Fire & Ice (Extended Edition)

Chapter 13

Six Months Later

Tripp is itchy. Anxious in his own skin, unsettled, probably close to jittering right off the edge of the playroom bed if Leander wasn’t standing, you know, right there, looking down at him with narrowed eyes.

“We can postpone,” he suggests, and Tripp shakes his head vehemently.

“No way,” he replies quickly, breath coming out in a rush. “No. Worked too hard for this, waited too long. I’m not—” He grimaces, hand dropping to his left thigh, where the ghosts of nerve pain still bother him occasionally. The flash he’s having right now is there and gone—if it had been a strike from Leander’s hand, Tripp would have called it a tease. As it is, he’s just going to call it annoying. Lee looks worried, but before he can so much as open his mouth to react, Tripp holds up his other hand, still massaging with the left.

“I’m fine, it’s not really pain, Lee. Just angry nerves.”

If Leander looked any more skeptical, his eyes would be closed. “Our appointment isn’t static. If you’re having a bad day, we shouldn’t—”

“There’s no we about this, Lee!” Tripp explodes and then immediately regrets it when the hand Leander has stretched out towards him retracts and gets cradled defensively against his boyfriend’s chest. “Shit,” Tripp mutters, scrubbing his palm across his face before collapsing back onto the bed, leaving his legs dangling over the side. “You know I didn’t mean that. It’s just, babe—all the work I’ve done? Tonight is a big fuckin’ win for me.”

From somewhere above him, Leander’s voice sounds calm and unaffected. That shouldn’t be a surprise, Leander’s more than used to dealing with Tripp’s frequent tetchiness and mood swings when it comes to his injuries and rollercoaster recovery. For whatever reason, Leander somehow manages to not ever take his bullshit personally, even when Tripp’s mad enough to wish he would.

Lee is a damn saint.

He’s also annoying as fuck, especially when he’s seeing straight through Tripp’s hedging and shitty attempts to wall himself off. Or when Tripp’s covering for being stupid under the guise of being brave.

“Tripp, I know that you view this as some sort of mile marker you have to pass in order to not fail. But as I’ve told you before, your goals are yours to set. The mile marker can be moved.”

Tripp snorts. “That’s a terrible analogy, who taught you that? You can’t move mile markers, Lee. If you did, then they wouldn’t, you know, mark the miles.” The sting of Lee's belt snapping as it makes contact with Tripp’s jean-clad thigh has him yelping and jerking on the bed, but also breaking out into a huge smile. Even a month ago, Lee wouldn’t have dared mess with him so casually, and definitely not with pain.

They’ve both come a long way since then. Tripp with his physical rehab, and Lee with learning to let go and to trust that Tripp knows his own limits.

Initially, Lee's reservations were understandable, even if Tripp didn’t like them. Causing intentional, recreational pain while he was still taking narcotics to manage his injuries just seemed like a really terrible idea and a recipe for disaster. And Tripp could even comprehend his reluctance as a Dom beyond that—his uneasiness with any kind of hardcore scening at all. After watching him suffer for so long, Leander had difficulty accepting that pain was something Tripp could still enjoy, had an even worse time accepting that it was something he could still administer without guilt (or traumatic flashbacks of his own, probably).

In the end, Tripp had to take a pretty hands-on approach towards guiding their relationship in the playroom, at least for a while. Not that they switched, per se, but Tripp insisted on a much more active role in planning scenes and staying alert during them. It was a bit of a reversal that neither of them ever saw coming, but looking back, Tripp feels like it’s been good for them.

During that time, Leander really needed the validation, and Tripp needed the power. If he hadn’t taken the bull by the horns, so to speak, Tripp doubts they would have been able to get back to the place they’re in today. It didn’t hurt his own self-confidence or his desire to take back some of the autonomy that relying on Leander for his day to day needs had snatched away, either.

History aside, the quick flash of— welcomed— pain across his thighs has Tripp near-giggling, relieved that Lee isn’t going to try and turn his concerns into a genuine attempt to dissuade him from going out. Support is one thing, but Tripp’s not being reckless—he’s this close to being cleared for a full return to work, and he’ll be damned if he puts himself in any kind of position to mess that up. He’s ready, and he wouldn't say so if that wasn’t the case.

“One last thing, and I’ll be quiet about it,” Leander says, and Tripp raises an arm in the air, waving it around like, proceed, your Majesty— God knows Lee is going to, anyway. “We could simply visit, or mingle. Spend time in the middle room with less pressure on you to perform.”

“Dude, no,” Tripp snaps, slightly less heated this time as he pops back up to a sitting position and gawks at Leander in disbelief. “No. Listen, buddy, you dragged me to that brunch mixer, we did the whole meet-and-greet, took the tour, did the voyeur thing—you know full well how much I thought it sucked having to watch from the front row while other people got to do the fun stuff.”

Several paces away, Leander’s just staring back at him blankly, pulling the leather belt through his hands like he can’t figure out whether to thread it through his pants or whip it at Tripp again. “I thought that you enjoyed yourself at the Munch. You certainly enjoyed the snacks, and I don’t recall any complaining when I blew you in the parking lot after—”

“Dude,” Tripp protests, spreading his hands. “Totally missing the point. Also, you didn’t let me come.”

Leander smirks. “I did. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, I want this, Lee. Come on, don’t taint this for me. I can’t—” Tripp blows out a sigh of frustration and messes up his hair with his fingers, dropping his head. “This is about me,” he tells his knees, “and it’s for me, but I’m not gonna do it if you’re not all the way on board. Or if I have to convince you that I’m ready. We ain’t goin’ into it like that.” Tripp chances a glance up, but his Dom hasn’t moved.

Raising his eyebrows, Leander steps to Tripp’s side and straddles his legs, settling in his lap. The position is slightly awkward—Lee is six feet of muscle and Tripp’s ass isn’t fully on the bed, but knowing Lee, that’s probably the point. As such, Tripp tenses his muscles and holds on, managing to balance Lee's weight fairly easily. Just to make his own point, Tripp leans up to catch Lee's mouth, distracting him with kisses before bracing himself and flipping them both over onto the mattress.

Entirely pleased with his work, Tripp grins down at a stunned Lee and tips his chin. “Squats are doing their job,” he declares, referring to the ones Lee has been making him do to build back muscle in his legs and core. Tough but effective, the exercises Lee comes up with would probably make Tripp’s quiet, mousy physical therapist stroke on the spot. But even she can’t argue with results like these.

Considering that Lee is a fucking sadist towards his own body when it comes to working out, it probably should have occurred to Tripp that given even half the chance, he’d be one with Tripp’s regimen, too. He likely should have considered that a bit more before inviting Lee to help him build strength, but Tripp wasn’t thinking with his upstairs brain when he imagined them training together.

The thing is, Lee went into this knowing that unlike regular people, Tripp can’t return to work with a half-healed leg. He has to pass the physical agility and endurance testing for the City all over again. It’s no secret that getting back on that level after acting the part of a couch potato for months and suffering muscle wasting in his left leg has been hard .

Lucky for Tripp, Lee has been more than willing to get creative, both with workouts and the motivation to complete them. Lee was smart—giving him other things to focus on while strength training, and it’s because of that creativity Tripp’s come as far as he has. After all, no physical therapist worth their certification was ever going to suggest augmenting squats by doing them with his ass over a dildo. Lee , on the other hand...

In fact, Lee built an entire attachment for the spanking bench he already owned, one that allowed a dildo of choice to be placed vertically on the adjustable kneeler, right where Tripp’s ass should end up in a properly-done squat. Hours of fun-slash-misery ensued, but Tripp’s thighs are almost as thick as Lee's these days, and he’s got the endurance of an actual cowboy for riding cock, so take that, Lee.

