Sublimation

by Stan Lee* and Eclipse

Althernate Universe "Escorts"

"You want me to go where with you?" Buck spluttered, sitting up in bed and turning to face the man lying beside him.

"Paris. For a week. You'd love it."

"Winston," Buck said patiently, trying not to sound as though he were talking to a five-year-old, "you've only known me, what, four months, and you want to take me on a trip to France! You don't think that's a little fucked up?"

"No. I think it's very reasonable," Winston countered. "I only have two business meetings, then the rest of the time is my own. I want a little company, and I sure as hell don't want to get saddled with one of the social climbers who've been angling for an invitation. I'd much rather take you. Somebody I could have fun with."

Buck snorted in disbelief. "Someone who'd suck you off on demand, you mean."

Winston grinned. "That too of course. Come on. First class all the way, George Cinq hotel, best wining and dining in the world. We could play tourist for a few days, see the sights, take a drive out into the countryside. Come on," he wheedled.

Buck shook his head. "You're insane, man," he said, but fondly. It was a damn tempting offer. Winston was good company, could be extremely generous and the sex was okay, nothing too demanding although Winston did have an enormous capacity for getting it up and keeping it up and dates with him were always strenuous. A week in Paris, all expenses paid, plus his regular fee. Tempting - but totally out of the question. Chris would have a fucking fit if he heard.

"Listen," Buck said gently, trying to let the man down easy. "Let me think about it."

"What's to think about…" Winston started.

"Hey," Buck said firmly. It was the only thing Winston understood. "It's either flat out 'no' or 'let me think about it.' You choose."

Winston frowned, but gave in.

Or at least he appeared to.

***

When Buck arrived home later that night he went in search of Chris, eventually finding him in his small office on the ground floor. He was sitting at his desk when Buck walked in, fingers steepled together, a thunderous look on his face.

Somebody hit his shit list big time, Buck thought, bending to kiss his lover's cheek, but Chris turned his head away sharply, avoiding the contact.

"What?" Buck asked, wondering what on earth he could have done to piss his lover off like this.

"That asshole Winston McConnell just called. Says you're thinking about going to Paris with him for a week and offered me a bump in your rate." The words were practically spat from his lips.

"That damned conniving bastard," Buck said, amused in spite of himself. Apparently Winston didn't know the meaning of the words 'let me think about it' and had decided to push the decision to suit himself.

"You're not going," Chris snapped out.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Course I'm not going," he said.

"But you said you'd think about it," Chris snarled.

"That was only to get him off my back, Chris," Buck defended. "Otherwise I'd still be there arguing with him."

"You should have told him to shove it up his ass," Chris growled, his short fuse obviously burnt out.

"He's a client and a damn good one," Buck countered tightly. "You're acting like some high school steady." Damn but Chris was pushing him over this, but he was determined to hold his temper.

Chris slammed his hand onto his desk and rose to face him, eyes blazing. "Just what the hell do you do for that fucking asshole that he thinks he can ask something like that?" Chris fumed.

Buck recoiled at the implied accusation. "What I'm paid to do. I fuck him," he snapped back, his resolve to stay calm melting in the face of his partner's unreasonable distrust.

"What else?" Chris demanded. "He's not offering you a first class trip to France just because he likes the way you suck his dick."

"Damn it!" Buck yelled, his own temper finally breaking loose. Enough was enough. "Is it so hard to believe that somebody might actually enjoy my company?"

"You're not paid to play house with that fucker," Chris yelled back. "You're his cocksucker, not his boyfriend."

It wasn't the lack of trust, it was the fucking jealousy. Chris should know him, know him better than this. "You damned son-of-a-bitch," Buck snarled. "That's it. You want to be an asshole, go ahead. But I'm not sticking around here to watch it." He turned on his heel and began to storm out.

"Don't you dare walk out on me," Chris shouted after him.

"Fuck you," Buck roared, and left, taking the steps two at a time and slamming into the top floor suite he shared with his lover.

He took a deep, steadying breath and went into the bathroom, locking the door firmly in case Chris decided to follow him upstairs to rag on him some more. Fuck that!

"Damned stubborn, pain-in-the-ass," he cursed aloud, kicking off his clothes and turning on the shower full blast. He waited for the water to heat up just right, then stepped under the shower head, letting himself be soothed by the warmth. He had a good mind to accept Winston's offer after all, get a bit of damned peace for a change. And he might have seriously entertained the idea, except that he was as pissed at the way Winston had disregarded him and tried to manipulate him as he was at the way Chris was reacting.

By the time he'd scrubbed himself down he was feeling calmer and a whole lot better. Chris was jealous, and possessive, and irrational and a maniac. But that wasn't exactly a news flash. He'd been like that for 14 years and there wasn't much chance that he was gonna change. Besides, Buck thought, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel, it could be argued that Chris' jealous reaction was an expression of love. A weird, fucked up, damned mess of a Larabee expresssion to be sure, but there was love in there somewhere if he dug down deep. Because nothing and no one in their long history together could rouse Chris' fear or incite his ire like Buck could. You get the trophy, pal, he told himself. You're the only one who can make him crazy... and, he added in silent, introspective afterthought, the only one who can bring him back to earth.

He was feeling almost good again when he went back downstairs to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, and his natural good humor completely reasserted itself when he saw that all of his friends were seated at the table or gathered around the kitchen counter. Even when Chris eventually walked in, the black cloud still hovering over him, Buck was able to ignore the man and carry on enjoying his sandwich and the pleasant conversation he was having with Vin.

"So, you up for the boat show on Friday?" Vin asked him.

"Buck's out of commission for the next few days," Chris cut in darkly, and Buck reared his head, startled, and looked into his lover's fierce and troubled gaze.

"You okay?" Nathan asked, clearly confused.

"He's fine," Chris answered on his behalf, never taking his eyes off Buck's face. He rose suddenly. "I want you upstairs in ten minutes," he ordered quietly, then turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving a baffled silence behind him.

Buck pushed his half eaten sandwich across the table, suddenly no longer hungry. If he went upstairs now he'd be tacitly agreeing to whatever Chris wanted to do to him. They both knew that. But what did his lover want? He was certainly furious, that much was obvious.

"Erm," Vin cleared his throat and Buck looked up into concerned blue eyes. "What's wrong?" his friend asked him.

Buck considered his answer for a minute. No point lying. If what he thought he was letting himself in for turned out to be true, the others would see plenty of telltale marks on him in a day or two when Chris had finished with him. They'd seen it a couple of times before, not exactly like it wasn't obvious...

"He's pissed at me," he offered. They could fill in the rest, he thought, and from the anxious looks they traded, they did just that.

"Don’t go up there," Ezra warned and Buck managed a small smile.

"You talk like I have a choice," he said softly.

"You most certainly do have a choice," Ezra spluttered.

Buck shook his head slightly. "He has the right to do what he wants to me," he explained. "I'm his."

Ezra had never responded well to statements like that, and today was no exception.

"You're your own man, Buck!" he snapped. "The only thing that makes you 'his' is you, and if you get in the car and drive away somewhere, anywhere, that will settle it."

Buck knew Ezra was right, from a certain point of view. Problem was, Ezra didn't know the whole story, and never would. They were bonded to each other, him and Chris, stuck with each other some might say. But Buck knew better, knew that for all the shit between them, they belonged to each other, and there was no way he wouldn't climb those stairs in eight or nine minutes and surrender himself to whatever it was Chris needed of him.

Poor Chris, Buck thought. His mother died on him, slow and painful. His father died too young, lost to drink and disillusion long before he'd actually passed away. A pimp had stolen Buck from him for too long. Sarah and Adam were both gone. Buck had been there through almost all of it, and was still here today with no plans of moving on. But Chris... Chris couldn't trust that sometimes, and it seemed like he tried his hardest to drive Buck away, just to be sure Buck would stay through anything...

