will Tripp welcome those changes in Leander’s approach, or red-light them out of hand?

Only when Leander finds himself standing at the foot of his bed, staring blankly into the middle distance while clutching a handful of quilt so tightly his knuckles have turned white, does it occur to him that he may be overthinking things.

With a deep breath, Leander forces his brain to turn off, strolling—in what he hopes reads as a confident manner—out of the bedroom and across the apartment. As he passes behind the couch where Tripp is lying, Leander doesn’t so much as glance down at the man. Nonetheless, he can feel Tripp’s eyes following his movements with poorly-disguised interest.

After retrieving the item he set out to get from the foyer, Leander returns to Tripp’s side and presents the small box with all of the gravity it deserves. He lifts the hinged lid so that Tripp doesn’t have to struggle, and drops down to one knee. “Would you like to put this on? No pressure.”

The way Tripp’s face lights up, one would have thought Leander had announced he’d gained magical powers with which to heal Tripp’s injuries instantly. “Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies softly, reaching out to run the fingers of his good hand along the pliable green leather in an almost reverent manner. “Damn, I missed this,” he remarks, almost to himself.

It’s the first time in recent memory that Tripp has voluntarily dropped the sassy, bratty front he’s been putting on, and Leander is relieved to see it. He’s also still annoyed that Tripp has been acting like such a punk to begin with, but now is not the time. Or is it the perfect time?

“Would you two like a moment alone?” he asks, unable to resist.

The glare he receives in return is worth it, but Leander holds up a hand and swallows his smile, plucking the collar from its case and holding it out so that their evening doesn’t careen wildly off the rails by his hand. As peaceful as the apartment’s balcony is, hanging out there alone isn’t on Leander’s agenda for tonight.

“May I?” he asks.

“I dunno, are you gonna keep being a dick about it? Sir? ” Tripp pouts.

“No. I want you in it as much as you want to be in it. Lean forward.”

Fitting the collar around Tripp’s neck feels like a nearly-religious experience, but Leander is not a sap, is not going to ruin this moment by becoming emotional and accidentally flashing back on everything they’ve been through and all of the times he thought they might not ever make it back here. He’s not.

Fuck.

The fact that Tripp is sitting here in front of him, perfectly alive and mostly-well, hair all disheveled and wearing Leander’s rattiest white t-shirt and a pair of loose Batman boxers—it does nothing to take away from the gravity of the moment.

Tripp looks as if he’s experiencing some of the same struggles inside his own head, his eyes turning glassy and red, so Leander does the mature thing and leans in to kiss him, hard . The intimate contact gives them both something to pour the confusing tension and energy into like a spillway, and it helps.

With his good hand, Tripp reaches up to cup Leander’s face, holding him close and kissing back with everything he’s worth. Still kneeling on the floor, Leander just wiggles his way in between Tripp’s legs, gathers him close and holds on, letting his mouth convey what he absolutely can’t bring himself to say out loud.

When the two of them finally part, they’re both short of breath, lips swollen and shiny. Seeing Tripp like that is enough to bring Leander’s mind roaring swiftly back to his original plans for the evening. Tripp seems to agree, his shorts tenting and his hands starting to wander of their own accord.

Briefly, though, Leander does catch him glancing over at his wheelchair with a scowl on his face—one that suggests he’d rather take a baseball bat to the thing à la Office Space than ever sit in it again. And Leander can understand that. Being wheeled into the sex dungeon is nothing to be ashamed of outright, but that’s not for him to decide. These are Tripp’s feelings to have, and clearly, the chair feels like something negative right now. That’s fair, considering that the whole scene is going to be different by nature to their usual, full of similar-types of reminders, and it’s apparent Tripp finds this one particularly humiliating.

Thankfully, Leander has an alternate idea.

One thing that he’s been doing consistently ever since Tripp’s release from the hospital is taking advantage of his building’s gym. Running, lifting, working out with various weights—all of it, and he’s been doing so daily without fail. It’s been a useful form of stress relief, and a path to keeping up his physique now that Tripp is relying on him so much, physically speaking. The results are some seriously-toned muscles Leander didn’t even know he could have. He’s pretty sure they’re up to the task he has in mind for tonight.

“Forget the chair and lean forward,” Leander demands. “Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on.” However skeptical he might be, Tripp complies without question. When he’s situated at the edge of the couch, Leander grabs underneath Tripp’s thighs, tightens his core muscles, and stands. As Tripp yelps and clings like a spider monkey, Leander chuckles and adjusts his grip so that he’s cradling his ass.

