Happy Birthday yin_again
Original fic for yin_again. Happy Birthday.
Lars is political scientist, and Brian is a DEA agent. They met when Brian was investigating a drug ring that used punk clubs and performance spaces to move drugs and money.
"Lars?" Brian called. The Ducati was parked in the middle of the walkway, and the front door was open. Brian tensed, all thoughts flown of a quiet Friday, pulling Lars away from his computer and the equations. He dropped the bottle of wine in the grass and reached for the gun that wasn't on his hip and ran into the house. Lars' helmet and jacket were sitting on the couch. "Where are you?"
"Up here," Lars called from the loft.
Brian took the stairs two at a time, "What's wrong?"
"Huh? Nothing," Lars said. He was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, digging into a box.
"Door open. Bike abandoned on the front walk." Brian slapped Lars on the head. "Don't scare me like that."
"Poor impulse control," Lars said, not looking up. "You knew that when you married me. We have a present."
Brian stopped, the word hitting him in the chest. After ten years, they were actually married. He took a breath. "So, what's in the box."
"Angie sent us a wedding present. Look at the return address."
"Oh, Jesus," Brian said. It was a sex shop.
Lars had gotten through the packaging and found the gift. He threw back his head and laughed so hard he fell backward.
Brian leaned down and reached into the box. His hand found an envelope first. He opened it. It read, "No more bruises. You just made promises to take care of each other. Hope this helps. Angela." Below the car was a pair of padded cuffs with extra lengths of chain, and a flogger, all in lavender.
Brian looked at Lars where he sprawled with a smile on his face. He was heavier than when they'd first met, but that wasn't a bad thing. He'd been too slender, too close to junkie chic. There was nothing to be done about the hair, which he still dyed black and gelled up into spikes, but the black T-shirts were designer these days, and the boots low and European
"Hey, Lars." Brian poked him with a shoe.
"What?"
"I think you're gay."
"Come down here and say that."
"I have a better idea," Brian said, reaching down a hand.
Lars took it and stood up, then looked down at Brian. "What idea is that, Senior Agent Dahl."
"God that sounds funny," Brian said. "I keep screwing it up when I answer the phone."
Lars kissed him. "I still can't believe you changed your name."
"You try spelling Hoechst."
"You try growing up in Louisiana with people calling you Dolly."
"I notice you didn't offer to change yours," Brian said, turning toward the stairs with the cuffs and flogger in his hands.
"Leave those up here," Lars said, stuffing paper into the empty box.
"I was going to take them to the bedroom."
"Leave them here," Lars repeated, and brushed past him to take the empty box down the stairs.
Brian turned and noticed the walls for the first time. "Jesus." Lars had installed an arch of decorative wrought iron, at the right heights to be cuffed into a number of different positions. "Did you do that today?"
"No, dumbass," Lars answered from below. "I did it last night while you were asleep, although how you slept through the drill is beyond me."
Brian hung the flogger and each of the lengths of chain on a curl of iron, putting the cuffs on a new shelf. They wouldn't be able to keep them there unless they wanted to announce this part of their relationship to the world, and Brian never wanted to do that.
Brian went outside to retrieve the wine, but stopped to move Lars' motorcycle to the garage. He found Lars in the kitchen, putting salad into bowls. Brian opened the wine, and got down one glass.
"Don't I get any?" Lars asked.
Brian took the bag of greens out of his hand, "Upstairs. Now."
Lars said, "Or what?"
"Now."
"Yes, officer."
Brian pulled up Lars' T-shirt, and kissed the spot in the middle of his chest where his newest tattoo was healing, an equation that read 1 + 1 = 2 in block digits.
"I thought you wanted me upstairs."
Brian stepped back. "Go. Strip. I'll be up in a minute."
He poured himself some of the wine, grabbed a spoon, and took the glass and bottle upstairs. Lars was kicking his gray slacks off his bare feet. Brian stood and watched as Lars folded the clothes on the couch, moved the coffee table, and knelt in the middle of the room.
"Good," Brian said. He set down the bottle and spoon, walking around Lars as he sipped his wine. Lars knelt with his hands on his thighs, and Brian looked at the ring on his left hand, white gold matching his own. "Why did you put these up here?" he asked, gesturing at the iron on the walls. "Why not the bedroom?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something."