...alright, so maybe Lee stood to gain a few things from all of that, too.

Regardless, there were plenty of other ingenious exercises working alongside the pegging squat, all of which helped Tripp along in his journey back to being ripped. That includes Tripp’s favorite, which is Lee himself lying with his mouth open beneath Tripp’s hips while he does push-ups, and dude— Tripp’s never been more motivated to feel the burn.

In retrospect, Lee’s had a lot to do with Tripp’s current state, both mental and physical, and maybe he should be a little less hard on the guy for trying to look out for his well-being.

It’s just that Tripp has plans , and this night is important to him for more than one reason. Tripp’s nerves are acting up for more than one reason. Really, it’s got a lot less to do with the way he’s about to get publicly flogged and railed, and a lot more to do with what he hopes Lee will be wearing when he does all of that to him.

The ring sits heavy inside the little box in Tripp’s pocket.

About a month ago, Tripp nervously confessed his intentions to Beau, and both he and Bri (once everyone calmed down) pretty much instantly volunteered to help Tripp shop. It was a quick trip—they were inside the mall jewelry store for all of two whole minutes before the winner was spotted. There it was, perched on a blue velvet display inside a glass case, and the three of them excitedly freaked out about how perfect this particular band happened to be. Ironically, Beau and Bri didn’t know why, exactly, the ring was perfect, but even so, they were right.

White gold with a line of sapphire running through the middle, the stones are a blue that Tripp will forever associate with his Dom, his friend, his— hopefully —future husband. The ring reminds Tripp very much of his emerald collar and the way it matches his own eyes. Imagining the band on Lee's finger, he very suddenly understood what Lee's undying affection for the collar itself was based upon, way back when.

Tripp wants Lee in this ring, wants him to never take it off. And he’s in no way promising that he won’t slobber all over it like a lovestruck idiot, exactly the way he hated Lee doing to him when they first got together. In fairness, Tripp didn’t get it then . He does now. Wearing this ring, Lee is his.

If all goes as planned, Lee is going to have it on his finger tonight.

Even before he swiped his credit card at the store, Tripp had been wracking his brain trying to plan the perfect proposal, but nothing seemed right. What he really wanted was to make up for the shitty love confession that never should have been—to give Leander all the romance and emotional crap both of them secretly enjoy (sometimes), and that Leander deserves.

But the ‘right time’ never seemed to present itself, and any scenario Tripp tried to concoct felt forced, felt like it wasn’t them. In fact, as recently as a couple of days prior, Tripp had gone so far as to almost pull the trigger.

While Lee was at work, Tripp went shopping. When he returned home, he pushed all of the furniture in the living room up against the walls. Space cleared, he built a pillow and blanket nest around a disgustingly adorable picnic set-up on the floor. He lit candles, strung fairy lights, put champagne on ice, and cooked Lee's favorite meal: the whole enchilada (not literally, he made burgers). Tripp even busted out his old boombox to curate a mixtape for Lee—thirteen of his most treasured classic rock songs, which everyone knows is as romantic a gesture as they come.

When it came down to the wire, though, Tripp just couldn’t spit the words out. There was nothing wrong with his setup—hell, Lee was thrilled with it. Tipsy on champagne and elated to have a hot meal in his belly after a long day on the rig with virtually zero downtime, Lee had been handsy all throughout dinner. Not just by feeding Tripp, which he insisted on, but in general. In fact, they’ve both been uncharacteristically soft and affectionate with each other, laughing and exchanging kisses, murmuring sweet, gentle words like a couple of irredeemable saps.

Absolutely nothing was out of place, and no scene Tripp’s able to imagine or dream up could have possibly set a more perfect tone. Despite all that, the moment just didn’t feel right. Not that Tripp could give voice to why, it just didn’t.

So the ring stayed heavy in his pocket, heavier on his mind. Ever since, Tripp’s slowly starting to realize that if he keeps waiting for the ‘perfect moment,’ he and Lee are going to die of old age before they ever make it to the altar. And he really wants Lee to go into the club tonight marked . Possessive, maybe, but Lee was right when he said that they aren’t just Dom and sub anymore, and Tripp—Tripp wants everyone else to know that, too.

So fuck romance, that’s never really been their thing, anyway. It’s fucking time.

“So, I’m gonna—” Tripp cuts himself off, swallows hard, and gestures towards the doorway. The reason they’re in the playroom to begin with was practical—to gather supplies for tonight and then get Tripp ready, but his collar is still in its box out in the foyer. Tripp left it there intentionally, wanted the excuse to gather himself for a minute, to come back and get down on one knee for an entirely different reason. It’s cliche, it’s symbolic, it feels like them— as much as anything is ever going to .

“Of course,” Leander acknowledges, failing to notice that anything is strange with Tripp’s demeanor as he slides backward off of his lap. Lee stands, stretches, and then takes himself over to the middle armoire to continue rifling through it. Tripp lets his gaze linger on the way Leander’s too-small t-shirt stretches taut across his upper back for a prolonged moment, eventually heaving a deep breath and turning to walk out of the room. His nervous left hand is flexing at his side, right next to the pocket with the ring.

This is it.

Contrary to his outward calm, Tripp’s mind is racing a mile a minute. All manner of thoughts are tearing through it, barely staying long enough to terrorize him before being bumped away by the next horrifying thing. From second( third, fourth) -guessing his instincts on whether this is really the right moment, to imagining all the ways a proposal could go terribly wrong for him, Tripp wishes he could press pause and have a drink. Unfortunately, the club they’re going to has a strict ‘no alcohol / no intoxication’ rule if you’re playing, and come Hell or highwater tonight, Tripp is fucking playing.

When he makes it to the foyer and picks up the box with his collar inside, Tripp stops to take another deep breath. He closes his eyes and forcibly clears his mind, shoving all of those intrusive thoughts way the fuck to the back where they won’t have a shot at derailing his plans. Once he’s cool and composed again, Tripp jams the collar into his free pocket and pulls the other, smaller box free.

One more deep breath, and he’s ready.

With a decisive nod to no one but himself, Tripp pivots on the balls of his feet back towards the bedroom, instantly yelping and recoiling, nearly falling on his ass when he turns to find Lee standing right behind him.

“Jesus— Lee, what the fuck?” Tripp slaps a hand over his chest. “I didn’t survive being trapped in a burning building and recover from two broken limbs just for your creepy ass to give me a heart attack in my own damn house.”

Leander squints in apparent confusion, eyes darting down to Tripp’s chest like he can’t tell if he’s definitely joking, so Tripp exhales roughly and rolls his eyes. This isn’t exactly the setup he was hoping for, but—

“I need to ask you something,” Leander blurts out almost anxiously, which is un-Leander-like enough to be somewhat disconcerting. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I feel it’s imperative that I do so before tonight, however…there just never seems to be a good time.” As Leander reaches a hand into his pocket, Tripp suddenly catches on, but Lee has the box out and is dropping to one knee before he can stop him.

“Oh, hell no!” Tripp declares vehemently, and only in retrospect does he realize what that must sound like to Lee. The impact registers all over Leander’s face, though, and Tripp immediately feels like an ass. The guy looks like someone killed his puppy in front of him. “No, no—shit,” Tripp adds, frustrated and a bunch of other emotions he’s too surprised to parse out right now. “That’s not—I’m not— Lee, you idiot.”

Unsurprisingly, Tripp’s poor attempt to backtrack goes over like a lead balloon. Fumbling with his hands, Leander tries and fails to quickly stuff the box he’s holding back into his pocket. Tears well up around the waterlines of his bright blue eyes in a way that has Tripp wholeheartedly believing he’ll be deserving every inch of the spanking he’s set to receive later.

