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rsadelleThis is the snippet where the answer to "Who would Patrick sub for?" is "Brendon."
Warnings: Kink (hitting with a flogger), mention of Patrick's weight loss.
Warnings: Kink (hitting with a flogger), mention of Patrick's weight loss.
Patrick belongs to a club with very, very high dues and an extensive NDA as part of the membership agreement. He hasn't been in a while, but there's an itch under his skin that music isn't touching.
He heads for the bar when he gets there. They don't serve alcohol, but he could go for a glass of water and it will give him something to do with his hands.
"Patrick," the bartender greets him. "You still looking for someone who can keep a beat?" Patrick is well aware that a significant portion of the money he pays them is used to hire and train staff who can remember this kind of thing from visit to visit, even when he hasn't been here in almost a year.
"Yeah. Any ideas?"
In addition to his water, the bartender hands him a soda. "Table nineteen."
The tables have brass numbers attached to the edges. It makes meeting people easier, and provides direction for subs who aren't allowed to look up. When he gets to nineteen, Patrick slides the soda in front of Brendon and sits down across from him.
"You're a dom?"
Brendon sips his soda with calm unconcern. "That wasn't very respectful."
"We're not playing."
"Yet. What do you want?"
"Someone who can actually keep a rhythm going. No whips. Paddles or hand are okay. I prefer a flogger. I have to sing tomorrow, so nothing that's going to fuck up my throat."
Brendon nods. "I can do that. Safeword?"
"Autumn."
Brendon looks at him for a long moment, but doesn't give him shit about it being two syllables the way some doms do.
Brendon hands him a keycard. "Room six. Take off your clothes and wait for me."
Patrick takes the card and uses it to let himself into a room at the top of the stairs. Room six is one of the simpler ones: bed in the center, armoire to the side, doors leading to the bathroom and closet.
Brendon didn't specify, but Patrick puts his clothes in the closet and kneels on the floor to wait.
"Mmm," Brendon says when he comes in. "Good."
Patrick keeps his head down, so he hears rather than sees Brendon open the armoire.
"On the bed."
Patrick gets on the bed and Brendon arranges him starfished, hands cuffed to either corner of the headboard, feet cuffed to either corner of the footboard.
"Okay? Not pinching anywhere?"
Patrick rotates his wrists in the cuffs, flexes his feet. "No. I'm good."
"Good. Don't move."
The fact that Brendon knows what the fuck he's doing becomes abundantly clear the first time the flogger hits Patrick's skin. It's a thud, but light enough that they can do this for a long time.
It's the first time he's done this since he lost the weight, and it's different. Less padding. Hitting closer in.
Every hit is right on the beat. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four.
After a while, that's all there is. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, and the flogger thudding into muscle and skin. Over his shoulders, down his back, clear space for his kidneys, then his ass, his thighs. One-two-three-four.
"One more measure," Brendon says, and Patrick counts it out until Brendon stops.
"That deserves a reward." Brendon's hand moves down his back, the slide of skin instead of the impact of leather making Patrick shiver. "What do you want?"
He wants to suck Brendon off, but he already told Brendon he needs his voice tomorrow, so Brendon will probably say no.
"Come on me."
Brendon's hand leaves his body, and he almost wants to call it back.
"You can come," Brendon tells him. "If you can." He doesn't touch Patrick again, but Patrick can hear him jerking off. He rubs his hips against the sheets, trying to get enough friction. He's so close. He didn't notice when Brendon was hitting him, but now he wants to come. Now he wants Brendon to come.
The first splash of Brendon's come across his heated skin makes Patrick cry out, and it's the thing that pushes him over the edge.
Brendon undoes the cuffs later. Patrick doesn't have any sense of time. He doesn't try to move, but Brendon brings his arms down and rubs at his shoulders. Brendon also cleans him up, makes him move enough to get the sheet he came on out from under him, makes him push himself up enough to take two aspirin with a bottle of water.
"Thank you," Patrick says.
"You're welcome. And thank you. You were exquisite."
Patrick flushes all the way to his toes. "Next time we should do this when I don't have to sing and you can fuck my throat."