"What do you want me to do right now?" Brian asked.
Lars stood and got the manacles, handing them to Brian along with a length of chain. "Whatever you want."
"What if all I want is to bend you over the couch?"
"Whatever you want, husband," Lars said, kneeling again.
"We didn't put obey in the wedding vows." Brian wasn't sure he wanted this, all of a sudden. This wasn't something they did often any more, and he wondered if Lars installing the metalwork was a hint, although why here and not the bedroom was still a mystery.
Lars leaned forward to put his head on Brian's shoes, exposing the old red and black sun face tattoo on his left shoulder, and the scars on his lower back. One was a ragged X over his right kidney, and a small semicircle over the other, where the pentagram subdermal had been removed to stop the metal detectors from going off. The eyebrow, and navel rings were gone, too, and only five earrings and the nipple ring remained.
Brian sipped his wine and said, "Up."
Lars sat back on his ankles, his cock hanging heavy between his thighs, and looked up at Brian. Brian crouched down, wincing at his knees, and held the wine glass out to Lars. "Here." Lars took the glass and drank. "You know I don't need this, right?" Lars nodded, and handed back the wine. "But you do?"
Lars shook his head. "I want it. I like it. I don't need it."
"What do you want me to do to you tonight?"
Lars got up, took the whip off the iron. He was fully hard by the time he turned back to Brian, and the sight started Brian's own cock to fill and swell. He didn't like hitting Lars, but he loved how he reacted, how he could control him, take him to begging. Lars was so damn smart, so hard to get the better of, and everyone knew that, but he would give over, and only to Brian.
Brian took the whips and cuffs, smiling at Angie's sense of humor. He put the cuffs on Lars' wrists, finding the part of the buckle that held him snug, but not too tight. There was a length of chain long enough to pull Lars' arms over his head to one of the new decorations, and he hooked it through the cuffs. He held up the wine glass for Lars to sip, then set it aside. He rubbed Lars roughly across the neck and down his back. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, Brian."
He didn't hesitate. He kept his hand on Lars' neck and hit three times rapidly with the flogger, then paused, rubbing the spot and listening to Lars breathe, deep and ragged. He stepped back, hit the other side of Lars' ass, and said, "Spread." Lars spread his legs apart, putting some of his weight on the hands over his head. Brian sipped his wine again, offered some to Lars with the spoon, pulling him a little off balance as he made him follow the spoon.
He put the wine down and used the flogger on the inside of Lars' thighs, careful not to hit too close to the balls and listening to Lars start to moan. Brian trailed the strips of leather across Lars' ass, down his legs and up to his shoulders, then swung and hit hard in the middle of his back. Lars grunted, then sighed. Brian reached around with the flogger, and ran it down Lars' chest, letting the strands of leather trail over his hard cock, watching it twitch, looking for more sensation. That is what made Brian respond-Lars' need.
Brian leaned in and kissed Lars on the shoulder. "Be right back," he said.
He opened the drawer of the coffee table and took out the lube, kept there for TV sex. Lars liked it when he didn't bother to undress, so he opened his trousers, and pushed them down, slicking himself and Lars quickly, pushing in with ease and familiarity. He reached a slick hand to Lars' cock, and with three strokes, inside and out, Lars came all over his fingers.
Brian held Lars through the aftershocks, then pulled out, rather than finish. He dressed, tucking his erection to the side, and brought the wine over to Lars. There was come on the wall. "Hmm. We'll have to paint this with a contrasting gloss for easy clean up."
Lars laughed and pulled at the chains.
"Not yet," Brian said. He went downstairs to the bathroom and washed his cock, willing it down, and brought towels to clean Lars and the wall. When he was done, he gave Lars another sip of wine, sat on the couch, and turned on the television.
"What are you doing?" Lars asked.
"Checking the baseball scores."
"Going to let me down?"
"Does it look like it?" Brian said, trying not to sound like he was smiling.
"Bastard."
"Sorry you married me?"
"Only during baseball season." The sports announcers blatted in the background, and Brian waited for the scores to roll across the bottom of the screen. Lars said, "You realize this is torture for me."
"You like the whip. What's the punishment in that?"
"Why am I being punished?"