"Leave, Buck," Ezra urged, determined now. "You'll still be his without putting up with his shit."

Would he? Chris wouldn't think so. "Thanks Ez," he answered slowly, "but you don't understand."

"Ezra?" This from Nathan, who had been here the longest and had some kind of intuitive understanding of the varied kinds of exchanges in his and Chris' relationship. "Leave it alone. Nobody's making Buck do what Chris says. Buck chooses it."

"Then Buck's the one who needs help," Ezra bit out snidely.

Maybe that was true, Buck thought, but it wasn't going to keep him from climbing those stairs.

His pace had slowed considerably by the time he arrived at the door of their suite. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out noisily, he walked in, immediately catching sight of his lover standing by the window, his back to the room.

"Close the door," Chris said, without turning around.

Buck closed the door quietly and leaned against it. Maybe he could talk to Chris, make him see reason. But he had barely even opened his mouth before Chris spoke again.

"Take off your shirt for me."

Was this a prelude to lovemaking, or was it something darker? If Buck was a betting man, he'd go with "darker." He unbuttoned his shirt, fingers shaking a little. Calm yourself, boy, he ordered, this is gonna be a long couple of days. He let the shirt slip to the ground before raising his eyes again.

Chris turned around slowly and looked at him for a long moment. Then his hands dropped to his belt buckle and he undid it methodically, pulling it out of its loops and letting it swing by his side.

Buck swallowed hard, knowing now what was coming. He couldn't take his eyes off the belt, even when Chris walked across the room and came to stand in front of him.

"Position," Chris barked, and he flinched and looked up into his lover's eyes.

"Chris, please," he implored.

"Save the begging for later," Chris snapped.

"Why are you doing this, Chris? You punishing me for something I didn't do?"

"I'm not punishing you," Chris said tersely, his voice hard and low.

"Then what?"

"Get the hell into position before I lose my temper," Chris snarled, ignoring the question.

This was it. The last opportunity to open the door and walk out, to leave Chris to figure this thing out by himself.

He turned slowly.

Raising his arms above his head, he splayed his palms against the wood of the door, moved his legs until they were spread wide and dropped his head. He had scarcely pulled in a breath before the belt was whistling through the air and landing with a loud thump across his shoulder blades. The pain was hot and blinding, the strokes coming quickly one after the other. He couldn't pull enough air into his lungs and soon he was panting, his breath as loud as the grunting sounds Chris made. When he was sure he couldn't stand another lick, and his back was an agony of fire, the belting stopped.

His face was wet with tears he hadn't realized he had shed, and his arms and legs were trembling with the effort not to turn around and lay his lover out, or maybe snatch at the belt and return the brutal beating. But something kept him in place, waiting for whatever Chris wanted to do to him next: love, need, passion; maybe just habit. Whatever it was, he stood there, shuddering, his hands fisting against the door.

He was almost surprised when Chris said softly, "I'm ready to fuck you," and he scrambled as quickly as he could to undo his belt and drop his jeans, kicking them out of the way.

"Get me ready," Chris demanded and he dropped to his knees, working to free his lover's rigid cock from his pants and suck it into his mouth. Chris wasn't interested in his skills tonight, just wanted to push his shaft deeply down Buck's throat, holding his head steady with a hand wound tightly into his hair while he rolled his hips and pumped vigorously. Buck tried to keep from choking, even as the cock slid deeper, making his eyes water and triggering his gag reflex. When he thought he would black out, Chris pulled his cock out, and used a hand to wipe at the spittle that spilled from his mouth.

"Up," Chris ordered, "over the couch."

He climbed shakily to his feet and limped to the couch, bending over the back, remembering to spread his legs wide to give Chris better access. Chris came up behind him, wiping spit on his engorged cock, taking a moment to stroke a hand over his ass while Buck did his damnedest not to flinch.

"Needs a little color, a little texture," Chris whispered. "When I've finished, I'm gonna use a whip on you. Think about that while you're getting fucked."

And with that he lined up his cock and pushed strongly up into Buck's body, pressing his back down firmly when Buck would have squirmed away. When he was fully seated he paused for a moment, then grabbed a handful of Buck's hair and pulled his head up savagely, leaning down to whisper directly into Buck's ear.

"You know better than to come, don't you?"

Like that was even on the agenda, at this point; Chris had gone out of his way to strike hard enough to whip anything that looked like anticipation right out of him. Buck nodded, his hair pulling painfully.

Chris patted his back, almost fondly. "Good boy," he said, then began to fuck him. Hard.

Chris drilled into him for what seemed like hours, stopping with a hiss every time he got close and pulling out sharply, taking a few deep breaths, then shoving back in again and continuing to pound away. Buck tried not to move a muscle. When Chris was in this mood, it didn't pay to assume anything, only to wait to be told what to do next.

Finally, even though he hadn't climaxed, Chris slid out of his body, gripping tightly at his hips while he dragged in a panting breath, then lifting Buck carefully off the back of the couch and turning him round. The kiss he pressed against Buck's lips was tender and gentle and Buck couldn't help but respond, even though his ass was sore and his back was enflamed.

His body relaxed into the kiss, even as his cock stiffened in interest. This was the worst part, this sudden shift in temperament. He could put up with Chris' fear and the pain, but the tenderness undid him. Always had. And Chris knew it.

He became so lost in sensations, so enthralled by the familiar mouth and what it did to him, that he was almost surprised when Chris pulled away from him abruptly.

"That ass of yours needs whipping," Chris growled, anger still high in him.

Buck nearly groaned out loud, catching himself in time with lips firmly clamped together. He'd thought maybe the rough fuck and the belting would tame his lover's demons, let them move on to something more temperate, more loving. Instead Chris seemed further inflamed, demanding more, pushing harder at the boundaries.

"Fetch a crop," Chris ordered harshly.

Buck looked deeply into his lover's eyes, and Chris stared back unflinchingly, almost challenging him to disobedience. But what would be the point in that? He belonged to this man, he'd given himself freely to Chris more than a decade ago and whatever Chris wanted, he would provide. It worked both ways after all, and it wasn't Chris' fault they needed different things from each other.

Sighing softly he dropped his gaze, then walked into the bedroom.

Chris followed closely and watched intently as he crossed the room to the cabinet in the corner, pulling the doors open wide. There was an assortment of whips and crops and he fingered each one slowly, waiting for Chris to indicate his preference. When his hand drifted over a lightweight particularly flexible crop, Chris made a small sound in his throat and he glanced over to see a flare of lust tear across his lover's face. This one then. A favorite. Exceptionally painful without actually doing any damage to the skin. Chris was obviously planning a long and tortuous few days.

He took the crop out of the cupboard and walked towards his lover, who was stroking a hand down his rigid cock. Buck's erection had deflated in the face of what he knew was coming. He handed the instrument to his lover.

"Where?" he asked.

"On the bed. Hands and knees. Spread wide for me."

He did as he was told, positioning himself in the way Chris had described, in a way he had presented himself many times before for things far more pleasant. The first strokes were almost tentative and he was able to ride them out with ease. By the fourth stroke Chris had found his rhythm and the blows began to rain down, harder and faster, rocking him forward every time the crop landed across his ass, until Chris reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder, forcing him to remain still. He had broken into a sweat at the first contact of the whip and when Chris gripped a strong hand into the muscles of his shoulder, preventing him from escaping, he felt the droplets flowing more freely, dripping from his forehead onto the sheet below.

The pain was excruciating.

Chris was obviously pleased with his handiwork, because after a dozen strokes he dropped the crop onto the floor and climbed up onto the bed, pushing Buck's head down to the mattress with the heel of his hand, while ramming his cock deeply into his ass. They both hissed when Chris' hips slammed up against the whip marks, one in pleasure one in pain, and he continued to groan, unable to stop himself as Chris hammered into him.