"I'd like that."
Warnings: Kink (hitting with a flogger), mention of Patrick's weight loss.
Warnings: Kink (hitting with a flogger), mention of Patrick's weight loss.
Patrick belongs to a club with very, very high dues and an extensive NDA as part of the membership agreement. He hasn't been in a while, but there's an itch under his skin that music isn't touching.
He heads for the bar when he gets there. They don't serve alcohol, but he could go for a glass of water and it will give him something to do with his hands.
"Patrick," the bartender greets him. "You still looking for someone who can keep a beat?" Patrick is well aware that a significant portion of the money he pays them is used to hire and train staff who can remember this kind of thing from visit to visit, even when he hasn't been here in almost a year.
"Yeah. Any ideas?"
In addition to his water, the bartender hands him a soda. "Table nineteen."
The tables have brass numbers attached to the edges. It makes meeting people easier, and provides direction for subs who aren't allowed to look up. When he gets to nineteen, Patrick slides the soda in front of Brendon and sits down across from him.
"You're a dom?"
Brendon sips his soda with calm unconcern. "That wasn't very respectful."
"We're not playing."
"Yet. What do you want?"
"Someone who can actually keep a rhythm going. No whips. Paddles or hand are okay. I prefer a flogger. I have to sing tomorrow, so nothing that's going to fuck up my throat."
Brendon nods. "I can do that. Safeword?"
"Autumn."
Brendon looks at him for a long moment, but doesn't give him shit about it being two syllables the way some doms do.
Brendon hands him a keycard. "Room six. Take off your clothes and wait for me."
Patrick takes the card and uses it to let himself into a room at the top of the stairs. Room six is one of the simpler ones: bed in the center, armoire to the side, doors leading to the bathroom and closet.
Brendon didn't specify, but Patrick puts his clothes in the closet and kneels on the floor to wait.
"Mmm," Brendon says when he comes in. "Good."
Patrick keeps his head down, so he hears rather than sees Brendon open the armoire.
"On the bed."
Patrick gets on the bed and Brendon arranges him starfished, hands cuffed to either corner of the headboard, feet cuffed to either corner of the footboard.
"Okay? Not pinching anywhere?"
Patrick rotates his wrists in the cuffs, flexes his feet. "No. I'm good."
"Good. Don't move."
The fact that Brendon knows what the fuck he's doing becomes abundantly clear the first time the flogger hits Patrick's skin. It's a thud, but light enough that they can do this for a long time.
It's the first time he's done this since he lost the weight, and it's different. Less padding. Hitting closer in.
Every hit is right on the beat. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four.
After a while, that's all there is. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, and the flogger thudding into muscle and skin. Over his shoulders, down his back, clear space for his kidneys, then his ass, his thighs. One-two-three-four.
"One more measure," Brendon says, and Patrick counts it out until Brendon stops.
"That deserves a reward." Brendon's hand moves down his back, the slide of skin instead of the impact of leather making Patrick shiver. "What do you want?"
He wants to suck Brendon off, but he already told Brendon he needs his voice tomorrow, so Brendon will probably say no.
"Come on me."
Brendon's hand leaves his body, and he almost wants to call it back.
"You can come," Brendon tells him. "If you can." He doesn't touch Patrick again, but Patrick can hear him jerking off. He rubs his hips against the sheets, trying to get enough friction. He's so close. He didn't notice when Brendon was hitting him, but now he wants to come. Now he wants Brendon to come.
The first splash of Brendon's come across his heated skin makes Patrick cry out, and it's the thing that pushes him over the edge.
Brendon undoes the cuffs later. Patrick doesn't have any sense of time. He doesn't try to move, but Brendon brings his arms down and rubs at his shoulders. Brendon also cleans him up, makes him move enough to get the sheet he came on out from under him, makes him push himself up enough to take two aspirin with a bottle of water.
"Thank you," Patrick says.
"You're welcome. And thank you. You were exquisite."
Patrick flushes all the way to his toes. "Next time we should do this when I don't have to sing and you can fuck my throat."
"I'd like that."