Scaring the crap out of me, he thought, getting up, taking off the cuffs and handing him the wine glass. He went downstairs to finish putting dinner together without saying anything. Hitting Lars was never easy, no matter how much Lars liked it, or how much the reaction turned Brian on. It messed with Brian's head.
Lars padded down a few minutes later, wearing his gray trousers, and nothing else. "You okay?"
"It's been ten years, and--" Brian started. Jesus, Brian thought, but didn't say. Lars should know by now that he couldn't talk about things.
"A lot has changed," Lars finished, wrapping himself around Brian from behind.
"Yeah." Brian leaned his head back, as Lars kissed down his neck.
"Why didn't you finish?" Lars said behind his ear.
"Saving it for later."
They ate dinner and finished the wine. "TV?" Brian asked.
"Go upstairs," Lars answered. "I'll be there in a minute."
When Lars came up, Brian was holding the cuffs. Lars took them out of his hands, smiled at the color. "Want to try them on? You should know how they feel."
Brian held out his arms, and Lars buckled the cuffs on, then surprised him by turning Brian and snapping the cuffs together behind his back.
"Lars--" Brian started. This was never anything he wanted. They had never turned the tables before. He was the top. He was the one who gave Lars what he needed.
"Shut up, and don't fight me," Lars said. He led Brian over to the wall and hooked a chain through the cuffs, fastening him low. "Can you kneel?" Brian knelt. "Good. Get up again."
He needed help from Lars to get up, and he said, "I don't think this is going to work for me."
"Give it a few moments." Lars unbuttoned Brian's shirt, and took down his trousers and shorts, stopping to take off his shoes and stripping him entirely from the waist down. "Not interested?" he said.
Brian knew he wasn't hard. He wasn't sure whether he would have to say stop.
"Not a word, not a motion," Lars said.
It took three minutes for Brian's brain to shut down as Lars worked him. The tongue stud was still there, too, teasing and working every nerve in his cock, and then it stopped. "I said, not a word, not a motion. Keep your hips still and your noises to yourself." Then Lars started to work him again, a mouth he knew so well, working slowly and deliberately.
Then it stopped again. "I said quiet and still."
Brian tried to concentrate on controlling himself as Lars began to take him apart. He had no idea how hard this was. He'd asked Lars to do this so many times, to control himself while Brian did everything he could to break that control. He tried to think of other things, but Lars' mouth always brought him back, stopping when he made a noise or looked for more sensation.
Lars pulled his mouth back, and Brian was confused. He didn't think he'd slipped up, but Lars stood and kissed him with swollen lips. "You can beg," he said, as he moved back down to the floor and took Brian's cock in his mouth again.
Brian pulled his hips back, angry. He didn't want to be given permission to beg. He pulled against the chain, wondering if he could pull the damn iron off the wall, but then Lars said, "I said beg, not fight."
Brian swallowed down the anger. "Please, Lars, make me come." He didn't sound convincing in his own ears.
"Is that what you really want?"
"No, I want you to let me go."
"Want it enough to beg for it?" Lars said. "Or would you rather come? I can let you go, or I can get you off, but not both."
The first thing that flashed through Brian's mind was that he would rather be let go, did not want to be bound, but he looked down and saw the ring on Lars' hand around his cock. He'd made his choice, in words, in vows that were still new, even though the feeling behind them was not. "You," he said. "I want you."
Half an hour later, Lars let him come.
When it was over, they lay next to each other on the couch, Brian in his open shirt, Lars in his slacks. "You okay?" Lars asked.
"That was intense."
"Yeah," Lars agreed. "Do you get it now? What it's like for me?"
"Maybe. I felt-" Brian snorted. "You know I suck at this."
"You felt free, but probably not the way I feel it. It's the only way I know to shut down my mind without controlled substances."
"I wasn't shut down," Brian said. "I had to work hard to do what you wanted."
"I work hard too, but it's good work."
"I don't get it," Brian said, "not really."
"Thanks for trying. Finally." Lars laughed into Brian's hair. "Want to know a secret?"
"What?"
"I think topping is too much work."
"What?! It's not hard. I just watch you and see what you need. I like making you react, doing anything I want."
"I know."
"Is there anything you don't know, Doctor Dahl?" Brian's irritation was mild, habit mostly, but he could feel Lars laughing. "What?"