Chris came with a loud grunt, and a firm squeeze to his striped buttocks. He almost flattened out under the weight when his lover collapsed onto his back, which was still hot and tender from the belt. He just managed to hold himself up until Chris rolled off him and dropped to the bed, feeling fortunate when his lover pulled him down to the mattress beside him, knowing he'd be unable to hold the position much longer.

His muscles screamed out, and he felt a mass of aches and pains. But maybe, now that Chris had come, now that Buck's whole back was aflame, just maybe Chris would give him some peace.

Chris reached out to run a hand lazily down his back, letting it come to rest on his ass. He tried to lie still, although what he wanted most in the world was to shrug his lover off him.

Chris' eyes were closed and Buck thought he'd dropped off to sleep, was startled when his lover's voice rang out loud and clear in the quiet room.

"I've cleared your schedule for the next week."

Buck raised his head and looked at Chris in astonishment.

"You're not to leave this room without my permission, not until I excuse you," Chris continued, sounding almost reasonable. "You're not to put any clothing on, I want access to your ass at all times. You are to do exactly what I tell you, no questions, no hesitation. I sense any attitude I'll punish you. Understand?"

Buck looked into piercing green eyes, wondering what kind of fucked-up thought process was going on in that overwrought mind. "I'll do anything you want, Chris. Right after you tell me why." He wasn't even sure why he asked, because he'd give it up regardless of the answer... "What do you think I did?"

"You should have set that asshole straight from the beginning," Chris said harshly. "You're mine. No fucking way am I going to let anybody take you away from me."

Buck dropped his eyes, hoping to hide his incredulity. He was getting the crap knocked out of him because Chris had decided to feel threatened by a damned trick. Unfortunately he didn't hide his feelings quickly enough because the next thing he knew Chris had brought the flat of his hand down hard across his sore ass. He yelped in shock, moaning out loud when Chris flipped him onto his irritated back and rolled on top of him.

"I'm gonna teach you to behave like you're mine," Chris hissed, clamping strong hands to the side of his head and holding him immobile. "You actually fucking considered leaving me. You won't make that mistake again. You want to be somebody's bitch for a week, fine. But you'll be mine, not his."

He rolled off and swung his legs over the side of the bed and Buck breathed out, trying to release some of the tension that had tightened his muscles. He reached out a tentative hand, meaning to soothe with a touch, but his hand froze in mid-air when Chris snapped out, "Pick up the crop again. You obviously have a lot to learn."

Christ, this was going to be a tough one. Chris was not inclined to be lenient, not when he felt himself betrayed like this, and it wouldn't matter how much Buck pleaded that Chris had mis-read things. He was in for it. And all he could do was obey his lover as best he could, and ride this mood out to the end.

***

Buck woke next morning, wincing in pain before he'd even opened his eyes.

It had been a horrible night. Chris had taken the crop to him again, adding an even layer of welts over his back, laying them down on top of the marks already made by the belt. He'd tried to keep silent through it, but in the end he had given up. No two ways about it, Chris wanted to hurt him, wanted to hear him scream.

He obeyed quickly when Chris finished and told him to turn over, groaning long and loud when his sore back rubbed against the cotton sheets. His lover produced a length of thin cord and demanded, "Give me your hands," and he didn't have it in him to resist, even though he knew what Chris was planning to do.

He held out his hands, and Chris looped one end of the cord around his wrists, pulling tightly so that they pressed together. Buck raised his arms over his head, they'd played at this so many times before and even though it wasn't a game this time he knew what was expected. Chris secured him firmly to the headboard, then lay down beside him, tucking in close and tight and was asleep almost instantly.

Buck listened to his partner's soft snores for what seemed like half the night, unable to sleep with the fire of agony in his back. He eventually fell into a restless doze, coming awake every time he tried to move and a new pain lanced through him. Chris had awoken in the night and pushed him unceremoniously onto his side, had fucked him quickly and fallen back to sleep again, leaving his cock buried in Buck's ass.

And now here it was, morning, and he was still tied to this damned bed, pain from his ass and back slicing through him, arms sore and tingling from being tied all night. And he was alone. Chris had obviously risen early and left him here, trussed up like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey.

He started to stretch, but stopped when his body rebelled. He was almost glad when he heard the door to the suite open and Chris strolled into the bedroom, dressed in shorts and a tank top, obviously returning from the gym. He stripped without a word and climbed onto the bed, reaching up to undo the cords and free his lover.

Buck sat up, groaning at the dead weight that his arms had become, trying to rub the circulation back into them.

"Shower," Chris ordered tersely, and Buck pushed down the urge to scream. His lover was obviously still pissed at him and this damned punishment thing was going to continue. And it was punishment, no matter how much Chris wanted to deny it. He hadn't been sure last night that Chris would go through with it, not for a whole fucking week. But from here it looked very much as though today was going to be more of the same shit; discipline, obedience, restraint and a whole lot more pain. Proof of love, proof of fidelity, proof of belonging.

Proof that he needed his fucking head examined, he thought darkly.

He followed Chris into the bathroom, and was at least lucky that his lover let him stand under the hot water for a few minutes and find a little relief from stiff, aching muscles. He was surprised that Chris didn't try to fuck him; the man's erection was evident enough. Buck shunted that concern out of his mind. There was no doubt Chris would do him when he was ready, probably saving it until he'd given Buck his first beating of the day. No point thinking about that now, Buck mused, wincing as soap stung the cuts on his thighs. Best suspend all speculation where Chris was concerned.

Chris hustled them out of the shower and they dried off and finished cleaning up in silence, which was surprisingly unnerving. He waited while Chris scraped the last of the shaving foam off his face, and despite his admonishment to himself, he couldn't help wondering what was going on in that crazy head.

Chris walked out of the bathroom, and he followed, almost slamming into his partner when he stopped suddenly just inside the bedroom. He jumped when Chris finally broke silence.

"Gotta keep your form up, Buck," Chris said quietly.

"How'm I supposed to do that locked in this apartment?" he demanded peevishly.

"You can start by giving me fifty push-ups."

"You're joking."

"You want me to whip you again? Is that what you're after?" Chris challenged coldly.

The man was fucking insane. Resentfully, Buck dropped to the floor and quickly ran through fifty push-ups.

"Again," Chris ordered when Buck started to rise. Buck looked up, incredulous. Chris was staring at him, eyes hooded, but the anger was plain to see. Taking a deep breath, Buck dropped back into position and began again.

Chris watched this set, watched as the sweat broke out, building a sheen on his lover's smooth skin. He wondered if it stung the few cuts, and regretted that they didn't stand out over the bruising, but his shoulders and arms looked... Chris began to stroke his dick, already hard and needy.

"Again," he breathed when Buck reached one hundred. He was pretty sure Buck couldn't power through another fifty, not in such rapid repetition, and he wondered what he'd do when his lover failed. Ideas sprang to mind, dark and vicious and painfully erotic.

By thirty, Buck's arms were trembling and he wasn't taking the stroke all the way to the floor. "Do 'em right or they don't count," Chris commanded. Buck, ever obedient, dipped lower, and Chris licked suddenly dry lips as he watched his lover's muscles shake with the effort.

Forty. Forty-five... fifty. Buck dropped to the floor on his side, shoulders, biceps and pecs pumped up in sharp relief beneath tanned skin.

"Again," Chris ordered softly.

Buck groaned, and looked up at him with beseeching eyes. "I won't make two hundred and you know it," he said, half-plea, half-complaint.

"All right then. Up on your feet. Bend over, hands flat on the floor. Widen your stance." He nudged his lover into position where his already strained arms carried the bulk of his weight, and kicked his legs wider apart. Wider. "Know what we're gonna do now?" Chris asked softly, gently. He ran a hand along Buck's spine, collecting salty sweat, and licked it off his fingers.

"No."

"First I'm gonna whip your ass again, just a little," he said casually, "then I'm gonna fuck it."

