by Jet Lupin
The host relaxed a bit, and he beckoned Cut close to his podium. “Which one?”
Which Mr. Ba? It hadn’t occurred to Cut that there was more than one. “How many are there?”
The host held up three fingers, wriggling them in the air. “All are here at present, though, only one is busy. The one you came with last time.”
Cut scanned the dining room and saw, by the big window that wrapped around the side of the restaurant, two well to do men were seated with Samson buzzing around them. His smile was unnaturally crisp as he stood between their chairs, dividing his attention. One man was older his hair marbled in gray and black. A pair of silver frames caught the light where they perched on his nose, an impressive moustache adorned his lip beneath it. The other man was closer to Samson in age, but he gave off an air of haughtiness Samson lacked. Neither man’s expression changed from bored detachment and from what little Cut saw of them from this distance, neither looked much like Samson. They were fine boned where he was thick and broad, their skin fairer. Maybe up close there was more of resemblance. But from his vantage point, they might have been strangers.
“I can go get him if you like?” the host said.
“No, that’s fine. I was passing by.” It might be best to leave now. What was he going to do? March up to Samson and demand answers for his absence? He’d have to wait and see when Samson was ready for him.
He left and went to the Family Kitchen machine for dinner anyway. Roast fowl with a fragrant mixed rice and a mess of vegetables. It was the most expensive meal he had ever ordered for himself. Yet, somehow, he didn’t have the stomach for it. He shoved it into the back of the fridge and forgot about it.
Beep beep beep
Cut thought it was an alarm at first, but someone was actually calling him before the lights came on. Calling? Everyone knew texts were the de facto method of communication. No one called. The person on the other end must have rolled on their pod in their sleep. By the time he found his own device hidden in his sheets, the call stopped.
He flicked the pod until it came back to life, and when he saw who was calling, he froze. He called right back.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” Samson’s voice was shaky, as if he was on the verge of tears. “Can you come over? I know it’s late, I just… I don’t want to be alone right now. I would have come to you, but I don’t know where you live.”
Cut was already pulling on clothes from earlier in the day and shoving a fresh shirt into his bag.
Samson sniffed on the line. “I can pay—”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me into the garage in twenty minutes.” That time took into account the ticket he would get if a green stripe caught him out after curfew.
He stuck to the alleys and even with the ruckus from his scooter, he made it in 17-minutes, ticket free.
He got to Samson’s block and killed the engine, walking the bike the rest of the way. He hadn’t seen any neighbors the last time he was here, but a neighborhood like this had to have its share of snitches.
By the time he made it to the garage door, it was already rolling away. He grinned a little to himself as he walked the bike in. Even now, Samson was obedient.
He let Cut in, pulling the teal robe around him. “Sorry to call you like this. I can’t be alone right now.” From the look of his hair and the dark circles forming under his eyes, he hadn’t slept tonight, and it was nearly morning.
Cut hushed him and led him to the living room. He’d only been here the one time, but he walked through the place like he’d had a dozen visits. He sat them down and tried to give Samson space to breathe, but he scooted onto Cut’s side of the couch in no time.
He leaned his head on Cut’s shoulder, seeking out that closeness like he’d done in the car, shivering against him like a bird seeking shelter from a storm. Cut let him have for a minute before he tried to press again. “What happened? Wanna talk about it?”
Samson lifted his head enough to speak, but Cut still had to strain to listen. “My father and brother are here, and I’ve been taking them around, showing them the facilities, having them meet my suppliers.”
So that’s who they were? “What for?”
“They run the company that mine is a part of. Deyaa is my own venture, and my father helped back it as a test. If it works, we’ll be rolling out food machines on other colonies, maybe back on Earth too. They gave me five years to get solvent before they decide whether or not to they were going to pull funding, and my time’s almost up. I’ve got another year, maybe two…”
That was a ton of pressure to have to deal with. No wonder Samson needed to find some kind of outlet for it all. Yet, that didn’t seem like it was all of it.
“There’s a ‘but’ coming...”
“We’ve had a lot of growth since we rolled out, but they’re still skeptical. It’s like they don’t see the strides we’ve made. And they think I should close the restaurant, that it’s a drain. It’s not as profitable, but it’s the most important part of this whole thing. I test recipes there; I get feedback there long before we convert them to be shelf stable to put in the machines. I’ve also been trying to bring down the cost of the meals, so they’re more accessible without compromising quality, but they’re tying my hands. If I close the restaurant, everything goes under, and they know it. I’d rather have that and lose the rest. At least I can rebuild with the restaurant.”
Cut had never heard him talk with such passion before. Through the anxiousness and fear, there was strength, hope. Samson might not have seen it fully, but Cut did.
“But if I lose the company, so many jobs will be lost. I don’t know how I can help them, help you. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s better if I do what they want.” Samson was shaking, his breathing fast and erratic. Cut caressed his arm to refocus him, but it was like he didn’t feel it, already spiraling. There had to be some way for Cut to bring him back to the here and now.
He meshed his fingers in the hair at the nape of Samson’s neck and tightened just enough to put tension on the strands. Samson tilted his head back with a gasp. His eyes flashed as they fixed on Cut.