“Lee, I’m sorry,” Tripp tries, reaching out to graze Leander’s bicep as he awkwardly stands back up off the ground. Tripp just wants to touch him, but—and rightly so—Lee isn’t interested, shrugging Tripp’s hand off and turning away.

“You don’t need to explain, Tripp,” is all he says.

Increasingly alarmed, Tripp figures he has about ten seconds to set this thing right before the damage verges dangerously close to unfixable. Thank God for hardwood floors.

His own little box clutched tight in hand, Tripp sprints a few paces and then skids to cut Leander off before he can make it across the living room, sliding down onto one knee almost gracefully. Before Leander can so much as blink, Tripp pops the box open and presents it earnestly upward.

“I was just pissed because you got there first,” he says honestly, with a little shrug and the smile he knows Lee is a sucker for. “Still kinda am, honestly. Dude, what are the fucking odds?” Above him, Leander is visibly struggling to process, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head before opening them again and peering down at Tripp in disbelief.

“Okay, yeah, I deserve that,” Tripp admits. “But put yourself in my shoes.”

“I am in your shoes, right now,” Leander points out, still not addressing the box or the question, and— oh, Tripp didn’t actually ask the question, did he?

“Shit,” Tripp remarks again, wincing as the pressure of the hard floor on his bad knee starts to make it throb. He’s healed, sure, but dropping his entire weight onto a recently fractured bone pressed against an unforgiving surface isn’t exactly advisable. Especially if it’s just to make a point, but too late now.

“Let me—” Leander murmurs, dropping down to thread an arm underneath Tripp’s shoulder and around his back to help him stand, but Tripp resists.

“No,” he says, pulling away slightly, as much as he can afford to do without winding up toppling over. “No, Lee, please. I wanna do this for you. You deserve one fucking thing that isn’t tainted by—by my bullshit.”

Finally, Tripp seems to have said the right thing, and Leander’s face softens. “Alright,” he says, withdrawing his arm and sitting back on his heels.

“Really? You’re just gonna sit there?” In response, Leander raises his eyebrows, folds his arms across his chest, and waits. “Fine,” Tripp sighs. “Guess I deserve that, too.” He winces again as his knee cracks, holding up a dismissive palm when Lee's face shifts with concern. “At least give me your hand,” he says, impatiently wiggling his own until Leander obliges.

“Lee,” Tripp starts, and then immediately falters. He’s confident, he’s ready, but in all the commotion, every single thing Tripp’s prepared and had ready to say has fled from his brain. “Son of a bitch. Maybe I should have just let you go first,” he mumbles, suddenly embarrassed and ducking his head.

But Leander shuffles forward, takes both of Tripp’s hands and the ring box between them and dips his head low so that Tripp is forced to look him in the eye. He’s still teary, but Tripp’s pretty damn sure it’s not because he’s feeling rejected—at least, he hopes not.

“I want to hear what you have to say,” Lee says gently.

Staring down at their joined hands, Tripp takes a deep breath before letting it out and speaking from the heart. “Lee, I ain’t got any fancy words for you,” he chokes out past the lump in his throat. “I had this whole thing, but…” He shakes his head, blinking away his own tears. “I messed this all up.” Pausing, Tripp sucks in yet another lungful of air— boy, that’s becoming a theme— and composes himself. Voice shaky, he presses on. “Sweetheart, fuck up or not, all I want is you. I hope you know that by now. Marry me. Wear my ring. I want to wear yours.”

It’s not like he thinks Lee is gonna say no—not now, anyway—but for whatever reason, it’s still damn hard for Tripp to lift his gaze and to meet Lee's eyes, to see his response. Maybe that’s because then, it’ll be real. Maybe it’s because deep down, Tripp still feels like he isn’t worthy of Lee's affection, his love. Those insecurities haven’t reared their ugly heads in a while, but old scars run deep. Tripp is who he is.

When Tripp does raise his eyes, all he finds in Lee's face looking back is unflinching love and acceptance. Suddenly, Lee's emotional response to Tripp’s presumed rejection feels all the more powerful, and Tripp’s melting into his arms before he can stop himself.

“Lee,” Tripp whimpers, when Leander catches him, “I’m sorry I made you think—even for a second— ”

“I didn’t really,” Leander admits, stroking a comforting hand down Tripp’s back. “I was confused. Let’s not—”

“Okay,” Tripp agrees readily, nosing at the space just below Lee's ear, breathing him in, clutching at his clothing, soothing his own rough edges. “Um…so?”

Against Tripp’s chest, Leander’s body shakes with quiet laughter, and yet, Tripp can feel him moving to wipe the back of his hand across his face. “Yes,” he rumbles, and Tripp feels a rush of relief and excitement and just— warmth, like nothing he’s ever experienced.

Tripp sits up and Lee is right there, big hands reaching to cup both sides of his face as he smiles, eyes crinkling and shining. “Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Me too,” Tripp exclaims, and then they’re kissing and Lee is pushing him down to the floor, wrapping hands around the back of his head to cushion it and licking enthusiastically into Tripp’s mouth. In the chaos, the ring box goes tumbling from Tripp’s hand, but Lee recovers it quickly. He pulls away and Tripp chases him, trying to make Leander bring his mouth back, but he’s insistent.

“I want my ring,” Leander demands, and hell, Tripp can’t argue with that. Hair and clothing mussed, they untangle their limbs from each other and haul themselves back to sitting positions. Tripp’s box has snapped closed at some point, so Leander opens it again as Tripp watches, peering inside before tossing his head back and laughing.

Affronted, Tripp frowns, but Leander just continues to smile. He shakes his head, and pulls his own little box from his pocket, tossing it through the air for Tripp to catch. When Tripp flips it open, he understands very quickly what was so damn funny.

“Fuckin’ Beau,” Tripp curses, taking in the sight of an identical band to Leander’s nestled in velvet, this one with an emerald inset instead of sapphire. It is really nice, though. Well, of course it is—Tripp has damn good taste.

“Briana, actually,” Leander corrects. “Two weeks ago, and this ring just happened to be available in your size to take home that day. At the time, I thought it was some sort of cosmic sign. Turns out, we are merely victims of cosmic-level meddling from our well-meaning siblings.”

That, of all things, brings Tripp up short, leaving him speechless, a little breathless, and feeling weirdly emotional. Lee casually referring to Beau as his brother? Tripp didn’t think this moment had any possibility of becoming sappier inside his own head, but here he is. It makes Tripp determined to make more of an effort with Lawrence—hell, to make any effort with the elusive Loki —if it’ll make Lee any kind of happy. They’re going to be family, something Tripp’s always wanted and never really thought he’d have.

Oblivious, Leander’s busy trying on his ring. He stretches his hand out and admires the way the metal glints in the light, the way Tripp’s usually seen girls do, which is stupidly adorable. Clutching his own ring in his fist, Tripp’s unable to stop staring, unable to stop thinking about how goddamn lucky he is.

“Would you—” he starts, and then his voice cracks and he has to do a very un-manly throat-clearing cover-up. Leander doesn’t say anything about it, though, just takes Tripp’s hand and unfurls his fingers, plucking the ring out of his palm and sliding it easily onto Tripp’s left ring finger.

Perfect fit.

“I love you,” Tripp blurts out, and Leander beams, smiling that really wide, beaming smile he saves for special occasions—for when he’s either sloppy drunk or so unbelievably happy the joy seems to bubble out of him. He leans in and kisses Tripp softly, still smiling when they pull away.

“I told you,” he says simply. “My whole life, I’ve never loved anything else.”

***

The BDSM club downtown is ultimately one big, converted warehouse. Inside, it’s split into three different rooms: one for socializing where absolutely no play is allowed, one mixed space for light play and snacking (mostly naked people and sex swing antics, from Tripp’s observations), and a third room, which Tripp has taken to calling “the Dungeon.”