Sanity almost reached through the veil when Buck asked plaintively, "Why?"

But only almost. Buck was his, had proved that over and over, and was going to prove it again in the next few days. "Because you're mine," he growled, and brought the whip down unerringly across the backs of his lover's thighs.

***

The day must have been interminable for Buck, but it was a perverse combination of heaven and hell for Chris. He knew more than he let on, knew that Buck had once let other men do so much more to him, for so much less... some would say Chris was crazy to need this, to need to make Buck prove that anything, anything would be accepted if it was Chris doling it out. Chris had never once done to Buck what some forty dollar trick hadn't already tried. What he refused to sell today, even when offered many hundreds of dollars for those services.

It was why Buck permitted it, and why Chris needed it.

Chris was still half-hard, even though he'd come several times today. He'd stay that way until whatever it was that was driving him eased, and things returned to the twisted perfection they called normal. The constant state of arousal urged him to action. He had striped Buck from shoulders to knees, fucked him until his lover whined and begged for respite or release--and those noises only spurred him on, compelled him to keep Buck's needs in check.

Buck wasn't sitting down much. Probably, he'd say he couldn't, which made Chris perversely want to put him in a chair.

He looked over the paperwork he'd thrown onto his desk. He'd cleared Buck's schedule for a week, much to the frustration of some of the regular clients, but Chris still had work to do to keep this place running.

He smiled to himself to see that Buck had obeyed his order not to leave the bedroom. He considered leaving his lover where he was, cooling his heels in the room next door, but in the end he wanted Buck close, wanted to see him, touch him, taste him, so he walked into their bedroom. Buck was standing by the window, forehead pressed against the glass, so caught up in what was outside that he seemed unaware of Chris standing in the doorway.

He looked magnificent. Hands bound behind his back, wrists crossed and resting lightly against his beaten ass; back and buttocks and thighs red and welted, dark hair, damp with sweat, plastered to the back of his neck. Chris felt a familiar stirring and fantasized briefly about throwing his lover down on the bed and fucking his ass or his mouth... maybe making him kneel so Chris could reach his ass and squeeze, massage the welted, heated flesh... Buck would do anything he asked, anything.... But Dorothy was waiting for the schedule, needed to make more than a dozen confirmation calls before she left for the evening and he didn't think it was fair to make her wait.

He stepped up close and hooked a finger around the cord binding Buck's wrists, pulling him wordlessly away from the window and walking him into the living room. He pulled the cord off and settled his lover, ass parked on the edge of the desk, something dark and sensual stirring from the flinch and hiss when Buck's beaten backside connected with the wooden surface. Then he sat on his chair, flicked on the lamp and while he made suggestions or ok'd appointments in the schedule with one hand, he rested the other on his lover's hip, stroking down his thigh, reaching occasionally to fondle his rising cock.

"I'll have to re-book most of these dates for you," he muttered absently, not expecting a reply. Buck knew better right now than to engage in idle chatter. Chris' hand slid around to the back of his lover's thigh, and he felt a frisson of desire as he brushed over the welts. He frowned briefly, thinking he was going to have to do something about marking Buck's front. His hand stroked over Buck's leg and wandered back to his now engorged cock. Buck tensed and sucked in a sharp breath and he glanced up to see a glazed, transcendent look on his lover's face.

Buck was clearly drifting on sensation, floating in a haze of muted pleasure. The man was amazing, really. He had to be sore all over, yet here he was, enjoying the most pedestrian of touches. And he was so beautiful like this, the lamp casting a warm glow on his body, the wholly erotic fragrance of his skin mixed with the muskier smell of his sweat and of sex. Chris leaned over and licked at the skin high on his lover's hip, tasting salt and a bitter undercurrent that was most probably his own dried semen.

He leaned again, wanting a stronger taste, and sucked on the head of Buck's cock, gathering up pre-cum on his tongue. Pushing back his chair a little, he dropped his hand to cup his stiff shaft, rubbing gently at it. But he needed something else.

"Turn around," he instructed, voice hoarse with desire. Buck looked momentarily startled, pulled out of his reverie, but he climbed to his feet quickly enough and stepped between Chris' outstretched legs, turning his back as ordered. Yes! That was it. Chris reached up with both hands and smoothed them over the raised markings on his lover's strongly muscled back.

God, he was stunning.

He placed his mouth on one of the thin welts then let his tongue trace the line of it. Buck shuddered and he felt the tremor reverberate through him. His cock felt like iron and he slipped his hand past the waistband of his sweatpants to grasp it firmly, swirling the leaking fluid around the head with his thumb.

"Over the desk," he ground out, and Buck took a step forward and bent over, elbows on the surface, legs sliding slowly wider, ass high in the air. Chris stood and approached, pushing his sweatpants past his hips. Grasping his cock in one hand, he knotted his other hand in the muscles of Buck's shoulder, pushing into the already slick ass. Buck arched his back, and he slid deeper and soon he was gliding in and out, smooth strokes becoming more erratic as orgasm boiled up in him and he spilled into his lover.

He dropped heavily onto Buck's back, bearing him down onto the desktop, feeling the heat of the marks on the man's naked skin even through the tee-shirt he wore. His panting breath was harsh, labored, and he rested where he was, waiting until his cock softened and slipped out of his lover. Buck squirmed slightly and Chris stood up, although he remained crowded up against his partner's ass.

Reaching out, he picked up the length of cord off the desk and one by one he pulled Buck's arms behind his back, wrapping the restraint around his wrists once more. Stepping back, wiping himself down quickly with a handful of tissues, he tucked himself back into his sweatpants.

Buck looked perfect there, legs still spread wide, ass open and ready, balls dangling, cock proudly erect, and skin mottled from the many and varied whippings it had received over the last few days. It was almost enough to make him hard again, definitely enough to make his groin itch with need even though his cock was spent for the time being.

"Don't move until I come back," he commanded, pulling the schedule out from underneath Buck's body. "When I get back we'll take a shower."

And giving his lover's ass a light slap, absorbing the flinch and the grunt he got in return, he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

***

The shower was hot and the spray stung his back and his ass, but God it felt good to be clean again, to sluice off the smell of sweat and sex, to scrub the semen and blood off his body.

Chris had left him bent over the desk for more than an hour, cum dripping down his legs, his sweat-soaked body sticking to the wooden surface. He'd tried to get as comfortable as he could, but his wide spread legs shook with fatigue, muscles aching from holding himself in place too long. Chris had pulled his arms too tightly behind his back so that they were in almost as much pain as his legs. And through it all he'd had a raging hard-on that had refused to go down even through the agony and the humiliation of that stupid position.

Yeah, they were definitely made for each other.

He became aware of Chris' soapy hands wandering over him and he turned to face his lover, tipping his head back to let the water thunder onto his face, arms raised to grip tightly to the glass walls high above his head. Chris began to stroke a hand up and down his cock, squeezing and releasing rhythmically, bringing him closer and closer to orgasm.

He tensed and tried to pull away, but Chris crowded forward, his soapy hand speeding up just right, sending signals to his brain that he had to come or explode. Buck began to moan low in his throat, and his hips moved almost unconsciously so that his cock slid in and out of Chris' palm. This was fucking torture, and he knew he couldn't hold out.

"God, Chris. Let me…" he pleaded.

"No," Chris said, his voice low and harsh. But he didn't stop jacking Buck off, only stepped around him a pace or two, and looking deeply into Buck's eyes, he slid his other hand over Buck's hip and pushed two fingers up into his ass, unerringly locating his prostate and brushing over it.

Buck went absolutely rigid, his eyes widened in shock and pleasure and his hands clutched so tightly at the glass walls that he felt for sure they would shatter.

"Please…" he groaned.

"No," Chris replied, both hands pumping in familiar, erotic rhythm. It was bliss. It was agony.