The move got Samson to focus, but that moan… They were both definitely turned on now. But now wasn’t the time to indulge that.
“Relax. You’ve got a year. Maybe in that time, you’ll find a way to cut the strings, or something better. But you don’t have to do either right this second. You just have to get through this.”
Cut loosened his fingers and let his hand fall into his lap. Samson picked it up and held it to his neck. “Will you help me?”
Those gray eyes were on him, hopeful, expectant, but even without them, there was only one answer he could give.
“I’m at your service.”
Cut stayed the night. He’d intended to sleep on the couch, but Samson wouldn’t leave his side. Rather than have the man lie on the floor beside him, he thought it better to relocate to the bed which was big enough to fit both of them plus one more person and the three of them could rest side-by-side very chastely. But Samson didn’t want that. He tucked up close, his arm tossed possessively over Cut’s middle after he asked very sweetly for permission. He fell asleep almost instantly, but Cut stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of Samson’s breaths. There wasn’t much else, as quiet as this area was. The curfew cut down on nocturnal activities, but this area didn’t have a lot of traffic under normal circumstances.
He’d never slept with anyone like this, as an adult. He’d had sleepovers as a kid, everyone in their own little pallets, and he’d had the adult variety, but they’d always ended in someone leaving before the sun came up. Even when he’d been in relationships, no one ever stayed. He’d thought he’d liked that, reclaiming his bed and his space, until now.
Samson craved so much in the way of affection and attention as well as his other desires. He needed a lover, not a half-assed dominant; someone who cared enough to at
tune themselves to his needs and willing to be there for him. Cut was already here. Maybe he could be that person for him. He was willing to learn more, to adapt. He’d already crammed so much information into his brain for the sake of this man, what was another adjustment? Another tweak?
...yeah, right. As if Samson even saw him that way. A guy like him probably had a political match set up down the line, and Cut was a means of getting anything that might be viewed as unseemly out of his system before then. Who knew, if they still lived in the same area, he might want to keep Cut on as his special friend. Would Cut be happy with that?
He looked over at Samson, finally resting, calm and relaxed.
Cut had some thinking to do.
Chapter 13
I
n the morning they acted like Samson’s breakdown had never happened. If he was over it for now, then Cut was fine with that. No sense in brow beating the man into talking about it more. If he felt up to talking later, he knew Cut was here. Besides, Cut had his fair share of problems to contend with. He wasn’t going to add to them unnecessarily.
During the wee hours of the morning, Cut made up his mind to be there for Samson as more than an employee or an unattached Dom. He wanted to make it official, but he hadn’t figured out how to do that. How did you talk about such a thing without it being weird? And more important than that, what did he do if Samson rejected the idea? Would Cut be able to work with him in any capacity? He had to figure out before he made any sort of move.
They both called out of work, Samson first, and then Cut called twenty-minutes later so as not to draw attention. It wasn’t unheard of for Cut to take off if Samson wasn’t there. There wasn’t any work for him to do. Malcom’s visit was also canceled. It was just the two of them all day.
Samson insisted on working, even though, he’d told them he would be unavailable, and Cut let him, for awhile. There wasn’t much for Cut to do, no messages to deliver or files to retrieve, but Samson enjoyed the company.
Cut occupied his time with research. He wasn’t the first person to luck into such a spot. One of the books Mikela left him detailed the long affair between a D/s pair into much heavier stuff than he and Samson had done thus far. They lived together and their daily routine included regular acts of submission, but it didn’t discuss in depth how they’d gotten to that point. One day they were play partners, the next they were more. They made it sound so simple, but an event as serious as dedicating himself to someone required some level of ceremony. There had to be something. He vowed to never stop searching until he found it.
Right before they broke for lunch, he pulled up a search result of interest: A collaring ceremony.
The phrase sounded vaguely familiar. From what he read on the site, it made him think of a wedding ceremony. It had meaning between the participants and how they went about it was completely up to them. There were no rules. It was as simple or involved as they wanted. The site wasn’t very helpful, but it might work. The whole affair was meant to be a serious commitment. This wasn’t a decision Cut made lightly.
But it didn’t hurt to look at what options for collars were out there.
He devoted the rest of the afternoon to shopping, keeping his screen hidden from Samson’s gaze. There were more than he thought. Big, thick leather ones, ones that were no more than lengths of heavy polished chain. Spiked ones, gaudy ones. None of them said Samson. He needed something subtle, that could be worn under his clothes if he liked, yet its presence would be impossible to ignore. In the end, he found nothing. But he couldn’t let this this day be a total wash.
“What’s your favorite color?”
He didn’t know something so simple, yet he was ready to bind the man to him? There was a lot he didn’t know. He had to fix that.
Samson looked up from his terminal, brow quirked. “I guess shades of red.”
“Shades of red isn’t a color. Singular.”
Samson bit his lip, thinking it over.
“Then pastel red.”
“You mean pink?”
“Yeah… I suppose.”