It’s not an inaccurate description: some of the things he’s seen go down in there make his own pain kink look almost laughably amateur. Nearly anything flies in that room, and almost everything does. As Tripp has learned from experience, the big-ass shower with a drain in the center? Not actually for getting clean.

The conclusion? These people are on another level, one that initially, Tripp wasn’t sure he was interested in living up to.

Thankfully, though, that seems to be just fine with everyone that Tripp’s met and interacted with from the membership. There’s very little judgement here, and the more he’s socialized, the more he’s found plenty of people who seem to be more like him than the chick he saw wrapped in barbed wire with an entire fist up her ass.

Once he got over the initial shock, Tripp did think it was pretty cool that all levels of kink are welcome and defended in the place, and the more comfortable he’s become, the more anxious he’s gotten to really join in. After all, it’s only Lee that Tripp really needs to trust—and that is a done deal.

Still, things at the club can be…intense. Considering that anything does go—within the confines of the rules—inside the Dungeon, Tripp’s learned that if he’s uncomfortable, well, there’s always the finger sandwiches and music one room over. It’s each attendee’s own responsibility to know their boundaries and limits and to remove themselves from situations they aren’t enjoying.

Between the two of them, Lee is all about Tripp taking the reins and setting both of their limits for his comfort, because not much bothers Lee at all. If the BDSM community had research nerds, Lee would have joined up immediately, sitting on the sidelines in the Dungeon with glasses and a clipboard, taking clinically impartial notes. The way he watches nearly any scene, any kink playing out live with barely a twitch of a facial muscle—it’s almost supernatural. It’s like he’s already seen the entirety of humanity blossom, grow, and die in cyclical fashion and nothing can faze him.

Tripp on the other hand—Tripp’s got limits, and he knows when to see himself out.

All-inclusive kink aside, what is absolutely not allowed or even tolerated in any room of the club is non-consensual touching. Clear, verbal consent must be both asked for and received, especially between members who aren’t already paired off and didn’t arrive together. Thanks to that rule, Tripp is pretty okay with being paraded through the space nearly naked, feels relatively safe in allowing himself to lean into the arousal that thrums through his system over the excitement of being watched .

Not that anyone is very likely to even speak to him, anyway—not with the leash trailing from the front of his collar to Leander’s hand and the sharp, threatening smile anyone who even skirts the question of sharing Tripp gets from him in return. No, Tripp thinks the possibility of having to address that question himself is pretty damn unlikely, but he’s well-prepared with a polite “no thank you,” resting on the tip of his tongue, just in case.

This evening, as they walk through the windowless front doors to the club’s lobby, Tripp feels more than ready for whatever they might encounter, but that doesn’t mean he’s anxiety-free. In front of him, Leander nods greetings to the two ( giant) bouncers as they pass, both of whom smile back amiably and don’t so much as move to check their IDs. Tripp might be offended about that if he wasn’t so damn nervous, but his head is busy enough at the moment that he barely notes it happening.

Leander, on the other hand, is in his element. Tripp’s leash and hand held firmly in his own, the Dom books it over immediately to sign-in and report to one of the hosts, as the two of them have reserved space in the Dungeon tonight. A demonstration on the schedule guarantees them not only time and apparatus, but an audience, though as Leander reminded Tripp earlier, it’s just a plan—there’s no hard obligation to follow through.

Tripp barely listens to Lee hashing out details with the club managers, leaning into the ‘quiet submissive’ role so that he doesn’t have to answer friendly but ridiculous questions about how he’s feeling, or whatever. Being a sub is definitely convenient that way, sometimes—here, more than anywhere. No one’s going to think twice about a collared Tripp standing docilely behind his Dom, looking down at his feet and using his free hand to fiddle with the buttons on Lee's trench coat, the one he’s currently wrapped in.

There’s another thing Tripp secretly adores but will never admit to aloud.

In fact, when Lee suggested wearing it (for ease of covering up Tripp’s skimpy outfit during the brief time they’d be outside), Tripp had resisted, declaring loudly and adamantly that if Lee wanted to go out in public looking like a flasher, that was fine for him, but he wasn’t going to be “caught dead in that beat-ass thing.”

Lee, naturally, had helpfully pointed out that Tripp was literally planning to get naked and perved on in a public place, which Tripp strongly resented being used so logically against him.

Anyway, he’s wearing the damn coat. Not that Lee will ever enjoy the satisfaction of finding out, but Tripp has absolutely accepted that having Lee's clothes and smell all around him is comforting as hell, especially when things start to go haywire in his brain.

Discreetly, he dips his nose into the collar for a quick sniff, which is of course when Leander decides to turn back around, eyes alighting immediately on Tripp and his buried nose. The knowing grin that spreads across Lee's face upon catching him in the act pisses Tripp off something fierce, but he just rolls his eyes and straightens up. Here’s to hoping that the low lighting in the entryway is enough to mask any redness tipping his ears.

Clearly letting Tripp off the hook, Leander doesn’t say anything, just leads him over to the lockers lining the right wall. He opens one up, tapping Tripp’s ankle with the toe of his boot, a signal for him to remove his shoes. Nerves returning in full force, Tripp complies and then moves on to unbuttoning the trench as slowly as humanly possible. As in, if he went any slower, the buttons would be doing themselves back up.

After patiently waiting for longer than Tripp would have guessed, Leander steps into his space and presses their foreheads together. “This is not something you have to do,” he reminds Tripp, for probably the twentieth time today. “This is supposed to be fun . Sexy. Nerves are normal. Honestly, I believe embracing the fear and anticipation only makes it more exciting. But Tripp—the only person you need to impress here is me. The only person you have to be good for is me.”

When Lee lifts their joined hands, his left to Tripp’s right, up between their chests to press a kiss to his knuckles, the metal of Leander’s brand new ring flashes under the light of an overhead sconce. Tripp’s ring is safely at home—he has particular feelings about his collar filling that role, especially in this setting—but damn, if he doesn’t love seeing Lee's in its rightful place.

“Damn straight, Sir,” he replies, suddenly feeling a lot more confident.

Trust Lee, he reminds himself. You’re not in this alone.

And Tripp does trust Lee, always has, which prompts him to realize pretty abruptly that he’s being— at best —silly and extra. He wants to do this.

Resolved, Tripp promptly shucks the trench coat down his arms in one smooth motion, handing it over somewhat triumphantly. If any part of him still wasn’t sure, Lee's reaction to him baring it all is validation enough. Heck, he’s already seen what Tripp looks like— fuckin’ dressed him like a doll, in fact —and yet, he’s still standing there with open want painted across his face, near-drooling with the way he’s got his lower lip trapped between his teeth.

To be fair, Tripp knows he makes quite the picture right now, and he’s damn proud of it. The emerald green satin panties are back, complete with their lace trim and the little bow at the front. They match Tripp’s collar and his eyes— take that, Heidi Klum. Tripp can Top Model with the best of them, especially with his newly-toned muscles, courtesy of Lee and his sadistic sexercises.

On top of that , Lee has tied a simple harness around Tripp’s chest, something comforting but practical for what they have planned. It’s the soft, bamboo silk Tripp favors—also emerald, for the aesthetic. Beyond the harness, Tripp’s arms are free—for now. His legs, on the other hand, are not.

Both of Tripp’s thighs are wrapped in custom triple-chain cilices Lee ordered online, though only one of them has the expected spikes on the inside, facing his skin. Tripp’s left thigh is still too unpredictable with nerve pain, and strange as it may sound, he gets no enjoyment out of stoking that to life—not in his day-to-day, and definitely not during a scene. That he’s wearing the cilice at all on the left is simply for appearances—it’s no one else’s business why he and Lee do what they do, or what limits Tripp may set for himself, but it’s easier to not invite questions.

