From Warrick's expression, that wasn't a helpful argument. "I don't suppose that
under
the DJ is an option?"
"Nope. Not in the spirit of things."
"Of course not." Warrick dropped the handful of leather on the bed, and then sat down beside it. "Come here," he ordered.
Really
not in the spirit of things. Still, Toreth went over obediently. He did try to salvage something by pushing Warrick back onto the bed. Caught by surprise, he went down easily, and Toreth knelt over him, straddling his chest, pinning his wrists above his head.
"Yes?"
"It's a question of what I enjoy," Warrick said, as calmly as if he were the one on top. "I enjoy domination. I like to feel controlled — to feel a loss of self. To that end, I like pain. What I don't want or need is public humiliation."
"Humiliation?"
Warrick sighed. "Off." One eyebrow arched. "I mean it."
Toreth clambered off, and Warrick sat up. "You put it on," he said.
"I don't think —"
"Obviously." He offered the thong. "Put it on."
About to refuse, Toreth changed his mind. Warrick was betting he wouldn't, and then Toreth would have to drop the whole idea. Not a chance. He stripped quickly, under Warrick's appreciative gaze, and donned the leather thong. It wasn't uncomfortable, but he had to admit there really wasn't a lot to it.
As he turned round, he heard metal jingling. Warrick was unlocking the leather cuffs from their chain.
"Give me your wrists."
Toreth held them out.
"There we go." Warrick fastened the straps and then pointed to the mirror. "Over there."
Seeing himself, Toreth had to acknowledge that it looked very peculiar. Especially with Warrick standing beside him in full evening dress.
"Kneel," Warrick said, slightly husky. His eyes were bright, and it was only then that Toreth remembered. Yes, Warrick would enjoy this.
Step two of his plan had always been to get Warrick hot enough to agree despite himself, and this would be as effective as anything else he'd had planned. In fact, he'd be willing to bet that he could pull it off now.
Twenty euros says I can make him do it, he thought as he dropped to his knees.
He tensed his muscles slightly, watching the results in the mirror. Not bad at all, even if he did say so himself. Grinning, Toreth shook his head, aiming to mess his hair a little. It was only after that, glancing to the side to see what effect it was having, that he noticed the collar and leash in Warrick's hand.
"Hang on a —"
Warrick's finger, laid across his lips, silenced him. "Shh."
A second's hesitation, then Toreth lifted his chin, offering his throat. He watched Warrick's face as he fitted the collar, a tiny frown creasing his brows as he fumbled with the buckle. Maybe, Toreth thought, they should skip the party and spend the evening here.
Then Warrick clipped the leash into place and straightened. "What do you think?"
Returning his attention to the mirror, Toreth contemplated his reflection. To be honest, it looked ridiculous — on him, anyway. On Warrick, it would be mouth-watering.
Warrick wrapped the leash around his hand and pulled gently, until Toreth's head lay against his hip. "Well?"
"It looks fine."
"You'd be quite happy to wander around like that, exposed for everyone to see?"
Toreth shrugged, watching his shoulders flex. "Sure," he said.
"In public, at a party full of strangers? With a collar? On a lead?"
Another shrug, purely for the effect, giving most of his attention to the play of his muscles under the skin, tensing his stomach to complement it. Made all that time in the gym seem worthwhile. "Yeah, why not?"
"Very well." Warrick dropped the leash. "You can wear it, then."
Toreth blinked at his reflection, and then saw himself smile at the expression of shock on his face. Neat trap, Warrick, but it wouldn't work.
"I —" Come on, think. There's an argument somewhere. "I don't want to." Oh, yes, very convincing.
"No? But I'm
sure
you just said you wouldn't mind." Warrick's voice, silky smooth, held a note of unfortunately justified triumph. "Didn't you? Or did I mishear?"
"Yes. No. I mean . . ."
"And I thought you said that it was traditional. Surely
one
of us ought to wear it? Wasn't that what Fran told you?"
Maybe if he called his bluff, Warrick would give up and behave. "Fine. I'll go like this."
To his surprise and discomfort, his acquiescence generated a broad smile. "That's settled, then."
"But —"
Finger on his lips again. When he'd quieted, Warrick ran his finger over his chin, down his throat, over his Adam's apple and along the line of the leather below. Toreth swallowed, finding his eyes drifting closed. He forced them open. This was not part of the plan.