Cut didn’t see what the big deal was. Pink was valid color. He liked it too. He filed that info away for later.
He was able to talk Samson into quitting early, which was no small feat. “An hour or two won’t kill you. The work will be waiting on your desk tomorrow.”
Samson tried to switch focus, trading dinner for work, and again, Cut talked him out of it. It was early yet, and restaurants were still delivering. All day, he was constantly trying to find ways to busy himself. Even if they hadn’t known each other for weeks, it was obvious he was distracting himself from something. Lucky for him, Cut was here.
When Samson returned from his bathroom break, Cut was ready for him. He got up from the counter and sat on the couch.
“What do you say we have a session? It’s been awhile.”
Samson froze like a deer in headlights, pausing his hunt for dinner on his pod. “I was about to order food… Can we do it after?”
Cut thought for sure Samson would have leapt at the chance. He had to make it more interesting.
“That was going to be part of the session. But you’re right. Let’s wait until after.”
Samson bit his lip, considering it. “How?”
“There’s no point if I tell you. Either you’re in, or you’re out, babe.”
There was no room to waver. Offering this and maintaining this mask of tempter, imp, was his role to play. Samson needed a break, so he’d provide one in the best way he knew how.
That lip was pinched so tightly it looked about to burst. Samson knew what answer he wanted to give, but he wasn’t saying it.
“We’ll still get food, and you get your fix. I get to see you naked, or close to it. I’m not seeing a downside here.”
“But if we order food, what if the delivery person sees?”
Cut shifted, trying to take some of the pressure off his stiffening cock. This wasn’t just for Samson. He would have never admitted it to Mikela or anyone else, but he liked the power, the control, and most of all that Samson trusted him so implicitly. Part of him was getting off on this. The other part… He didn’t have words to describe it yet. “I guess we’ll have to be fast or real quiet, then.”
Samson’s last line of resistance crumbled. He strode over to the couch and knelt by Cut’s legs. He rested his head on Cut’s knee. “I’m ready to do it now.”
Cut combed through his hair with his fingers. “Good boy.”
Cut had Samson stand, pod in hand, while he went to the door. Samson tried to peek around the column that separated the kitchen from the living space, but it was out of his range of vision as far as Cut could tell. Cut couldn’t see him from here either. It was perfect.
“Go ahead and order dinner. Don’t worry about what I’m doing over here.” He took the liberty of syncing up his pod with the home’s system grid. Not a hard task for someone with his skill level. He logged in and set himself as a power user. Since he was already inside the home, it didn’t take long at all. Now he had full control over every light, power outlet, anything that used electricity. All he was interested in right now was the front door. He tested opening and closing it a few times before he got it to slide along its track, stopping it while it was ajar a scant 2 inches and unlocked. A quick tap on his pod would lock it again, which was more for Samson’s sake than his own.
Back in the living room, a nervous Samson greeted him, his pod held firmly in his hands.
Cut circled him slowly, like a predator zoning in on its prey. “You order yet?”
Samson shook his head. “Not yet.”
He reached out, slapping Samson’s ass, giving it a squeeze. “What are you waiting for?”
Samson yelped, but complied, tapping wildly on the pod’s screen. It chirped in a confirmation once he was done, and he tossed it onto the couch. He stripped off his clothes in a flurry of fabric until he stood in a pair of dark purple
trunks. He clasped his hands neatly behind his head, shifted his legs slightly apart.
That was only the second time Cut had seen him in such a state, but he was convinced it was one of the hottest things he’d ever laid eyes on. He put a hand to Samson’s belly and walked around him again, moving the touch down over his hip, his lower back. Samson twitched at the initial contact, but remained silent.
Cut wasn’t sure where he should take this, or if he had to do more than this. Samson was so keyed up it wouldn’t take much to set him off. He’d play this by ear. The last thing he wanted was for Samson to get bored of him.
“What should we do now, dove?”
“D-dove?” Samson snapped his head to stare at Cut, his face reddening by the second. Was it from anger? Embarrassment? Maybe both. Cut didn’t mind if it was either. Samson was already returning his head to forward. Cut had nothing to fear from this man.
“Do you dislike it?”
“I’m not sure yet… Are you making fun of me?”
“Do you want me to?” That was one request Cut wouldn’t be able to fulfill.
“No. I never liked that part.” He cast his eyes down, the shadow of an unpleasant memory flicking across his face. From his VR experience maybe?
Cut stepped in front of him. He gazed at the floor as Cut put a hand on the back of his neck, just enough for Samson to feel the weight of it. “Have I ever made fun of you before?”
“No, Mr. Cut.”
“Then why would I start? I wouldn’t be able to do that to you if you asked. I’ve got far too much respect for you for that.”
Samson opened his mouth to respond, protestations no doubt, and Cut did the only thing he was able to do. He put strength behind that hand and dragged Samson’s head down until their lips met.
His gasp was muffled by Cut’s mouth. He was as stunned by the kiss as Cut was himself. Sure, he’d wanted to kiss Samson, taste him a hundred times, but he hadn’t planned on making a move now. But once he started, he was committed to the follow through. Or so he’d thought.