Pressed flush against his chest, Tripp’s breath is hot on Leander’s neck, the air moving sharp and fast over his skin. Contrary to how it might seem at first glance, Leander is fairly certain he isn’t scared or upset, considering Tripp’s crotch is pressed directly against his stomach .

“I do enjoy your response to being manhandled,” he says quietly into Tripp’s ear as they walk. “I enjoy everything about you, regardless of your limitations, whether perceived or actual.”

“And I enjoy these fuckin’ biceps, holy shit, Lee,” Tripp exclaims. “I gotta get back to the gym, can’t have you showing me up like this. Hey, would you break up with me if I worked out my right side ‘til I had a Popeye arm? Could be sexy,” Tripp suggests. In response, Leander dumps him unceremoniously onto the bed, perhaps a bit more roughly than he might have otherwise.

“Oh, yes . Hell, yes. I fuckin’ missed this,” Tripp declares happily, spreading his legs as much as he’s able with the cast in the way, restricting his movement. “Come on, Sir, make me beg for it.”

“First of all,” Leander remarks, stepping closer to Tripp’s side and slipping fingers underneath the band of elastic around his waist. “It seems you’ve forgotten who is in charge here, and whose job it is to listen and obey. ” With deft hands, Leander works the boxers down over Tripp’s hips and cast until they’re off. By the time he’s done, Tripp’s gotten himself stuck in his shirt, grumbling from somewhere inside it about forgetting to untie the sling. Feeling merciful, Leander pulls the tie and releases his arm before moving to help tug the offending shirt the rest of the way gone.

When Tripp’s face pops free, he at least has the decency to look abashed. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he says immediately. “Really. I just— fuck, Lee, I really need this. I need you.” With a faintly shaking hand, Tripp reaches out and touches Leander’s bare side, right above where his pajama pants are slung beneath his hip bones.

“I know,” Leander concedes, taking Tripp’s hand and kissing the back before returning it palm-down to Tripp’s stomach. He turns on his heel, walking over to the bedroom door in order to close it, hoping to maintain the atmosphere he’s curated in the room.

Leander’s bed is huge. It’s a California King, it has an extremely expensive mattress, and it’s stuffed to the brim with pillows and blankets. Not solely for Tripp’s comfort, but because Leander enjoys them, too. Right now, Tripp is lying somewhere close to the middle, looking ridiculous with his neon pink arm wrap and bright green leg cast, and whether it’s the size of the bed or the plaster, he actually looks small. He’s right there, though, and that’s what matters, equally looking like every missing piece Leander didn’t know he lacked.

Tripp. In his bed. His submissive, Tripp. His partner, Tripp. His friend, his lover.

Leander shifts his gaze down for a moment, blinking at his bare feet until his vision clears. Once it’s safe to do so, he advances towards the bed, stepping out of his pants in one fluid motion before crawling up and without hesitation in-between Tripp’s legs.

“There are rules for tonight,” Leander says bluntly, shifting on his knees. “You get only what I see fit to give you, no arguments. If you do argue, I will end the scene. As always, I am your Dom. I am responsible for your safety, your well-being. I will not be reckless with either, no matter how much you try and goad me into it. I will punish you for trying to push me in that direction, and it will not be a punishment you enjoy. Understand?”

“Fuck, yes,” Tripp replies breathily, his eyes glazed over now for all the right reasons, and Leander loves him. “Sir.”

“Safeword?”

“Halligan, Sir.”

“And are you using it?”

“No, Sir.”

Leander nods. “In addition to your safeword, please use the stoplight system for any discomfort—this is not a time to push through pain. You can safely assume that if you do feel pain tonight, it was not intentional on my part. I want you to say ‘yellow’ immediately if that occurs so that we may reassess together. I trust you to be wise about your limits.” Leander arches an eyebrow, and for once, Tripp nods solemnly: he understands.

Business aside, Leander begins to feel like he can relax a bit more. He cracks a smile. “Everything else, I suppose I will let you discover as we go along.”

Looking surprised, Tripp glances around. “That’s it? No…restraints? No hot wax? No ball gags or dildos? Damn, Sir, you go all vanilla on me while I was out of commission? Should I be worried?”

“Shut up, Tripp,” Leander retorts, leaning down to kiss him. He goes out of his way to pin Tripp’s right arm to the bed when he does—no use in spoiling the game just yet.

With Leander’s tongue down his throat, Tripp moans. He kisses back enthusiastically, and Leander lets him. They make out for a few minutes, amping up the arousal and the crackling energy between them until Leander starts to feel hot all over.