Warrick traced a line out along his shoulder and back again, and then slipped his finger under the collar. He tugged gently upwards and Toreth rose. Warrick glanced up at him, and then turned his attention down to Toreth's chest. The finger ran downwards, outlining his muscles, flicking over his nipples.
It seemed to take a long time to get anywhere, but the general trend was downwards. By the time it skimmed once inside the upper edge of the thong, the stitching was being put through its paces, and Toreth's breathing had a ragged edge he couldn't control.
Get him too hot to object, he thought vaguely.
"I must say that it's convenient," Warrick murmured. The teasing finger returned, running back and forth, and he couldn't help rising on the balls of his feet, trying for more contact. He gasped as Warrick's finger brushed the tip of his cock and then withdrew.
"However —" Warrick looked at his watch. "We ought to get going."
Toreth shook his head again, this time to clear it. "Don't be stupid. I'm not going like this."
"Really? Why?"
Because . . . because . . . Pathetically, the only thing he could come up with was, "What am I going to wear down to the car?"
Warrick smiled, with a distinctly malicious edge. "What did you plan for
me
to wear?"
"I, uh . . . " Bastard. In the end, he had to confess, "I hadn't thought about it."
Warrick picked the chain up from the bed and dropped it into his pocket. "Well, then, I suggest you think about it now."
For once the entrance to the Shop wasn't entirely anonymous. Large, elaborately filigreed metal lanterns hung on either side, one gold, one silver, and the door itself was covered by a thin screen displaying a large '21' in shifting metallic shades on a dark blue background. The age of the Shop, Toreth guessed.
Inside, the reception desk had turned into a cloakroom desk. Toreth stripped off his shirt, trousers and shoes, handing them to a staff member he vaguely recognized. The woman took them without any surprise, although Toreth earned a lingering glance before she turned away. That made him feel slightly better about the stupid costume.
Then he remembered. "Oh, shit. Hang on."
The attendant turned back, and Toreth retrieved his trousers and pulled a blister strip out of the back pocket. "Thanks."
He swallowed a couple of tablets and offered the strip to Warrick. "Want one?"
"What is it?"
In the unofficial I&I pharmacopoeia, it was listed under 'fuck drug'. "Very long name, but Sara says it gives you a golden glow. Speeds up alcohol clearance, too." In view of the arrangement, it seemed better not to mention its main purpose of stamina-boosting.
"Mm. All right. Just one, thank you."
That was a surprise, because Warrick didn't usually indulge. A promising sign for his getting into the spirit of the evening. After dispensing the tablet, Toreth went to put the strip in his pocket and stopped, dismayed.
Warrick smiled. "Would you like me to look after that?" He tucked it into his jacket's inside pocket, and then took hold of the leash. "Come on."
Opening the familiar door, they paused at the top of the stairs. Instead of the cool silence of the Shop, noise rose to envelop them, muffled and distorted by distance. Voices, music, and laughter — it sounded like quite a crowd.
As Toreth took a step forward, Warrick held up his hand to stop him. "Before we go down — are you quite sure about what we decided?"
"Either or neither?"
"Exactly so. Because I have no special preference."
Now it came down to it, Toreth wasn't sure. However, it was also too late to back out — and did he really want to waste the evening hanging around exclusively with someone who didn't fuck in public? If Warrick was asking again, that probably meant that
he
had no plans to play away and wanted to hook Toreth into saying a firm 'neither'.
"What we agreed's still fine by me," Toreth said. "Start with neither, see how it goes."
Warrick nodded. "Very well." However, he didn't move.
Toreth nudged his shoulder. "Well — don't just stand there."
The noise rose as they descended, and Warrick began to have second thoughts. Still, he had the promise to leave, and besides it would be unfair in the extreme to drag Toreth away before they'd even seen the cellar. He stole a glance at Toreth beside him, padding down the stairs on bare feet, apparently as relaxed as if he were wearing his dinner jacket.
Warrick slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the chain, wondering whether Toreth would agree to put it on. The idea, as always, set his heart thumping, even though the reality had never worked out satisfactorily. Before now, however, they'd always tried it in private, where it eventually had to lead to something — a change of scenario, or submissive sex that Toreth didn't particularly enjoy. Here, where it could stay an image, a living picture, Warrick thought it would be different.