All of that aside, the cilice on his right leg is something Tripp loves and wishes Lee would work into the rotation more often. The malleable spiked garter has three rows of interlocking, thin, metal rings, tied in the back over his quadriceps with black ribbon. Tonight, it’s cinched tight enough to be uncomfortable, to irritate the skin beneath it and to bother him when he moves, but not to cut into Tripp simply from being worn. Left alone, it’ll leave his thigh red, lightly excoriated, but intact, similar to the way his ass looks after a spanking.

Tripp knows full-well that Lee has no intention of leaving it alone. Just the thought and possibility makes his left bicep tingle, has him reaching up to trace fingers over the scars marking the outline of Leander’s handprint, still raised and plainly visible. Tripp adores those scars (and the memories that come with them) almost as much as he loves Lee himself.

Speaking of—Lee is still admiring him openly, uncaring that other people are trying to get to the lockers and having to skirt around the two of them ungraciously blocking the way.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tripp snarks, and then immediately shrinks when Leander’s gaze rises from his body to his face, full of fire and righteous fury. The hair on Tripp’s arm stands on end, and he has to suppress a shiver at the sight. “Uh, Sir ,” he course-corrects, and Leander’s eyes narrow, his smile absolutely predatory.

“I have,” he says simply, taking the coat and leaving Tripp to wonder when the hell that happened and how he failed to notice.

Without another word, Leander locks their things away and drops the key into his pocket before shouldering his bag of supplies. Once again, he picks up the end of Tripp’s brand-new leash and sets off into the depths of the club. While Lee is definitely wearing a lot more clothing than Tripp currently is, somehow he looks just as sexy, maybe more. Effortlessly so, and Tripp will probably never get over how unfair that is. The fact that he gets to sleep with the guy takes the sting out a bit, but damn.

If this was Top Model, Tripp has to be real—Lee would kick his ass all the way down the runway and back without even trying.

Not only that, but Lee is dressed the part of a Dominant tonight. The club has a dress-code standard for Doms, but Lee's personal style fits into it easily. Because of that, he just ends up looking like a hotter version of himself, which Tripp also thinks is very unfair. To him, specifically, because he has to sit back and look for God only knows how long. Rude.

Trailing behind like the obedient sub he is, Tripp’s eyes are drawn to Lee's ass and the way the dark, tight black jeans he’s wearing sculpt it perfectly. As if those weren’t bad enough, Lee is rocking that black dress shirt and black waistcoat combo he wore to Beau and Bri's bachelor / bachelorette party, complete with the red tie. His hair is artfully-mussed with the right amount of gel, and as a sundae topper, he went with the giant combat boots that he usually wears to work, the ones that Tripp has definitely not begged Lee to fuck him in (more often).

Nearly every eye turns to gawk as they pass, and Tripp can’t decide whether to be proud or jealous, so he settles on both. At least he can take comfort in the fact that Lee is going to be fucking him in front of all these people very soon (and also fucking only Tripp for the rest of his life—holy shit— a thought that doesn’t hurt to savor, either).

Tripp’s cock stirs in his panties. He does his best to will it down, but it fills out insolently anyway, highly interested in the pending proceedings and the images flashing through Tripp’s mind. The cock ring Lee fit snugly around the base of his dick and balls is made to keep the wearer erect, so Tripp knows that it’s either self-restraint or agony—though he can’t actually decide which way he wants to go with that just yet.

He kind of regrets not taking Lee up on the vibrating plug offer and opting for the boring silicone variety. Would’ve made for a nice distraction, or at least, some friggin’ stimulation.

His mistake.

Lee leads him through the first room pretty quickly: it’s not overly interesting. This converted section of the warehouse holds a subdued mix of plush seating around coffee tables with food and drink on spreads at the edges, plus a collection of people, many in street attire, laughing and chatting. Not that he and Lee can’t hang out here, but generally speaking, the socializing room stays relatively kink-free.

The mixed room, which is the second space Lee walks them into, makes much more sense for pairs or groups to ‘warm-up’ in, so to speak. That doesn’t stop Tripp from grabbing a handful of the social room’s cashews, nipped from one of the aptly-placed bowls that are on a table next to the doorway as they pass through it.

The mixed space is lively tonight. There’s upbeat music playing, and Tripp finds himself bopping his head to the beat. The volume isn’t loud enough to drown out conversations, but it does add to the party-like atmosphere in the room. Over in the far corner, a sex swing hangs from the metal rafters, currently occupied by a female sub who looks happy as a clam to be having her ass lazily turned red by several other club members standing around her. It’s not an intense scene by any means, they all just seem to be hanging out and having a good time.

On the opposite side of the room from where they entered is the door to the Dungeon, the largest and most hardcore space the club has to offer. As such, the gateway to the room is blocked by thick, heavy, black curtains that don’t move unless you move them. Tripp knows that it’s not really a barrier, it’s just another way the club works to ensure that if you’re looking, you’re informed and consenting to see whatever might lie beyond.

Soon enough, Tripp is going to be that thing beyond the curtain, that semi-terrifying-for-new-people personification of kink that someone may or may not want to experience second-hand. Maybe everyone will be into what he and Lee do in there tonight. Maybe some won’t, but that’s not what fazes him. For the first time ever, Tripp won’t be able to turn around and walk away if his nerves win out.

It’s probably totally ridiculous to think that way, when Tripp is the one who was pushing so hard for them to come here. When his own hands and mind helped to design their scene, when literally nothing is going to be a surprise, and— for the thousandth time, Truett— he trusts Lee beyond all matter of reason.

Tripp swallows hard and allows Lee to lead them towards the corner of the room directly across from the sex swing. An unoccupied area, where a ring of cushy, armless chairs surround a small table with a variety of snacks laid out. Notably, there are pillows on the floor, too. This place knows its audience, that’s for sure.

Next to the seating circle is a wide soft-drink bar, since the club is substance-free, and Lee stops to grab a soda. The bartender hands over his Coke in a tall, icy glass with only one straw, and as the condensation drips tantalizingly down the side, Tripp desperately hopes that Lee is planning to share. His mouth is like the fucking Sahara.

Wordlessly, Leander tugs Tripp’s leash as he relocates to one of the soft chairs, hanging onto his drink as he motions for Tripp to kneel on the pillow by his side. As soon as they’re both settled, Lee drops Tripp’s leash and focuses on offering him soda via the straw, which Tripp drinks down gratefully. When he’s had his fill, he sighs and lets his head drop to rest on Lee's thigh.

“Thank you, Sir,” he murmurs, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

Maybe the ‘ knows their audience’ award goes to Lee, after all. The second Tripp’s head is down, Lee's hand is in his hair—stroking, soothing, calming, until both the world and Tripp’s nerves begin to disappear. At some point, someone stops by to speak to Leander. Tripp can feel their presence above him, can hear the two men exchanging friendly words, feel the rumble of Lee's laugh and the sound of the music playing layered beneath that.

Tripp’s in his bubble, though, well on his way to leaving all the things he normally carries, normally worries about at the door. Trust is so much more than the word—it’s this, it’s handing his fears over to Leander before he even asks Tripp to do so, before they even step foot into their play space for the evening.

They stay like that, with Tripp leaning on Leander for an indeterminate period of time wherein he swims and melts, drawing from his Dom’s solid strength at his side. It could be hours or only minutes, Tripp doesn’t care and doesn’t try to figure it out. He only knows that when Leander taps his cheek and slides a hand around his bicep to help him stand, it’s time to go.

And Tripp’s ready.

Being led through the heavily draped curtains doesn’t feel ominous or scary, not when he’s following Lee, not when Lee is the one holding them open, guiding Tripp into a whole new world alongside him. His eyes stay focused on Tripp— always on Tripp— looking right through him and seeing every inch of every single thing Tripp tries so damn hard to hide from everyone else.