Buck threw his head back and screamed, "I can't," and next thing he knew, he'd knocked both of Chris' hands off his body, had slammed him back against the shower door and pinned his arms above his head. "I c..c..can't," he gasped, when the red haze of pain and pleasure and sexual frustration had cleared.

Chris stood absolutely still until some of the tension drained out of Buck's body, then he growled, "Let go. Now." Buck released him and rocked back when Chris slapped him open-handed across the face. The sharp sting cleared his head immediately.

Staring, eyes cold and dark, Chris reached for the soap and then for Buck's rigid cock, jacking him again, absorbing Buck's need like plants absorbed sunshine. Buck just stood there, muscles tensed, trying to focus on the pain in his backside, the pain he knew would come for his loss of control, but the hot, soapy hand kept stroking him, fingers rubbing lightly and teasing at his slit, at the knot of nerves just beneath the head. Chris' other hand inched around him again and fingers poked up his ass, stimulating his prostate, and he groaned in agonized need. It was almost like his lover needed him to fail.

Chris stepped away then, and left the shower stall without another word. Shaking, Buck turned off the water and reluctantly followed him out, his stomach doing a slow roll because he knew exactly what was coming next.

They toweled off in silence and Chris opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled down a couple of bottles, shaking pills into his hand and holding them out. Buck took them, washed them down with a glass of water, then walked into the bedroom and lay face down on the bed, his legs spread, his hands clutching the posts on the headboard tightly.

The smell of lanolin surprised him, and Chris gently rubbed the thick cram over his skin from shoulders to the small of his back, soothing the aches there even as his smooth touch drew a clear line of demarcation.

The mattress dipped when Chris rose from the bed. "Wider," Chris said quietly. "Don't try to hide your thighs from it, damn it."

The whipping that followed was the worst so far, and Buck shed all pride and cried out over and again as the crop landed on his buttocks and legs. Chris paid special attention to the tender insides of his thighs, each stripe a white-hot coal burning up into his brain. At the end he was shuddering in agony, barely able to breathe, begging for it to stop and when Chris finally threw the crop onto the floor and mounted him, he could scarcely even feel his lover shoved deeply inside him, riding him furiously.

When Chris finished, shouting his completion loudly, he pulled out and rolled onto his back. Buck kept his face buried in the mattress, his hands still clutching tightly at the posts, almost afraid to let go. But in moments he felt Chris' hands covering both of his, and they pried open his fingers and pulled him off. Chris rolled him onto his side and then to his back, and he whimpered with the contact of his ass to the soft sheets.

"Time for the front," Chris said softly.

Buck couldn't help his denial. "No... Chris, damn it, no..."

But Chris' face only hardened further, and he knelt up, retrieving the crop. "Keep complaining and I'll give you more."

It wasn't bad really, not nearly as bad as things he'd had in the past, but before Chris was done he had several stripes across his chest, belly and upper thighs, and he cried out shamelessly through it all. And damn it if the man didn't shove his legs up and back, spreading him wide, and fuck him again, though by now his ass was so stretched and so slick with Chris' cum that he didn't know how his lover got enough stimulation to get off. Maybe looking at the new welts helped, because soon he tensed and grunted, and once again pulled out and dropped to the bed.

"Okay, I'm done for now," Chris said, and rolled Buck onto his side to face him. Buck felt tears of frustration well up and leak past his tightly closed eyes when Chris reached for the oil and soothed the rest of his welted skin. Then a still-slick hand slid down and began to stroke him once more to hardness.

He couldn’t do this again. He just couldn't.

"Open your eyes," Chris whispered, and he obeyed, eyes locking with his lover's.

One hand reached behind him again and fingers pressed deeply into him, aggressively stimulating him inside and out.

"Chris..." he begged.

"Come when you’re ready," his lover offered, and his cock leapt in the stroking hand and almost immediately began to spurt thick streams of semen. He was crying in earnest now, and Chris leaned in to press their foreheads together.

They lay together for a long time and Buck realized that he must have drifted off to sleep because suddenly he became aware of Chris climbing back onto the bed and wiping his face with a warm, wet washcloth. His lover held out another couple of pills, which Buck recognized as painkillers instead of the arnica and vitamins his lover had fed him earlier, and he swallowed them down gratefully.

Chris held out a length of rope and he presented his hands while his lover looped the restraint around his wrists and whispered, "Lie down."

"Can I sleep on my side?" Buck asked, trying not to beg. He couldn't see how he'd get any sleep otherwise, the rest of him was such a fucking mess. He sucked in a breath when Chris hesitated. "Please Chris," slipped past his lips and Chris looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing. "On your belly," he said distinctly and Buck couldn't help the wince that shuddered through him. He wished he'd kept his fucking mouth shut and just rolled onto his back like he had last night. The fresh marks on the tender skin of his front would be agonizing to lie on.

"I can make it so your sides hurt just as much," Chris snapped out when his reluctance to obey became obvious. Buck rolled onto his stomach quickly, hissing out a breath when the welts rubbed on the mattress. Chris secured the end of the rope to the bedpost and settled down beside him, an arm and a leg thrown over Buck's body, snuggled in close to his side. Buck watched him for a while, as his eyes fluttered closed and the lines on his face smoothed out, his mouth falling open slightly to allow his shallow breaths to escape.

He loved this man so much and he wondered why Chris couldn't accept that sometimes, had to test it so harshly over and again. Would he ever to able to find peace, ever believe down deep that Buck wasn't going anywhere, had no desire to leave? What the fuck could he do beyond what he already did--taking the occasional violence, always saying yes, loving Chris with every fiber of his being?

When he woke early the next morning, he was still tied to the bed but Chris was gone.

And the whole fucking thing started again.

***

That first day marked the measure of the days that followed; Chris needed to give permission for anything, no matter how trivial, so much so that Buck had taken to asking if it was all right for him to get up and go to piss. Sometimes Chris said yes. Sometimes, for awhile, he said no.

The bondage was new, but Buck thought he understood it. Chris needed to control everything--when he itched, when he pissed, when he ate. Without his hands, all of those options were left up to his lover.

The routine was strict and harsh and he'd quickly learned what to expect; regular whipping, whether he transgressed any of Chris' fucked-up rules or not; rough, painful sex, so frequently he was beginning to think Chris was on something; being unable to come because Chris wouldn't allow it; being restrained and tied up; forced to kneel motionless at Chris' feet for hours, hands bound, when the man was working at his desk or watching TV, or talking on the phone; small humiliations designed to work his nerves and wear him down.

And if Chris' ruthless treatment didn't kill him, the fucking mind-numbing boredom would.

But the morning of the fourth day was different, and Buck wasn't sure he liked it.

"Get dressed," Chris said softly. "We're going downstairs for breakfast." Normally that would have been a pleasure, but he could tell Chris hadn't shaken his mood, and he figured that whatever happened downstairs wouldn't necessarily be fun and games. Sure enough, after he had slid on sweat pants and a loose tank top, Chris followed him downstairs and into the kitchen. It was just after ten and all of the guys were having breakfast.

"Take a seat Buck," Chris said quietly.

"No thanks, I'll stand."

And Chris rose, wrapped an arm around Buck's neck, and guided him toward the kitchen chairs. "I said," he repeated softly, "take a seat." He pushed on Buck's shoulders with all his weight, increasing the impact of beaten ass to hardwood chair. Buck couldn't avoid a whimper, and sweat broke out on his forehead.

Nathan got up with his plate and left the room. Josiah, Ezra and Vin stayed, thinking no doubt that their presence might be a balm, never realizing that Chris thrived on the audience. If Buck had been feeling bold, he'd have asked them to leave, to make things easier. But boldness had been beaten out of him days ago.

Chris piled food onto two plates and pushed one over to Buck. "Eat," he ordered.

Buck shook his head. "Not hungry," he said

"I didn't ask if you were hungry, I told you to eat," Chris repeated.

