Chapter 2

**From:** Eli-Eli

> I saw something in my dom group that I want to try**link attached**I don’t think it’s on any of the lists because it’s kind of specific, so let me know if it doesn’t look interesting to you. Regardless, do you want to meet up this Sunday?

>

Julian clicks the link, brow furrowing as he reads. Based on it not being on the lists, he expected something crazy or hardcore, but it’s just a little… weird. He shrugs. If Thorne’s into it, he’ll try anything once as long as it’s fairly benign.

**To:** Eli-Eli

> Weird. Sure.Yeah I’m free. We can talk specifics after the game.

>

**From:** Eli-Eli

> Don’t kinkshame.

>

Julian can’t help but snort at Thorne’s dry joke. He hefts his bag onto his shoulder and glances at himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall in the entryway. He fixes his hair and ignores the purposefully exposed mark on his neck as he heads out the door.

As Julian drives into the garage under Thorne’s apartment complex that Sunday, he wonders what it says about him that he can already feel his dick starting to stir. Even pulling into the guest parking area is like a Pavlovian trigger at this point.

He just… he can’t help it. He’s **excited.**Not just for the scene, but for everything else that comes with it: the careful attention Thorne pays him during the aftercare, the smile that plays at his lips once everything’s cleaned up and they’re both settled on the couch, the ease of their interactions when it’s just the two of them.

During a scene, It’s always been easy for Julian to forget that anything else exists beyond Thorne—to feel totally and thoroughly owned, like Julian is **Eli’s,**plain and simple. But the moments before and after are starting to feel sacred as well; when the two of them are holed up together, hiding away from the outside world, it’s dangerously easy for Julian to pretend that Eli is his, too.

Julian blinks, staring at the concrete wall of the garage as his car idles.

Fuck. He’s got it so bad, he thinks as he yanks his key out of the ignition**.**

His heart races on the elevator ride up to Thorne’s apartment. The self-doubt and insecurity that have been plaguing him since their last scene are melting away by the second, replaced by an intractable giddiness that’s making his toes curl in his shoes. Julian did some extra research the other night after Thorne sent him the link on prostate milking. The first article implied it was easiest if the person receiving stimulation was soft, which had Julian a bit worried. Luckily, most posts he read seemed to agree that it **can**work even if the sub is hard, which—thank god, because he’s more than halfway there already just thinking about it.

Julian bounces in place and bites his lip when the elevator reaches Thorne’s floor. He takes a deep breath in and out, then lets himself in after a cursory knock on Thorne’s door, locking it behind him. After taking off his coat and shoes, he finds the other man sitting at the kitchen table, squinting at something on his laptop.

Thorne looks up and gives him a once-over, making Julian blush.

“Hey.”

“H-hey.” **Smooth.**“M’just gonna—um, I should—”

“Do you want a cup of tea first?” Thorne asks. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem a bit frazzled.”

Julian runs a hand through his hair, conscious of the half-chub he’s sporting and praying his jeans are hiding it. He probably does need to slow it down a little, especially considering what they’re about to do.

“I’m never anything but completely put together,” Julian replies, and then nearly trips over a rug. Thorne chuckles lowly, and Julian lets the joke go, chest warm with his goal achieved. “Sure. Thanks, Eli.”

“Of course.” Thorne stands up and stretches, his thin cashmere sweater riding up and exposing a sliver of skin at his waist. Julian’s mouth goes dry. “Felix always says there are very few things a hot cup of tea can’t fix.”

As Julian slinks over to the table and Thorne busies himself preparing the tea, a small wave of melancholy laps at his feet as Julian wonders if he’s found one of those things.

“Which… is objectively ridiculous,” Thorne adds, and Julian thinks **there it is.**

Julian snorts, “And here I was thinking you finally developed an optimistic streak.”

Thorne shoots him a disapproving glare over his shoulder.

The momentary feeling of sadness disappears as quickly as it came, driven off by fond amusement and the anticipation of the scene. For now, Julian lets himself enjoy the quiet calm of sitting at Thorne’s kitchen table, staring at his broad back as the other man makes him a cup of tea.

After his shower, Julian walks into the bedroom to find Thorne laying a drop cloth over what looks like some kind of plastic sheet. The faint crinkle of plastic reminds Julian of the way Thorne set things up the time they played with temperature; it made sense then, because between all the water, ice, and the hot wax, things got really messy.

Exactly how messy are things going to get today? Julian shivers and grips the hem of the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Ready?” Thorne asks, turning to look at him.

Julian nods, throat bobbing.

“Good.”

Thorne grabs the collar from the bedside table and beckons Julian over to him, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a devastating smirk. As Julian closes his eyes and feels the soft, padded leather wrap around his throat, he doesn’t know how to describe the feeling that washes over him as anything other than calm excitement. It sounds like a contradiction, but…

“Open your eyes, Julian.”

...but Julian knows Thorne will take care of him.

He lets his eyes flutter open, hyperconscious of the weight of the leather encircling his neck. Thorne’s hands linger on Julian’s shoulders after buckling the collar in place; his gaze is heavy, nearly suffocating as his eyes slide down the length of Julian’s body and settle between his legs. His hands follow, wrapping around Julian’s wrists and loosening his grip on the towel bit by bit.

“Mm.” The towel falls to the floor and Julian’s cheeks flame as his dick bobs free. “You sure you’re going to be able to do this for me, Julian? It won’t be easy when you’re this hard.”

Julian swallows, the gentle humiliation making his cock twitch as they both watch.

“I c’n do it, Eli.”

God, he hopes he can.

Thorne’s smirk grows into a small smile, “Good. Get on the bed and face the headboard.”

He reaches around and gives Julian’s ass a little pat for emphasis, making Julian duck his head and scramble onto the bed, sitting on his heels and trying to hide the way his blush is spreading down to his chest. The fur-lined handcuffs are already attached to the headboard by a pair of long chains, sending a thrill all the way down to Julian’s fingertips as he clutches at his own thighs in anticipation. He feels the bed dip, feels Thorne slide up behind him, his clean, crisp clothes pressing against Julian’s bare skin.

Julian sucks in a shaky breath when Thorne reaches in front of him to take hold of his wrists, wrapping him up in a perverse imitation of a hug. His chest is warm through the expensive fabric of his button-down; Julian finds himself tilting his head to the side, baring his throat like it’s instinct.

“Oh, look at you,” Thorne murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Julian’s ear.

Right before Julian went under for the very first time, he remembers having a moment of startling clarity. He wondered how on earth he’d gotten to that specific point, letting Elias Thorne tie him up so tightly he couldn’t move an inch, then hit him with a riding crop and fingerfuck him until he cried.

Now, the way Julian just angled his neck without thinking about it, hoping—*praying—*that Thorne will kiss him there, give him more bruises, do whatever he wants with Julian’s body… well, Julian can’t think of anything more submissive than that.

Oh, god. What has Thorne done to him?

His self-awareness ebbs away when Thorne starts to kiss down the line of his jaw, each press of lips hot and calculated, trailing down the soft skin of his throat as Julian moans and arches his back. A deep ache blooms when Thorne sets his teeth into the very spot he marked up the last time they played; Julian squeezes his eyes shut and chokes back a whimper, breathing hard as Thorne worries the little patch of skin until it’s throbbing.