Oh yeah, he’s ready.

The Dungeon is softly lit, bright enough that any Doms can easily see what they’re doing, but nothing harsh. The music in here is different: still quiet and left for background noise in a way that won’t interfere with commands or safewords, but it’s deeper, heavier, something with bass that pulses in Tripp’s chest. This is a whole different kind of party from the social hour out front or the casual-kink in the mixed space, of that, Tripp is sure.

It’s crowded in here, too. More so than Tripp’s seen it in the past, but that doesn’t faze him, because he only has eyes for Lee. Still, it’s impossible not to notice the sheer number of people. Some are playing, most watching, and nearly everyone is touching someone besides themselves, though hardly any are doing so in the same way as whoever’s standing beside them. Pairs are dwarfed by larger groups that seem to naturally dissolve into two-to-foursomes, but everything feels sort of fluid.

It’s an enchanting thing to be a part of, Tripp thinks, feeling awed.

As magical as it might be, the one thing that isn’t lacking back here in the Dungeon is communication. The “enthusiastic and continuous consent” rule is hard and fast, and something that’s clearly taken seriously. Monitors with armbands drift amongst the crowd and hang at the edges, but they’re less ‘bouncer’ than Tripp initially expected (although, they do that too, if necessary) and more “Ask Jeeves.”

In fact, the first time Tripp was here, his longest conversation not involving Lee was with a dude named Cal who turned out to be the lead monitor for the whole operation. He was super cool, gladly answering all of Tripp’s questions and explaining that the Dungeon monitors usually function to help. They keep an eye out for potential consent or rule violations and act kind of like the gym employees who explain weight settings to newbies so they don’t hurt themselves or others.

If Tripp’s being honest, he’ll admit that Cal’s a good-looking, silver fox type, one that he wouldn’t have turned down if Lee wasn’t already his entire world. And Cal did offer, though he was amiable and unoffended when Tripp politely declined. Even now, in his semi-subspaced daze, Tripp picks Cal and his piercing light eyes out of the crowd, finding him lurking unobtrusively in a shadowed corner next to some industrial piping. Tripp tips his chin and the guy raises a hand in acknowledgment, having apparently noticed him, too.

Tripp wonders if he’ll watch their scene (likely, since he’s working) and what he’ll think. A thrill rips through his body just imagining that—and hell, that’s allowed, right? That’s the entire point of this thing, isn’t it? It is, Tripp knows that, but it’s also maybe something he didn’t fully understand until right that second. The concept of going through with this is one thing, the reality is quite another, but he’s way into it.

Moving in step behind Leander, Tripp follows him compliantly towards the back of the Dungeon, over to a spanking bench that’s not currently in use. It’s freshly wiped down and has a recovery couch just off to the side nearby, and Tripp’s practically itching to be bent over it.

A sharp tug on the leash yanks Tripp from his reverie with a start, his gaze torn away from the equipment to land on Leander, who has now turned to face him. His Dom holds up a single finger, steps to the side, and gives the spanking bench a once-over, turning some knobs and repositioning the parts to his liking.

“Color, Tripp,” Leander demands when he’s done, dropping his bag to the ground and advancing, reaching up to unclip the lead from the ring on Tripp’s collar.

“Green, Sir,” he answers confidently and Leander nods, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“And your safeword?”

“Halligan, Sir.”

“Are you using it?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you going to be good for me?”

“So good, Sir,” Tripp replies quickly, earning himself the soft graze of Leander’s fingertips down his forearm.

“Then kneel,” Leander commands, sweeping that same hand towards the piece of equipment he’s just adjusted.

This is it.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Tripp does as he’s told, climbing up onto the padded kneeler before bending forward and pressing his chest to the elevated portion of the bench. With Lee's adjustments, it now tips forward so that Tripp’s upper body can take some of his weight, relieving the pressure on his knees. The position leaves him head-down with his ass fully displayed and in the air, and Tripp can feel his cock growing hard just from the positioning, from the exposure .

People are watching this.

Tripp’s arousal only grows when Leander removes his hands from where they’re resting awkwardly next to his ears, folding first one arm and then the other behind his back. Lee secures them deftly above the dip in his spine using new rope tied off to Tripp’s existing chest harness. It’s a snug fit, Tripp’s fingers nearly touching his elbows, and forearms mostly overlapping. He tries, but can’t so much as wiggle a half-inch of leeway in any direction.

He loves it.

“Color,” Leander checks in softly, probably noting the way Tripp’s fingers are flexing and his muscles are tensing as he tests his bonds. While he awaits a reply, Lee checks them himself, ever the responsible Dom that he is.

“Green, so green,” Tripp assures him, his cheek sticking to the leather slightly when he goes to lift his head.

Leander pushes it back down. “Then stay there,” he demands, fingers still pressing into the back of Tripp’s skull. “And be still.”

It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s coming, but somehow, that makes it even harder to keep from moving. Tripp bites his lip, works hard at controlling his instinctual impulses to twitch and pull and wiggle. Instead, he takes a deep breath and counts to five before letting it back out.

“Good boy.” Leander’s gravelly voice filters down to Tripp’s ears from somewhere behind him, one hand resting hot on the small of Tripp’s back. It’s just above his panties, taunting him.

“We’re going to warm you up now,” Leander advises, finally allowing his hand to drift down and tug at the lacy trim of the lingerie. Running two fingers just beneath the seam, Leander moves the fabric and tucks it into Tripp’s crack, around the edges of the plug, which he taps firmly (and unexpectedly), making Tripp jump. His ass cheeks fully exposed, Tripp can feel the breeze from the ceiling fans above, and all he can think about is how he’ll likely be grateful for that in very short order.

The first strikes from Leander’s hand are nearly soft and teasing, but Tripp knows him well enough to recognize that’s exactly what it is. A tease, maybe even bait, trying to rile Tripp up. It’s interesting, though—Lee always switches hands when warming Tripp’s skin, utilizing his non-dominant arm so that he doesn’t accidentally hit too hard, which means that he’s currently using his left.

His left —which is sporting a brand new ring, and Tripp can feel it. Every fall of Leander’s palm against his skin, there’s an extra spark of sensation from the metal— and it’s so good.

Cheek pressed against the bench, Tripp’s mouth drops open slightly, his eyes falling shut at the emotional ecstasy that comes sweeping over him alongside that physical feeling—he could never have predicted feeling this strongly about that damn ring, but here he is.

It’s been less than two minutes, they’re barely out of the starting gate, and Tripp’s already thinking about begging Leander to fuck him. It would piss Lee off something fierce, but Tripp’s not entirely sure how long he’s going to be able to resist.

Here he is, splayed out like some expendable toy, and Tripp’s so stupidly happy, that happiness is somewhat overshadowing his desire to be Lee's good, obedient sub. He fucking loves Lee. He loves being engaged. And he loves being dominated by his fiancé in front of any and everyone who cares to watch. Hell, at this point, the humiliation that might come with begging could actually be hot, but Lee would probably be disappointed, and that would suck the fun out of it.

It’s those last few thoughts in the train that convince Tripp to remain quiet and compliant, to follow Leander’s instructions and take whatever’s being dealt his way.

Besides, the good part’s next, Tripp thinks.

When Leander removes his belt, he does so while standing right in front of Tripp’s face. The metal jingles as he tugs the buckle open, and the expensive material rustles as Lee pulls it free. Agonizingly slow, dragging the leather pointedly through each of his pant loops until there aren’t any left.

“Color, Tripp.”

“Green, Sir,” Tripp replies dreamily.

Leaning down to get in Tripp’s ear where no one else can hear, Leander softly reminds him, “I’m already proud of you. Don’t think that you have something to prove to these people. Use your safeword or the colors if you need to, that’s an order.”