Perhaps he was going to enjoy the evening, after all.
As ever, when he pushed through the curtain and entered the first room Warrick paused to check if the rack had been sold yet. It hadn't. Lengths of chain decorated it, sprayed gold and hung with silvery lights. As ever, he got as far as thinking, "I could buy —" and then stopped himself.
He couldn't. It was ridiculous. It was completely over the top. It was insanely impractical. It simply wouldn't fit in Toreth's flat and if he had it at home — well, if Dilly saw it, she'd have him committed.
It was, in short, impossible.
Every time he hoped it would be gone, to remove the temptation for good, and every time he was pleased to see it still there. Impossible — he'd thought that about Toreth once. He knew that if he tried, he could get round the problems, and sometimes he wondered why he hadn't done so yet.
Then, welcome distraction, Fran appeared beside them. Her usual outfit of multi layered dark blue and silver had been embellished with a trailing gold scarf in fine silk and a silver '21' badge pinned to her chest, presumably in honour of the event. For the first time ever, she looked openly surprised when she saw them, and it took him a moment to realise why. By the time he did, she had recovered.
"Welcome to the party. I hope the chain didn't break?" she asked.
"He's got it." Toreth nodded towards him. "Everything's fine. Luckily, it's one size fits all."
"Indeed. Well, I must say that you make a very decorative addition to the evening."
Warrick couldn't have agreed more.
Always open to flattery, Toreth grinned. "Thanks." He looked Fran over and added, "You've changed your hair. Looks nice."
It always surprised Warrick when Toreth did that, considering that on a personal level he cared so little about casual acquaintances. Looking more carefully at Fran, Warrick still couldn't see the difference, but she smiled agreement. "Thanks."
While they'd been talking, more guests had descended. Fran stepped back and addressed the group. "A very warm welcome all, from Shel and myself, to our twenty-first anniversary party. The Shop comes of age tonight."
Smattering of applause, and Warrick joined in.
"Thank you. Please, make yourselves at home. There's food towards the back, drinks to the left, pharmaceutical pleasure to the right, somewhere, although the volunteers were looking a little hazy when I last saw them. You can pick out the staff by their badges. Staff with black collars are available to fetch plates and glasses, take messages, and supply toys. Staff with red collars are additionally available for extra requests, at their discretion. Other guests are guests, and I couldn't possibly generalize about them." She waved them forwards into the cellar. "Enjoy."
With Toreth close beside him, Warrick moved off into the crowd.
"Do you think she's wearing a collar?" Toreth asked as they left the entrance room.
"Fran? I didn't notice. I suppose she could have been, under the scarf."
"Yeah. I wonder what colour it is."
Warrick glanced at him. "Is that an 'either' already?"
"What?" Toreth looked at him blankly before understanding dawned. "Fran? God, no. Too fat for me. I was just curious."
The Shop had certainly gone all out for the event. Except for the distinctive low-vaulted rooms, it was hard to recognize. Sparkling strings of small lights in silver and gold, like the ones on the rack, interspersed with brighter spotlights, replaced the usual dim ceiling lights. The doors in the outer walls, always kept closed, were now mostly open, spilling light of various colours out into the main area.
Although the majority of the merchandise had been packed away somewhere, the large pieces of equipment, too bulky to move easily, remained in place. The Shop being the kind of place it was, they were in full working order. The multi-drawered cabinets still lined the walls, although thin, flexible screens displaying abstract designs concealed most of them. Stare at any one screen for long, and chains, cuffs, and more exotic items seemed to swim into focus out of the patterns. Look away and back, and they were gone. A few cabinets had been left bare, draws unlocked, and Warrick caught sight of guests liberating the occasional toy.
On their previous visits, there had never been more than a dozen customers on the premises. Now the place was packed, with a broad cross-section of the ethnic mix of New London. Dress ranged from dinner jackets and formal evening gowns to leather, rubber, metal, fur — just about every material from which it was conceivable to create clothing. There was also a great deal of skin on display, some elaborately decorated. The normal, nerve-shivering scent of age, steel and leather was still there, but overlaid by warm bodies, alcohol and a light, pleasant, but impossible-to-identify incense.