Eventually, predictably , Tripp rocks his hips forward, gliding his hard cock up against Leander’s, and in response, Leander immediately freezes, going unexpectedly stock still.

It takes Tripp a second to catch on, but once he does, he relaxes his hips down and they go back to making out. The second time Tripp rocks his pelvis up, Leander pulls away, straightening his spine and wagging a finger at him. “Uh uh,” he teases, but Tripp just looks confused, so Leander dives back in. This time, he leaves Tripp’s uninjured hand free to do whatever it likes, and in seconds, it’s tangled in his hair.

Leander sits up.

“Oh, no,” Tripp groans. “Seriously?”

“Movement restriction,” Leander explains, however unnecessarily. “By your own willpower. I’m going to give you what you want, what you’ve been asking for, but you’ll have to stay perfectly still to get it. Move your body from where I position it or touch mine and everything stops. Disobey me enough and I will stop completely for the night. If that happens, you’ll get to watch me jerk off onto your chest and face, and you will not be allowed to come.”

Leander pauses for a moment and then adds, “and I will take a picture of you like that to commemorate the moment. Hmm. On second thought, do what you like. This is bound to end well for me, either way it goes. How convenient.”

Tripp flushes, bites his lip, drags it slowly through his teeth as he contemplates Leander’s words. Stunning.

As Leander pushes away and slides down off of the bed, he asks, “Color?”

“Green, Sir,” Tripp replies quickly, and Leander can tell by his tone that he’s still very excited, not disappointed in the least. Good. Standing by the side of the bed, Leander arranges Tripp’s body so that he’s on a diagonal, head very close to the edge, but not dangling off of it. From there, he’s at the perfect height to rub the head of his cock over Tripp’s lips, so he does.

“Is this what you want?” Leander asks, struggling not to become distracted by the way Tripp’s lips part unconsciously. “What you’ve been begging me for all week?”

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies, and almost accidentally, his pink tongue darts out and flicks over Leander’s slit. It feels delicious, but Leander doesn’t react as such, except to pull away.

“Uh-uh,” he scolds, with a shake of his head.

“‘M’sorry, Sir,” Tripp replies breathily, and Leander believes him—he’s slipping quickly into subspace and the look in his eyes is nothing but pure, unadulterated want. There is no doubt in Leander’s mind that Tripp is trying to behave.

“You just want to suck my cock so badly,” Leander commiserates, tapping the head against Tripp’s lips once again.

“Yes,” Tripp croaks, right hand flexing on the mattress, working against all of his instincts to be good, to be still. Poor Tripp, he’s got a long way to go, here.

“If I let you suck my cock, you’ll be my good boy, won’t you? You’ll be still. You’ll raise your hand if you’re in pain and say ‘yellow’ when you’re able?”

“I’ll be good,” Tripp rushes to say. “Please, Sir.”

“Open,” Leander commands and Tripp quickly obliges. “Tongue out.” As soon as it appears, Leander slides his cock along its slick surface, holding the side of Tripp’s head tenderly as he moves maybe a third of his length in and out, letting Tripp taste, letting him adjust. Tripp just moans around whatever he’s given, sucks happily, and lets his jaw go slack when Leander tries to move deeper.

The wet heat of Tripp’s mouth after weeks of only having his hand and his memory translates to sheer, utter bliss, and Leander nearly forgets himself several times. It would be so painfully easy to get lost in Tripp this way, to fuck his face roughly and with abandon, to come hard down his throat—but he resists. Of course, he resists. Safety aside, Leander has designs about how this scene is going to end for him, too.

When he eventually pulls back, Tripp’s face is sloppy—saliva trailing down his cheek and the side of his chin closest to the mattress. His lips are puffy and reddened and he’s wearing a completely dazed expression that makes him look positively drugged.

“Color, Tripp,” Leander says, gently but firmly, and Tripp grins.

“Green,” he replies dreamily, very much himself, and Leander is relieved.

“May I—” he starts and then stops, hesitating. “I’m going to kiss you, because I love you so much and I can feel it spilling over inside of me. It’s not because we’re sceneing, and I just thought—perhaps you should have the opportunity to say no.”

Below him, Tripp blinks a bit of the haze from his eyes, dragging the back of his hand across his wet mouth and shaking his head a little. “Sir—Lee—are you seriously worried that I don’t want to kiss you right now? Or like, are you just trying to mess with me?”