“Yes, Sir,” Tripp acknowledges as Leander squeezes his ass and stands, moving to disappear again behind him where Tripp can’t see his face. The belt cracks when Leander snaps it against itself, and Tripp jumps, just a little. He’s still floating, but the anticipation is high and his blood is running hot through his veins.

Instead of focusing on what’s coming, Tripp thinks about the reasons behind why he gravitated towards these elements when he and Lee were planning this scene.

For starters, Tripp got into this power dynamic thing first and foremost to get out of his damn head. Along the way, he’s found both relief and strength in learning to reframe the way he approaches coping with his own perceived failings (whether real or imagined), managing them instead of repressing. He’s turned both pain and pleasure into weapons wielded expertly by Leander’s hand. Weapons that when used properly, have the power to carve Tripp into the person he’s always secretly wished that he could be.

Someone stable. Healthy. Happy.

That pressure relief valve he always thinks about? It has to be opened every so often, Tripp knows that now. This kind of pain? It’s the kind that sets Tripp free, and Lee is gonna take him there. Tripp squeezes his eyes shut, gathering all of the negative thoughts he’s accumulated over the past few months and turning them loose.

Things like: he’s a failure at his job for getting trapped and injured. That he put his crew at unnecessary risk, caused copious resources to have to be wasted and redirected because he was irresponsible. That he’s a burden to Leander, a leech, a regret. That he’s a disappointment to Beau, for all of the usual reasons, and now so much more. That he’s weak for not returning to work sooner, that he’ll never be up to par when he does, that he’ll be putting his crew and the people he serves in danger by being back on active duty.

That he’s a mistake, a loser, unwanted and unworthy.

When Lee's belt connects with his ass, tears spring to the corners of Tripp’s eyes, and it’s not from pain. In fact, he barely feels the hit—but it’s as good an excuse as any.

The second impact, Lee aims to lay the leather down exactly where the first stripe was made, and that one smarts, but Tripp embraces it, welcomes it. Strike after strike, on his ass and across the tender skin of his thighs, and eventually, over the cilice. The barbed wrap digs in only on the right and causes beautiful stinging sparks where each of the spikes touches his skin.

The tears fall, Tripp flies, and one by one, hit by hit, Tripp lets each of those negative thoughts go .

When they’re all gone ( and they are all gone) , it’s just him and Lee and the throbbing pain in Tripp’s backside, and then he can really enjoy himself.

As the scene continues on, Tripp drifts but still notices his surroundings. It’s a hell of a rush to have his ass whipped in front of all these people. Some come and go, but many stay to watch their little demonstration from beginning to end, and Tripp watches them in return. Even from his limited view, he can see a femme sub wince as Lee lands a particular strike, and despite the tears in his own eyes, Tripp grins.

He’s so good, Lee will be so proud. All of these people can see how damn good he is.

Between his legs, Tripp’s cock is rock hard in its ring, even though his arousal has been simmering slow and steady, an afterthought to everything else going on. He supposes that’s the purpose of those things, though, isn’t it? He didn’t pay attention, and now his dick is almost painfully engorged.

Lee ignores it, because of course he does. He just goes on turning Tripp’s ass and thighs red and raw until the surface under Tripp’s face is slick with his tears and he’s more numb than anything else.

Through it all, Tripp stays quiet, save for an occasional cry or moan that he just can’t help, and he remains still. Occasionally, Lee will lean down, cover Tripp’s body with his own, grind against his sore skin with the rough fabric of his jeans. His actions are in contrast with his words, the way his lips brush gently against the shell of Tripp’s ear and his words come soft and sweet. He whispers sweet nothings, tells Tripp how proud he is, how good he’s being, how Leander could never ask for a better sub.

When Leander finally pulls the plug from his ass, Tripp’s spinning. The crowd has dissolved into a bit of a blur and his hips have begun to twitch against his will, seeking friction. He bites his lip, trying not to groan as Lee's slick fingers press inside, teasing, adding more wetness, taking the opportunity to press unrepentantly against Tripp’s prostate, making him buck and moan.

It’s only in the back of his mind that he even hears Leander shushing him, feels the soothing hand in the middle of his back. His ass and thighs are one fiery mess, and Tripp thinks he can feel something dripping down the back of his right thigh, towards his knee.

Lee appears briefly in his sight range, adjusting the bench so that Tripp is more level, so that his ass is more accessible. And then he’s back, a hand on Tripp’s left hip and his cock nudging at Tripp’s slick entrance. Dazed, Tripp glances up and suddenly remembers that they’re being watched, that he’s about to be fairly aggressively taken in front of God knows how many people.

Fuck, that’s hot, he thinks, and then Leander’s pushing inside and Tripp’s closing his eyes, mouth dropping open at the intrusion. Leander isn’t careful, isn’t slow, and there’s definitely an accompanying burn because he’s quite a bit bigger than the plug Tripp’s been wearing.

It’s good, though, and while all Tripp can do about it is grab at his own arms, he has to stop himself from shoving back into the sensation.

Nearly as soon as Lee's hips hit Tripp’s aching ass, Leander sets an intense pace that has Tripp whimpering with every thrust and struggling not to beg out loud for more. As if Leander can read his mind, he threads a hand into Tripp’s hair, yanking it back by the roots and demanding what he wants with the kind of casual, unquestioned authority he so effortlessly commands.

“Beg.”

It’s perfect. It’s exactly what Tripp wanted him to do, what he needs after the things they’ve done so far.

“Please, Sir, oh! God, please!”

The way Lee's body reignites the pain sensations with every slap of his skin meeting Tripp’s is exquisite. Stoking the fire each time they come together, Lee takes care to hit Tripp’s prostate when he can and reaches around to stroke his cock, making sure to bring some pure pleasure into the mix, too.

Tripp relishes every second.

At some point, Lee pulls out and takes the friction away completely, which makes Tripp finally crack, unable to remain still with everything ravaging his system. It’s not a conscious choice at this point to squirm and cry and beg, even if that’s exactly what Lee commanded he do earlier.

“Please, Sir, I need—”

“Tell everyone what a slut you are for my cock,” Leander instructs coolly, even as he pushes fingers inside and toys with making Tripp’s eyes roll back in his head. Doing that while simultaneously demanding Tripp talk, that he make sense —fucking sadistic .

“I—”

“Say it,” Leander demands, leaning down to bite at the meat of Tripp’s flank, hard enough that Tripp gasps and pants a little.

“I’m y-your slut,” Tripp blurts out, having absolutely no reservations about declaring it to the entire world, just incredibly aroused and fuzzy and barely holding a coherent thought in his head. “All yours, Sir! I’d—” His voice breaks as Leander’s mouth skims his rim, his left hand working Tripp’s cock and the fingers of his right skating mercilessly over his prostate from the inside. “Oh, fuck, Sir! Please, please let me come on your cock, please.”

“Because you need it?” Leander prods, and Tripp’s breath is coming short now, his wrists burning as he pulls against his own will at the ropes.

“Need it,” Tripp repeats, “need you, please, Sir,” he adds, letting out a moan when Leander withdraws his fingers and swiftly replaces them with his cock once more. This time, there’s no break and no mercy, but there are no demands, either. Leander grabs Tripp’s hair and fucks him hard, Tripp giving over fully to the sensations swirling around him, resisting the urge to tense up and instead going totally pliant.

Lee uses him like a toy and Tripp feels so deliciously right. His orgasm pools in his belly and spills over the second Leander says, “you may come,” gritted out hard and rough because he’s holding back, too.

As he spills hot cum onto the floor below, Tripp goes warm and flushed from head to toe while his orgasm ravages his body, clenching his ass and dragging Leander over the edge with him.