"I don't know how I got so damn lucky."
Lars is political scientist, and Brian is a DEA agent. They met when Brian was investigating a drug ring that used punk clubs and performance spaces to move drugs and money.
"Lars?" Brian called. The Ducati was parked in the middle of the walkway, and the front door was open. Brian tensed, all thoughts flown of a quiet Friday, pulling Lars away from his computer and the equations. He dropped the bottle of wine in the grass and reached for the gun that wasn't on his hip and ran into the house. Lars' helmet and jacket were sitting on the couch. "Where are you?"
"Up here," Lars called from the loft.
Brian took the stairs two at a time, "What's wrong?"
"Huh? Nothing," Lars said. He was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, digging into a box.
"Door open. Bike abandoned on the front walk." Brian slapped Lars on the head. "Don't scare me like that."
"Poor impulse control," Lars said, not looking up. "You knew that when you married me. We have a present."
Brian stopped, the word hitting him in the chest. After ten years, they were actually married. He took a breath. "So, what's in the box."
"Angie sent us a wedding present. Look at the return address."
"Oh, Jesus," Brian said. It was a sex shop.
Lars had gotten through the packaging and found the gift. He threw back his head and laughed so hard he fell backward.
Brian leaned down and reached into the box. His hand found an envelope first. He opened it. It read, "No more bruises. You just made promises to take care of each other. Hope this helps. Angela." Below the car was a pair of padded cuffs with extra lengths of chain, and a flogger, all in lavender.
Brian looked at Lars where he sprawled with a smile on his face. He was heavier than when they'd first met, but that wasn't a bad thing. He'd been too slender, too close to junkie chic. There was nothing to be done about the hair, which he still dyed black and gelled up into spikes, but the black T-shirts were designer these days, and the boots low and European
"Hey, Lars." Brian poked him with a shoe.
"What?"
"I think you're gay."
"Come down here and say that."
"I have a better idea," Brian said, reaching down a hand.
Lars took it and stood up, then looked down at Brian. "What idea is that, Senior Agent Dahl."
"God that sounds funny," Brian said. "I keep screwing it up when I answer the phone."
Lars kissed him. "I still can't believe you changed your name."
"You try spelling Hoechst."
"You try growing up in Louisiana with people calling you Dolly."
"I notice you didn't offer to change yours," Brian said, turning toward the stairs with the cuffs and flogger in his hands.
"Leave those up here," Lars said, stuffing paper into the empty box.
"I was going to take them to the bedroom."
"Leave them here," Lars repeated, and brushed past him to take the empty box down the stairs.
Brian turned and noticed the walls for the first time. "Jesus." Lars had installed an arch of decorative wrought iron, at the right heights to be cuffed into a number of different positions. "Did you do that today?"
"No, dumbass," Lars answered from below. "I did it last night while you were asleep, although how you slept through the drill is beyond me."
Brian hung the flogger and each of the lengths of chain on a curl of iron, putting the cuffs on a new shelf. They wouldn't be able to keep them there unless they wanted to announce this part of their relationship to the world, and Brian never wanted to do that.
Brian went outside to retrieve the wine, but stopped to move Lars' motorcycle to the garage. He found Lars in the kitchen, putting salad into bowls. Brian opened the wine, and got down one glass.
"Don't I get any?" Lars asked.
Brian took the bag of greens out of his hand, "Upstairs. Now."
Lars said, "Or what?"
"Now."
"Yes, officer."
Brian pulled up Lars' T-shirt, and kissed the spot in the middle of his chest where his newest tattoo was healing, an equation that read 1 + 1 = 2 in block digits.
"I thought you wanted me upstairs."
Brian stepped back. "Go. Strip. I'll be up in a minute."
He poured himself some of the wine, grabbed a spoon, and took the glass and bottle upstairs. Lars was kicking his gray slacks off his bare feet. Brian stood and watched as Lars folded the clothes on the couch, moved the coffee table, and knelt in the middle of the room.
"Good," Brian said. He set down the bottle and spoon, walking around Lars as he sipped his wine. Lars knelt with his hands on his thighs, and Brian looked at the ring on his left hand, white gold matching his own. "Why did you put these up here?" he asked, gesturing at the iron on the walls. "Why not the bedroom?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something."