“No,” Leander replies defensively, folding his arms across his chest. “Our scenes are rooted in ongoing enthusiastic consent, and I am asking whether you consent to changing the dynamic for one kiss to—”

“Jesus Christ,” Tripp murmurs. “Green, I consent, I love you too. Now kiss me already, so we can fuck. Wait—do scene rules apply? Can I touch you?”

Leander squints and thinks about it for a moment. “The rules do not apply for this one negotiated kiss.”

Tripp just stares up at him, incredulous. “You are so fuckin’ weird. I love you.” He reaches up to tug at Leander’s arm until he’s close enough to yank down by his head, moving to cup Leander’s freshly-shaven jaw with his good hand and drawing him close. Tripp is in control, bringing their mouths together deep and soft.

The way their lips move in sync, the way Tripp is careful in teasing with his tongue—Leander doesn’t mind being judged a little, because this is what he wanted. This kiss feels different—it feels like love . Perhaps he won’t stop a scene to make the distinction in the future, but right now, he’s not even sorry.

“Alright, back to business,” Leander asserts once he pulls away, and Tripp rolls his eyes but makes a sign with his hand that either means ‘ proceed’ or ‘fuck you’ , Leander’s not entirely certain. Despite that, he presses on, climbing back up onto the bed and straddling Tripp’s body, reaching behind himself to remove the plug that’s nestled between his cheeks.

“Remember,” he says sternly. “You must remain still.”

To Tripp’s credit, he’s perfect. From the agonizing push of Leander sliding ridiculously slowly onto his cock, to the teasing way he lifts back up, nearly popping all the way off before dropping down again, Tripp behaves. Spread out on the mattress, he makes these enticing little moans Leander wishes he could swallow, fluttering his eyes open and shut and working the fingers of both hands into the linens.

Even when Leander begins to really move, Tripp stays nearly motionless. They catch each other’s gaze and hold it, Leander circling his hips and Tripp very obviously wishing his hands were on them, though he remains compliant.

It’s intense—this thing between them. Whether it’s love or lust, domination, attraction, or something completely else, Leander’s never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire life. He leans forward, planting his forearms on either side of Tripp’s head for leverage, and continues staring into Tripp’s eyes as he rides him.

“Put your arms above your head,” he instructs, and Tripp complies, Leander lacing his left hand with Tripp’s right once it’s there.

“Sir,” Tripp whimpers.

“You can finish,” Leander assures him, digging a knee into the mattress to pick up the pace while dropping his free hand to stroke his own cock. The change puts him at the perfect angle to bite at Tripp’s nipple, so he does, hanging on while the jolt of sensation has Tripp’s hips stuttering and his head tilting back as he comes with a loud cry.

Leander’s hips work him through it, circling lazily as he sits all the way up and focuses on reaching his own finish line. Flashes of Tripp sucking him off earlier make Leander smile, make heat pool in the depths of his belly, make him come messily all over Tripp’s chest, just like he promised.

Once he’s caught his breath and Tripp is slipping out (the rest of Tripp already practically unconscious beneath him), Leander makes good on his other threat and snaps a picture, though it’s not a punishment. They’ll enjoy that together, later.

He goes about his usual routine, cleaning both himself and Tripp with a warm cloth before propping Tripp up on some pillows and ensuring that he drinks his orange juice. In line with their new normal, Leander also provides Tripp with the handful of pills he takes at night and watches as they all go down. As he turns off lights and blows out candles, Leander can’t help but feel like this is all very normal.

He’s not sure what he expected to come from having sex with a Tripp who is in love with him, but it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t routine. Something life changing, perhaps, something profound. And maybe that’s unfair, because those things were certainly there, too—they always are between them—but no more than any other time they’ve had sex. Or any time they’ve held each other through the night, or snuggled on the couch, or fought about whether Tripp actually needed help getting on and off of the toilet.

Huh.

As Leander slides into their bed beside Tripp, who promptly begins stuffing pillows around him like some kind of crazed bird, Leander thinks that it’s actually better this way.

Nothing has changed, and that is a good thing.

“That was great,” Tripp proclaims, around a very obnoxious yawn. “You feel amazing as fuck, Lee. But listen—no switching it up when we go to the club, deal? That night, you’re fucking me. You doing me in a room full of people is like, maybe the hottest fantasy I’ve ever had.”

“Fair enough,” Leander agrees with a nod. “You know that in order to go to the club, you’ll have to be able to stay awake for more than five minutes post-orgasm?”

“Shuup,” Tripp mumbles into Leander’s skin, nearly out.

It’s perfect, Leander thinks, as he looks around his darkened bedroom and really lets himself feel the weight, the presence of Tripp in it with him for the first time.

He’s home.