Buck pulled the plate closer to him and reluctantly picked up a fork. The fork hovered over the plate for a moment, and Buck tried to make his body obey. But he couldn't. His stomach was in a knot, every inch of him hurt, he felt nauseous just looking at the food. He threw a pleading look towards his lover, who just stared at him, cold. The order had already been given, and Chris wasn't about to repeat himself.

Buck shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled. He just couldn't do this. He put the fork back on the table and pushed the plate away.

"You know what that's gonna cost you, don't you?" Chris asked, his voice soft.

Buck nodded wordlessly and ducked his head. He couldn't help it.

"Fine," Chris said, sounding almost calm. "Go to the gym and put yourself through your paces. Then get back up those stairs. I'm in no hurry, but when I finish breakfast I want to find you face down on the bed, pumped up. Don't shower. And make sure the crop is where I can find it."

"Chris..." Vin's voice, urgent.

"Yeah?" Chris replied, laconic.

Shut up Vin, Buck demanded inside his head. Shut up, you'll only make him worse!

"Don't you think you're takin' things a little too far, pard? You don't want to mark him up so bad that he can't work, do you?"

"Vin," Chris said coldly, "if he never works again, that'll be just fine. I've kept him before and I'll keep him again, if that's what I decide to do."

"You're insane," Ezra spat out, low.

Buck cast him a harsh look. "You don't know anything about it, Ezra," he said tightly. "You don't know him and you don't know me."

"I thought I did before this debacle," Ezra snapped. "I thought you cared for each other, loved each other."

"Ezra, you have no idea how much I love him, how much I need him!" Chris growled, and Buck's head swung around in surprise. Chris was desperate, he'd known that from the start, but he'd never seen it manifested like this.

"You've got a strange way of showing it, Chris," Josiah said mildly.

"I ain't the one showing it," Chris snapped, and pushed his plate away. "He is."

Buck rose quickly, though stiffly, every muscle in his body screaming, his flesh raw, bruised, aching "Chris?" he whispered. "The gym? Come with me, all right?"

They didn't understand. Buck couldn't say he would have understood from the outside. They didn't know the lengths Chris had gone for him, the property, people and opportunities Chris had given up for him. Buck had never really given up anything, except his body, and people before Chris had taken it so often by force that it wasn't exactly an equal sacrifice.

Whatever Chris needed from him, whether Buck thought he could stand it or not, Buck would do.

He'd get through this.

They both would.

Chris looked at him, obviously thinking. "Yeah. Okay. Get moving."

The workout was agony, not just because of his cuts and bruises but because Chris was determined to push him past his limits. When it was over he was sweating profusely, muscles pumped up and dense, lactic acid flowing so that he knew that would be one more hurt to suffer tomorrow.

"Chris?" he tried.

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't going with him. I didn't want to, I wasn't going to."

"Bet your ass you're not going to," Chris repeated, purposely misunderstanding. "Upstairs. That's gonna be home for the next couple of days."

***

Buck paced madly from one side of the bedroom to the other. He couldn't decide what was worse, when Chris was in his face all the time, or this, being left by himself for hours on end, caged in this bedroom like an animal in the zoo. The fact that his hands were tied behind his back didn't help; he had to sit down to piss, and God help him if he needed anything else while Chris wasn't in the room.

The door to the living room was open, but he had been ordered not to cross the threshold just to wait in the bedroom until Chris returned.

But being shut up like this was driving him slowly insane. So much so that he finally cursed out loud and stormed into the other room. Chris could do what the fuck he wanted to him for disobeying, but he couldn't spend another minute in that bedroom.

He crossed the room quickly to stand in front of the tall window, loving the light and the sudden sense of space. He'd been stuck in this suite for four days now and it was wearing on him, even more than the severe treatment at Chris' hands. The street below was busy, bustling with life and movement and he felt a profound urge to pull his clothes over his sore body and escape the house, feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, suck in great lungs full of clean, fresh air, stretch his aching limbs.

"I hope you're ready to pay for this defiance," a voice cracked across the room, and Buck winced, turning quickly to watch his lover walk into the room and slam the door behind him. He waited while Chris approached, tensing for the blow he felt sure was coming. But Chris only reached a hand up and cupped it behind Buck's neck, pulling his mouth down into a sweet kiss. Buck's body responded immediately, his cock rising, heavy with want. Chris had hardly let him come in the past four days and he was desperate with need. He couldn't even jerk himself off because Chris always bound his hands tightly behind his back so that he couldn't find relief.

Chris dropped a hand and stroked it up the rigid shaft.

"Still keeping it for me?" he asked.

Buck smiled a little. "Glad to give it up whenever you want," he whispered.

Chris smiled back at him. "Get yer ass back into that bedroom before I take my belt to you," Chris ordered, but mildly, no anger coloring his voice.

Buck hesitated for a moment. "I'd rather take the belt and stay out here," he bargained.

Chris snorted. "This isn't the United Nations. I don't make deals," he said but he reached down anyway to unbuckle his belt, and Buck's cock twitched in anticipation.

"Turn around," Chris instructed.

Buck turned and stood quiet and docile, while Chris untied his hands and examined his back. He felt a warm hand travel over the raised welts on his back and ass, and wondered again at Chris' fascination with marking him up, with controlling him. There had been a time, long ago, when Chris had barely been able to stand either, had in fact taught him to be his own man and answer to no one, to make the choices he wanted to make. Funny, really, he thought as he flexed his sore wrists, that the choice he wanted to make was to give Chris whatever he demanded. But only Chris. He didn't bend to anyone else, not anymore.

Hands slid down first one arm then the other, lifting them gently and pressing them firmly against the wooden frame of the window. When his arms were spread wide, Chris nudged the insides of his ankles, opening him down there, too.

"Brace yourself," Chris murmured into his ear, and Buck drew in a deep, steadying breath.

Chris stepped away from him, and he heard the familiar whistling sound he'd gotten used to, tensing slightly when the belt landed squarely across the tender flesh just at the bottom curve of his ass. He groaned, but he stood still under the careful assault, which didn't last too long. He didn't move when he heard the belt land on the floor, just waited patiently for Chris to decide what he wanted next. He flinched only slightly when Chris pressed well-lubed fingers up into his ass, followed quickly by his oiled cock.

Chris took him hard and fast, and he pushed back eagerly, basking in the sunlight as it poured through the window. Chris' oil-slick hand traced around his hipbone and grabbed his cock, pulling it tenderly, the friction driving Buck mad even amidst his various aches and pains. His balls had drawn up tight and still Chris hammered into him, paying special attention to his erogenous zones until Buck was whimpering like a child. He'd do as he'd been told, he'd hold off--he just didn't know how....

"Come for me," Chris said quietly.

When he spilled, his semen spattered the glass and dripped slowly down, and his mind was wiped clean of pain, of stress, of the last four days of punishment undeserved. All that remained inside him was Chris, and the endorphin rush of ecstasy, and the fact that the man who had been with him since his teens would be with him forever.

* * *

The reaction was winding down. Buck was still Buck, still so willing to give to him that Chris couldn't stay frightened for long. Winston would be off Buck's books for a few weeks--teach that fucker a lesson Buck should have taught him about just who had rights to what.. the lesson Buck had taught Chris all over again, the last few days. His lover would stay in their rooms for another day or two, because Chris had ordered him to and because it satisfied some dark part of him to know that Buck would do as he was told.

The next couple of days would be different, though. He'd ease up on the restrictions, let Buck take back control. And the sex would be sweeter, gentler, showing Buck just how deeply he was loved and appreciated, for everything he was... for coping with Chris' shit so well.