"What do you want me to do right now?" Brian asked.
Lars stood and got the manacles, handing them to Brian along with a length of chain. "Whatever you want."
"What if all I want is to bend you over the couch?"
"Whatever you want, husband," Lars said, kneeling again.
"We didn't put obey in the wedding vows." Brian wasn't sure he wanted this, all of a sudden. This wasn't something they did often any more, and he wondered if Lars installing the metalwork was a hint, although why here and not the bedroom was still a mystery.
Lars leaned forward to put his head on Brian's shoes, exposing the old red and black sun face tattoo on his left shoulder, and the scars on his lower back. One was a ragged X over his right kidney, and a small semicircle over the other, where the pentagram subdermal had been removed to stop the metal detectors from going off. The eyebrow, and navel rings were gone, too, and only five earrings and the nipple ring remained.
Brian sipped his wine and said, "Up."
Lars sat back on his ankles, his cock hanging heavy between his thighs, and looked up at Brian. Brian crouched down, wincing at his knees, and held the wine glass out to Lars. "Here." Lars took the glass and drank. "You know I don't need this, right?" Lars nodded, and handed back the wine. "But you do?"
Lars shook his head. "I want it. I like it. I don't need it."
"What do you want me to do to you tonight?"
Lars got up, took the whip off the iron. He was fully hard by the time he turned back to Brian, and the sight started Brian's own cock to fill and swell. He didn't like hitting Lars, but he loved how he reacted, how he could control him, take him to begging. Lars was so damn smart, so hard to get the better of, and everyone knew that, but he would give over, and only to Brian.
Brian took the whips and cuffs, smiling at Angie's sense of humor. He put the cuffs on Lars' wrists, finding the part of the buckle that held him snug, but not too tight. There was a length of chain long enough to pull Lars' arms over his head to one of the new decorations, and he hooked it through the cuffs. He held up the wine glass for Lars to sip, then set it aside. He rubbed Lars roughly across the neck and down his back. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, Brian."
He didn't hesitate. He kept his hand on Lars' neck and hit three times rapidly with the flogger, then paused, rubbing the spot and listening to Lars breathe, deep and ragged. He stepped back, hit the other side of Lars' ass, and said, "Spread." Lars spread his legs apart, putting some of his weight on the hands over his head. Brian sipped his wine again, offered some to Lars with the spoon, pulling him a little off balance as he made him follow the spoon.
He put the wine down and used the flogger on the inside of Lars' thighs, careful not to hit too close to the balls and listening to Lars start to moan. Brian trailed the strips of leather across Lars' ass, down his legs and up to his shoulders, then swung and hit hard in the middle of his back. Lars grunted, then sighed. Brian reached around with the flogger, and ran it down Lars' chest, letting the strands of leather trail over his hard cock, watching it twitch, looking for more sensation. That is what made Brian respond-Lars' need.
Brian leaned in and kissed Lars on the shoulder. "Be right back," he said.
He opened the drawer of the coffee table and took out the lube, kept there for TV sex. Lars liked it when he didn't bother to undress, so he opened his trousers, and pushed them down, slicking himself and Lars quickly, pushing in with ease and familiarity. He reached a slick hand to Lars' cock, and with three strokes, inside and out, Lars came all over his fingers.
Brian held Lars through the aftershocks, then pulled out, rather than finish. He dressed, tucking his erection to the side, and brought the wine over to Lars. There was come on the wall. "Hmm. We'll have to paint this with a contrasting gloss for easy clean up."
Lars laughed and pulled at the chains.
"Not yet," Brian said. He went downstairs to the bathroom and washed his cock, willing it down, and brought towels to clean Lars and the wall. When he was done, he gave Lars another sip of wine, sat on the couch, and turned on the television.
"What are you doing?" Lars asked.
"Checking the baseball scores."
"Going to let me down?"
"Does it look like it?" Brian said, trying not to sound like he was smiling.
"Bastard."
"Sorry you married me?"
"Only during baseball season." The sports announcers blatted in the background, and Brian waited for the scores to roll across the bottom of the screen. Lars said, "You realize this is torture for me."
"You like the whip. What's the punishment in that?"
"Why am I being punished?"