Vaguely, Tripp’s aware of some cheering and applause, of Leander talking in the background, but he pays none of it any mind, slumping down over the spanking bench in exhaustion. He thinks the noise must be a good sign, though—people seem to have enjoyed his and Lee's display, he must have done a good job.

Lee will be proud, Tripp thinks, pleased, allowing a smile to creep over his face even as he’s falling asleep still tied up .

He’s half-delirious when his bonds are removed, when the pinching around his thighs disappears and he’s coaxed upright. On legs like jello, Tripp nearly collapses backward when he tries to stand, but to his surprise, there are two sets of strong arms waiting to catch him. When Tripp shifts in the human safety net, blinking innocently up at his rescuers, he recognizes Lee and Cal staring down at him, one with concern, and one with poorly-concealed amusement.

“‘Sup?” Tripp slurs, tipping his chin and doing his best to slap on a panty-dropper smile. In reality, he suspects that he probably looks like he’s having a stroke.

“Tripp,” Leander says, exasperated. “We need to get you to the couch. Help us out, it’s just five steps to your left.”

“What’s left again?” Tripp asks blearily, leaning heavily on Lee as he struggles back to his feet. Cal doesn’t so much as shift even a half-step away, though he allows Leander to continue controlling the situation as much as he’s able and only puts his hands on Tripp when absolutely necessary. Even in his somewhat altered state, Tripp appreciates that.

Good dude, he thinks. They should hang out sometime, play poker. What was he doing? Oh, right. His ass is on fucking fire.

Together, the three of them stumble over to the couch, and Lee kicks back immediately, positioning himself the long way against the arm and motioning for Tripp to lay across his chest. Gladly, Tripp goes, face finding its way straight into the crook of Leander’s neck. While it’s probably not the most ideal way to tend to injuries, Tripp digs it.

Cal is nice enough to bring Lee's bag over and to offer to wipe down the equipment, which Tripp gets the distinct feeling is a personal nicety, not something the club generally offers. ‘Take care of your own fluids,’ kind of seems like a given, anyway.

As Leander extends his warmest thanks, Tripp allows himself to relax in his Dom’s grip. He drifts again, but in a very different way. While he does, Lee smears cream from his bag onto Tripp’s burning ass and thighs before wrapping some gauze around his right leg only, securing it with tape. The cilices are already gone, and there’s not much blood that Tripp can see, but there must be some or Leander wouldn’t bother with the bandage.

Awkward as it is to work from the angle they’re positioned, Lee makes it happen without asking Tripp to move or sit up. Once he’s finished, though, Tripp is made to lift his head, take some ibuprofen, and drink his juice, Leander reminding him gently that they can’t stay here all night.

The haze of subspace has begun to burn off. It happens a hell of a lot quicker out here in public than inside their own playroom, a space where all Tripp has to do is roll over and let Lee cater to his every whim. By the time his bottle of OJ is gone, he’s ready to get moving, ready to be back in their private cocoon where it’s just him and Lee. All of the people surrounding them are less interesting, more irritating than anything else, now that the scene has ended.

It occurs to Tripp that the way he needs Lee post-scene is much more desperate and intense than he’s had cause to realize in quite some time. Being in public and unable to have him the way that Tripp wants—it almost brings back memories of their first week together, when Tripp was dropping and alone.

But that’s not what’s going on here. He’s not being denied anything he needs, only delayed, and only of his own making.

Still, Tripp’s thinking that if they’re going to come back and play here, maybe they’ll stick to lighter kink in the future. Just mess around and have some fun, rile each other up, and then head home to finish their scene the way they really want to do in private and in peace.

Everyone else is just…superfluous. Not that Tripp has even contemplated the idea of wanting someone besides Leander in ages, but despite that, it shocks him to find out how completely disinterested he is in anyone else, in any way, shape, or form. He just wants Leander.

With that thought in mind, Tripp surfaces from the crook of Leander’s neck, raising his gaze to find Lee already looking his way, smiling warmly. “I’m quite ready to go home and have you all to myself,” Leander remarks, which has Tripp releasing an extremely relieved breath as he smiles back.

“Help me up?” Tripp asks, wincing when he shifts and his tender skin rubs against Lee's jeans. Ever the show-off, Lee scoops his way under Tripp’s armpits and around his back, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet while Tripp squeaks in protest. “I said help, not manhandle, Jesus.”

Leander just smirks. “You enjoyed it,” he says, repositioning them both so that his arm is around Tripp’s waist, casually supporting him while they walk. Tripp doesn’t miss the way Lee eyes his left leg with suspicion, watching carefully for a limp or any sign that Tripp’s in some kind of pain he’s not supposed to be having. He’s not, for the record. His ass hurts like hell and he’s going to be feeling it for days, but it’s the good kind of hurt, the kind he’s been missing.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as they move from the mixed room into the socializing one and on to the lockers.

“Thank you, ” Leander replies easily, pulling the key from his pocket and opening the lock. He removes his coat and slides it over Tripp’s shoulder as he speaks. “You were stunning. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I enjoyed myself immensely, and I hope you did, too.”

Tripp hesitates. “I did, but—” Leander’s eyes flash. He stops whatever he’s doing in the locker to put his full attention on Tripp, all up in his space with both hands threading into Tripp’s own and everything. “Whoa, hey, I’m cool, sweetheart,” Tripp reassures him and Leander relaxes, but only minutely. His face still looks like he wants to smite whatever might have mildly inconvenienced Tripp, just on principle.

“You can tell me if I went too far, Tripp. Or if you didn’t enjoy—”

“Pump the breaks.” Tripp steps in, cutting Leander off before he can go on a tear. “That’s not what I said, alright? It rocked, I had an awesome time. Hear me? I would tell you.” He’s careful to maintain eye contact, to touch Leander’s chin gently to convey that he’s sincere, that he’s being honest. “C’mon, Lee, kiss me and tell me if I’m lying.”

There’s a pause where Leander narrows his eyes, considering, before leaning forward to close the scant space between them. This kiss is ridiculously soft, sweet and careful but still thorough and with an edge of heat. It has Tripp following after Leander’s mouth for more when he pulls away.

“Alright,” Leander concedes. “I believe you.”

Tripp rolls his eyes. “What I was saying, is that playing in public is one thing, but I’m pretty sure I’m a ‘private finish’ kind of guy, if you catch my drift.” His fingers wander down Leander’s exposed forearms, stupidly longing to be wrapped in them, which is the whole damn point. “This feels—wrong, I guess. I wanna be doing what we usually do.”

“Yelling at each other about who got cracker crumbs in the sheets?”

“Yes,” Tripp replies seriously, and Leander laughs as he closes up the trench coat, leaning in to kiss Tripp again when he runs out of buttons to fasten near the top.

“I agree,” he says simply. “Not to mention, I need to give your injuries quite a bit more attention before we go to sleep. If you only knew the anxiety I’m feeling over allowing you to walk around like this…” Lee's eyes go a little wide, so Tripp squeezes his hand reassuringly before grabbing and stepping into his boots, declining to lace them up before starting for the door.

“I’m okay,” Tripp reassures, lifting their joined hands to press lips to Lee's knuckles, inadvertently catching the edge of his new ring. “Love you,” he murmurs, and for whatever reason, that makes Leander flush.

“I love you very much,” he says in reply, scrubbing a hand across his pink-cheeked face. The bouncers at the front doors hold them open so that Tripp and Lee can exit, and while they murmur polite goodnights, their eyes never leave each other’s.

As the doors swing closed behind them, Tripp says, “Mushy shit aside, I’m damn glad we brought my car. No way your piece of shit would let me lay on my stomach in the backseat. Lee, you’re rich, when the hell are you gonna upgrade that rust bucket?”

Leander just swats his ass in reply.