He jogged down the two flights of stairs and headed for the kitchen, planning to dish up enough food for two and go right back upstairs. No sense keeping Buck waiting... though, he remembered with a grin, it had been a pleasure to watch his lover pace, to watch Buck measure the limits of his confinement without once stepping too far over the line. Today was for something different though: a good meal, some good booze, maybe even poppers if the mood took him. Buck would lie across his lap, so Chris could divide his attention between the basketball game on the television and the stripes that marked his lover, playing with them when he wanted, guiding Buck's mouth to suck on his cock when he needed it. The submission that lying still through the whole game entailed would be a nice final challenge for them both.

He was getting hard just thinking about it...

"You don't think you've done enough?"

The voice startled him, as much the words as the person; Vin didn't meddle in his and Buck's affairs, had learned from the start that this was a place no one was welcome.

"I'm gonna forget you said that," Chris said, low, his good mood evaporating like morning dew.

"Not tryin' to start a fight, Chris, I just... everybody's worried about you two. Not just me."

"Nobody else is in my face about it," Chris retorted.

Vin shrugged, and offered that country boy smile that attracted so many women. "Maybe nobody's as dumb as me. Look, all I'm saying is you've been on him for a few days now. I don't know what started it and I'm not asking, but... Nathan hasn't even gotten a look at him. We want to know he's okay."

"You think I'd do something that made him not okay?" Chris demanded, anger flaring cold and dark. He left the plates on the counter and grabbed Vin by the arm. "Come on. Right now."

"I'm not trying to get in your way, Chris," Vin repeated, offering a little drag as Chris pulled him toward the stairs.

"You're not getting in my way, don't you fucking worry about that. But if somebody needs to report back to the rest of the club house, well, you elected yourself, so get your ass moving up those stairs!"

Vin dug his heels in, voice gone cold. "I ain't Buck, Chris. You don't order me around like you do him."

Chris sucked in a breath for patience, and tried a different tack. "Either you want to check on him or you don't. You're the one asked, it's your call."

He watched the hesitation, and knew before Vin did what the answer would be.

"All right."

Chris hated to admit it, but he felt a certain relish in showing Buck off to somebody; he felt his cock stir as he climbed the stairs behind Vin. The living room door was open. "Buck!" he called as they approached the door. "Don't move."

Vin's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he said nothing, just walked in like he normally would--and stopped cold. Buck was right where Chris had left him, sprawled on his belly on the couch, one leg dropped to the floor to keep his ass open and exposed, bound hands above his head, eyes closed, a well-fucked expression on his face. The crop Chris had just used on him was lying on the floor, still dark with Buck's sweat. Chris's cock grew harder as he approached the couch, noting in satisfaction how distinctly the latest welts stood out, raised and livid, begging to be touched.

"Chris..."

Chris thought he'd burst a seam when Buck jerked at the new voice, his eyes flying open in shock. "Hold still, Buck," he said quietly, and went to his lover even as Vin stood frozen near the door.

"Up," he instructed, and although Buck threw him a dark look he obeyed instantly, climbing to his feet.

Chris spun him around so that his back was toward Vin and ran his hand over the welts, smiling to himself at the way Buck shuddered under the touch, even while he tried his hardest to remain motionless.

"Vin wants to play," he said cruelly, and saw both men flinch.

"Chris don't do this," Buck whispered, turning his head to look harshly into Chris' eyes.

"Hush," Chris said, his eyes on Vin's face, challenging him. "Or I'll have to punish you again. Come closer Vin," he crooned. "This is what you came up here for, isn't it?"

Vin didn't move, just stood in silence in the doorway, although it was pretty obvious that anger was simmering just below the seemingly calm surface.

"I'm going to take the crop to him again. You're welcome to stay and watch," Chris pressed, and almost laughed out loud when disgust flared in Vin's eyes and he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"That was pretty unnecessary," Buck chastised gently, and he almost let the transgression go because he was so secretly thrilled at how easy it had been to wind Vin up.

But he didn't want his lover to think that he could get away with that kind of disobedience. He pulled off the rope that tied Buck's hands and patted him on the ass. "Go turn on the basketball game," he ordered, "then get yourself back onto that couch and wait for me."

He walked into their bedroom, rifling through several drawers until he found what he was looking for. Buck was perched gingerly on the edge of the couch when he came back into the room, and he sat down and pulled his lover swiftly over his knee.

"I told you I'd punish you if you gave me attitude," he said, and brought the flat of his hand down hard across his lover's ass, raining down blow after blow until it was hot and red and Buck was squirming uncontrollably. He took a break for a moment, rubbing his hand over the swollen flesh, loving the heat he had generated. Lifting Buck's beautiful tear-stained face, he planted a firm kiss on his lips, then picked up the paddle he had found in the bedroom and applied it with a stinging blow. Buck's body jumped and he grunted out loud. Chris gave him a few more licks, just to make his point, then threw the paddle onto the floor.

Reaching for a tube of slick, he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and pressed them deep into his lover's ass, working him until Buck relaxed a little, although his cock was now rigid. By now the game had started and Chris let himself get distracted for a while, although he continued to stroke in and out of his lover's body. When he was sure Buck was ready, he picked up the dildo he had scooped up from the bathroom, and positioned it at the entrance of his lover's body.

"Open for me," he instructed, and Buck raised his ass and relaxed his body further, making the most erotic mewling sound when Chris slid the dildo deeply into him. He turned his attention back to the game then, Buck stretched across his lap, head resting on folded arms, lying so still, surrendered completely to what Chris did to him. Every now and then, when he wanted to hear that noise again, Chris rocked the dildo in and out of his lover and Buck humped against it, whimpering so beautifully.

At one point, aroused and hard himself, Chris maneuvered Buck down the couch a little until his head was resting on Chris' thigh. Tangling his hand in his lover's thick hair he commanded, "suck me. But I don't want to come," and Buck raised himself onto his elbows and knees and began to languidly lick and suck on him. His attention was sorely divided now, between the basketball game in which the Celtics were killing the Lakers, Buck's mouth so exquisitely pleasuring him, and the way Buck rode the dildo that Chris was slowly fucking him with, his swollen, heavy cock twitching and jumping in response.

At half time Chris rewarded Buck, flipping him onto his back, fucking him hard and fast with the dildo then leaning down to suck his rigid shaft into his own mouth and bring him off swiftly. Buck screamed as he exploded in release, and it took him several minutes to come back down, the expression on his face dazed, stunned, until a soft, achingly sweet smile spread slowly and he pulled Chris' head down and kissed him passionately.

Chris pulled back gently and smiled down at him, pulling the dildo out of Buck's body and replacing it with his own hot shaft, fucking him furiously as Buck pushed back against him, giving him everything. He came in seconds, pushing up deeply, Buck's name frozen on his lips, then collapsed onto his lover's body in a sweaty heap.

He felt it drain out of him then. All the anger, the fear, the stupid jealousy that had been unfounded. Buck was his. He knew that, had probably known it all along. Just as Buck had. It was a miracle his lover put up with him.

He shifted slightly so that they lay side by side on the couch, and Buck must have felt the change in him too because he opened his arms and gathered Chris in. Chris relaxed into the embrace, tucking his head under Buck's chin, pulling in a deep breath, then raising his head to meet Buck's clear, untroubled gaze. "I love you," he stated simply.

Buck grinned at him. "Love you right back, darlin'," he murmured. Then, "What about those Celtics, eh?" Chris laughed out loud and kissed his lover soundly, allowing Buck to manhandle him onto his other side so that they could both watch the second half of the game.

Buck twitched a blanket off the arm of the couch and tucked it in around them both, then he engulfed Chris in an all-encompassing hug and pulled him close. Chris pushed back, melding himself into the contours of the much-loved body and sighed deeply.

"I still want you here for the next two days," he reminded, turning his head slightly to look his lover in the eye.

"Whatever you want," Buck agreed genially, pressing a kiss against his neck. "Now, settle down, I want to watch the rest of the game."

Chris smiled. Only Buck could shift gears so quickly. He allowed himself to be caught up in the game again, hardly realizing when he drifted off to sleep in Buck's arms.