Scaring the crap out of me, he thought, getting up, taking off the cuffs and handing him the wine glass. He went downstairs to finish putting dinner together without saying anything. Hitting Lars was never easy, no matter how much Lars liked it, or how much the reaction turned Brian on. It messed with Brian's head.
Lars padded down a few minutes later, wearing his gray trousers, and nothing else. "You okay?"
"It's been ten years, and--" Brian started. Jesus, Brian thought, but didn't say. Lars should know by now that he couldn't talk about things.
"A lot has changed," Lars finished, wrapping himself around Brian from behind.
"Yeah." Brian leaned his head back, as Lars kissed down his neck.
"Why didn't you finish?" Lars said behind his ear.
"Saving it for later."
They ate dinner and finished the wine. "TV?" Brian asked.
"Go upstairs," Lars answered. "I'll be there in a minute."
When Lars came up, Brian was holding the cuffs. Lars took them out of his hands, smiled at the color. "Want to try them on? You should know how they feel."
Brian held out his arms, and Lars buckled the cuffs on, then surprised him by turning Brian and snapping the cuffs together behind his back.
"Lars--" Brian started. This was never anything he wanted. They had never turned the tables before. He was the top. He was the one who gave Lars what he needed.
"Shut up, and don't fight me," Lars said. He led Brian over to the wall and hooked a chain through the cuffs, fastening him low. "Can you kneel?" Brian knelt. "Good. Get up again."
He needed help from Lars to get up, and he said, "I don't think this is going to work for me."
"Give it a few moments." Lars unbuttoned Brian's shirt, and took down his trousers and shorts, stopping to take off his shoes and stripping him entirely from the waist down. "Not interested?" he said.
Brian knew he wasn't hard. He wasn't sure whether he would have to say stop.
"Not a word, not a motion," Lars said.
It took three minutes for Brian's brain to shut down as Lars worked him. The tongue stud was still there, too, teasing and working every nerve in his cock, and then it stopped. "I said, not a word, not a motion. Keep your hips still and your noises to yourself." Then Lars started to work him again, a mouth he knew so well, working slowly and deliberately.
Then it stopped again. "I said quiet and still."
Brian tried to concentrate on controlling himself as Lars began to take him apart. He had no idea how hard this was. He'd asked Lars to do this so many times, to control himself while Brian did everything he could to break that control. He tried to think of other things, but Lars' mouth always brought him back, stopping when he made a noise or looked for more sensation.
Lars pulled his mouth back, and Brian was confused. He didn't think he'd slipped up, but Lars stood and kissed him with swollen lips. "You can beg," he said, as he moved back down to the floor and took Brian's cock in his mouth again.
Brian pulled his hips back, angry. He didn't want to be given permission to beg. He pulled against the chain, wondering if he could pull the damn iron off the wall, but then Lars said, "I said beg, not fight."
Brian swallowed down the anger. "Please, Lars, make me come." He didn't sound convincing in his own ears.
"Is that what you really want?"
"No, I want you to let me go."
"Want it enough to beg for it?" Lars said. "Or would you rather come? I can let you go, or I can get you off, but not both."
The first thing that flashed through Brian's mind was that he would rather be let go, did not want to be bound, but he looked down and saw the ring on Lars' hand around his cock. He'd made his choice, in words, in vows that were still new, even though the feeling behind them was not. "You," he said. "I want you."
Half an hour later, Lars let him come.
When it was over, they lay next to each other on the couch, Brian in his open shirt, Lars in his slacks. "You okay?" Lars asked.
"That was intense."
"Yeah," Lars agreed. "Do you get it now? What it's like for me?"
"Maybe. I felt-" Brian snorted. "You know I suck at this."
"You felt free, but probably not the way I feel it. It's the only way I know to shut down my mind without controlled substances."
"I wasn't shut down," Brian said. "I had to work hard to do what you wanted."
"I work hard too, but it's good work."
"I don't get it," Brian said, "not really."
"Thanks for trying. Finally." Lars laughed into Brian's hair. "Want to know a secret?"
"What?"
"I think topping is too much work."
"What?! It's not hard. I just watch you and see what you need. I like making you react, doing anything I want."
"I know."
"Is there anything you don't know, Doctor Dahl?" Brian's irritation was mild, habit mostly, but he could feel Lars laughing. "What?"
"I don't know how I got so damn lucky."