***

The next two days were calm and beautiful, re-establishing their normal relationship and everything that entailed. They dressed and left the house early in the morning, walking hand-in-hand through almost empty streets, and he laughed to see how crazy happy Buck was to be finally allowed out of their rooms. Buck was reluctant to return, until Chris whispered into his ear, "I want you to fuck me," and then his lover grabbed at him and hurried him home and back upstairs. He hadn't permitted Buck to take him over the past days and he'd missed it with a fierce longing.

He had speculated that Buck might be brutal with him, maybe exact a little revenge for the past days of harsh treatment. But his lover had been tender and gentle and he ended up with tears streaming down his cheeks, so damned in love with the man that it was almost painful.

They joined the rest of the gang at mealtimes, Buck immediately and completely his old self in front of their friends, as if the last few days had never happened. Chris could tell that the others were thrown off-balance momentarily, but his lover's irrepressible good humor and grace were infectious. For himself, he made an enormous effort to be affable and to various degrees the other men thawed to him, forgave him for his temper, for behavior they couldn't comprehend. They didn't understand what compelled him, why Buck allowed it or what made their fucked-up relationship work so well. But they accepted.

Mostly he and Buck stayed together in their suite, unwilling to stray too far from each other, needing to touch, to hold close, to make love quietly. The whips and restraints were banished back to the cupboard and locked up tight. Nothing existed for Chris except Buck. Not the business, not clients, not the world outside these rooms. He was happiest enveloped in Buck's arms, his lover's cock buried deeply inside him; or kneeling between the man's legs, head nestled in his lap, cradling him close.

And it was pure joy to hear that resounding laugh echoing through the suite again, to see the broad shit-eating grin spreading across his lover's face, even to listen to Buck's mild bitching about nothing in particular. Conversation was amiable and easy, laughter between them frequent and heartfelt.

Finally, after two days wrapped up only in each other, Chris acknowledged to himself that they would have to make plans to pick up their normal life. He yawned and stretched, and Buck shuffled to accommodate him.

"I think maybe we should invite Vin up," Chris said, tasting the words carefully to see if they were true.

"I think he's still pissed at you."

"Yeah." The word rolled out, long and slow. "That's why I thought we should invite him up."

Buck, who had been holding him against his side on the sofa, dragged a little further until Chris sat almost in his lap. "He's never gonna understand, Chris," he said quietly. "Not unless you or I tell him things that we're never gonna tell."

Chris shrugged. "He may not understand what happened before today, but he'll understand a peace offering."

Buck appeared to think about it even as his hand went to Chris' groin and stroked, bringing his cock up hard and aching. "I'll fetch him," he finally said. "He wouldn't listen to you right now."

Chris sighed; Buck was probably right.

Buck wandered down one flight and slipped through Vin's open door, calling out, "Vin? Hey, slick, where are you?"

Vin trotted out of his bedroom looking relieved. "You okay?"

"Don't I look okay?" Buck asked, arms spread.

"From this side you do," Vin frowned. "Two days ago... that bastard."

Buck drew in a calming breath; he'd known how Vin would be, how the rest of the gang would be. It pissed Nathan and Ezra off, Josiah didn't like to judge and stayed out of it if he could, Vin at least tried to accept them. That was why Vin was the only one Buck and Chris allowed to see them when either of them were marked up, unless they needed Nathan for something that went a little... severe.

Amends could only be made one at a time. "I'm not asking you to understand, Vin. You've never walked in his shoes, never lost what he's lost, never risked what he's risked for me. You've never walked in mine, where it's all right even to do the pain game because it's Chris." He scratched at his belly just at the topmost button of his loose-fitting jeans. "I'm not gonna explain it. I'm just gonna remind you that I'm a big boy and I can say no anytime. I don't. You want to be pissed at somebody, be pissed at me."

Vin's anger melted into a frown, not quite of acceptance but certainly of acquiescence. "I figure Chris being pissed at you is plenty of pissed for one man," he finally conceded.

"Vin," Buck said softly, "Chris is just an amateur," and from the look of shock on his friend's face, Buck could tell he'd divulged too much about things from his past that he never wanted to think about again.

He grinned, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Come up and play with us. I'm feeling in the mood for a Larabee sandwich, and the only question is which slice of bread you want to be."

Vin grinned at that, no more able to resist Buck's playful mood than most people. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"I'm bruised and banged up a little," he answered honestly. "He took good care of everything he did, and I've been popping arnica like it's Lifesavers. But yeah, I'm still marked. That's why it's just us." Buck's voice softened unaccountably. "You're the only one we'd let see this, Vin. Now, are you coming or aren't you?"

Vin's grin broadened. "I figure I'm definitely comin' sometime soon."

Buck encouraged Vin to be the pitcher, because he thought it made Vin feel better to bang Chris with a little extra oomph; Chris never once complained, though Buck could see the tidbits of pain that mixed with pleasure on Chris's face. Buck opted not to be fucked, so he could watch Vin's anger dissipate, Chris' pleasure increase. Besides, he wanted to hide his more severely marked back from Vin as much as possible. The man's eyes had almost fallen out of his head when he'd seen the whip marks on Buck's front. No point pushing him beyond what he was able to accept.

"Don't come," he ordered with a smile, when Chris got close, and Chris' eyes flew open.

"Buck..." he whimpered.

"You heard me, stud. Don't come yet. We've got a lot more fun to have before the day's over."

The three of them spent a happy couple of hours together, and Buck could see the relish Vin took from Chris' predicament. It was like Vin worked harder, fucking with a purpose, driving Chris to the edge and past it--but Chris gritted his teeth, whimpering, tears filling his eyes, and didn't come.

Vin did, and pulled out, disposing of his rubber. "Talk about delayed gratification," he joked, peering over Chris' hip to his blood-darkened shaft. "How long are you gonna keep him in suspense, Buck?"

Buck shrugged, playful. "How long do you want me to?"

Vin appeared to think about it for a time, but then he shook his head, clearly unwilling to be dragged too far into their games. "Whenever he wants," he answered quietly.

"Now!" Chris growled, making both Vin and Buck laugh.

"Come on, stud," Buck ordered, smacking his ass lightly, "up on your knees and straddle me."

Chris did as he was told with lightning speed, and Buck drove his cock in deep, hard, holding Chris' hips to control the rhythm. "It's gonna be good," Buck crooned.

"Buck..." Chris whimpered.

"Damn, Buck, you're a vindictive bastard," Vin said, but it was with awe and not judgment.

Long minutes passed, Chris groaning and cursing, little mewling sounds emitting from his tight-clenched throat.

"Want to give us a hand here, Vin?" Buck asked, breath quick and heavy. "Play with his balls. Just his balls. He'll come like a freight train just with that."

So Vin scooted in close and reached down, fondling, squeezing gently, watching the love that shone on his friends' faces and admitting to himself that no, he had no fucking clue about these two, but whatever they had, it worked.

Long minutes later Buck finally whispered, "now" and Chris came, his groan resembling nothing more than a tree cracking and falling--heavy, huge, important. He shook like a leaf in the wind, his whole body trembling as his cock spit semen again and again, the flow arcing up over Buck's belly and almost to his chest. Damn, Vin thought. Damn.

They hung out together for awhile, naked and lazy, until Nathan showed up looking for a chance to check in on things. The look on his face when he saw Vin in bed with them was almost comical, he seemed so relieved. Buck dragged on clothes before Nathan could get too serious and announced that he was going to go to Krispy Kreme, and Chris said only, "Hurry back."

"Maybe," Buck joked. "But either way I want you just like you are, ass up in the air, face in the pillows, when I come back. You got that, stud?"

Vin shook his head even as he reached for his jeans; the idea of a walk to the donut shop sounded great. He'd never understand these two. Maybe nobody would. And that was okay, he supposed, because they clearly understood each other.

The End