Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  “Cut?”

  “Mm.”

  Samson shifted closer, fitting himself to Cut’s back. He provided a pleasant weight that drew Cut in, leaning back into him fully. “If I said something wrong…”

  “You didn’t. I’m just not ready to talk more about that.”

  Samson circled Cut’s waist with a thick arm. Any annoyance or hurt was starting to melt away. “You up for another question?” The way he murmured next to Cut’s ear was a pleasant distraction.

  “We can certainly try.” Cut reached behind him, rubbing the back of Samson’s neck. Samson took hold of his wrist and kissed.

  “What did Mikela mean when they said you slept with someone’s spouse?”

  Cut went rigid in his arms. It was because he’d gotten off so easy that Cut should have expected more.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. I feel like there’s still so much about you I don’t know.”

  He hugged Cut close to his chest. There was no getting out of this. He just hoped Samson didn’t regret it.

  “Before I worked at Hole, I was at one of those tea houses.” He was counting on Samson to fill in the blanks. This hardly seemed the time to get into the seedy goings on and where Cut fit into that culture. When no requests for clarification came, Cut went on. “She was a regular, kind of like you at the bar, except we were always flirting. We went on a few dates and I thought we were hitting it off until her spouse found out about us. Her partner was livid. If I’d known she was partnered, I’d have left her alone… Probably.” It was clear she was only interested in fun and not a way out. She had no plans to leave her partner. He’d never heard how things turned out for them.

  He was just a casualty. But in the end, Cut had to leave that job for his safety and his sanity. He went back to space for another tour of harvesting ice for one of the big companies to clear his head. It hadn’t been exciting or enriching work, but it served his purposes.

  “So… she used you then.” Samson breath across Cut’s ear gave him shivers. His cock leapt, longing for contact, but he pushed it down. They had to get through this conversation.

  “It happens.”

  “That doesn’t make it right. I’ve had people betray me, try to use me for my name, or because they thought I was too naïve to see what they were up to. Would you tell me ‘it happens’?”

  That shut Cut up. In Samson’s place, he would have tried to spin it: it was their loss; they were scum looking to punch down, but for Cut it was different. He wasn’t sheltered, mistreated, and just searching for acceptance. It wasn’t the same. “You’ve probably gone through worse than me.”

  “It’s not about worse. They’re both bad in different ways.”

  He squeezed Cut tighter. “We’ve all got scars. I promise to try to not give you any more.”

  There was that warm feeling in Cut’s gut again, like his stomach was suddenly too small, and he’d downed a hot drink in one gulp. He knew what it was, even as he tried to deny it. Instead he rocked back into Samson, needing him to touch him in whatever way he would. He couldn’t separate the stirring in his heart from the stirring in his groin. His head was all messed up. No one got under his skin the way Samson had.

  Samson lifted Cut’s shirt and caressed his stomach, his arms locking Cut in.

  “I won’t ever play with your heart. I want all of you, and I want to give you all of me.”

  I want to give you all of me.

  Cut was certain his horny mind was taking that differently from how Samson meant it until Samson’s hand was in his shorts. He started stroking Cut, holding him against his chest, all without asking permission. Cut was so glad they were past that. Cut’s legs felt weak with the way Samson administered such long, slow strokes, leaving no inch untouched. But it was almost too slow. Cut needed more.

  He angled his hips to brace to thrust, but Samson easily made him straighten out. He stopped his caressed all together.

  He’d finish himself off with his own hand if it came down to it. He reached for his groin, but Samson knocked his hand away.

  “Samson…”He didn’t mind that he was begging. He needed to come.

  “You’ve got all of me, my submission, and my service. You’ll never want for anything. Food, shelter, or this.” He touched Cut again, faster this time, more focused on the head. Cut twisted in the sheets, losing his damn mind. Samson paused to move Cut’s shorts out of the way and doubled his efforts with slick fingers. Cut was completely at his mercy. All sorts of sounds were leaving his throat that he had no power over. He was so close. Just a little more…

  The house alerted them that Mikela had entered.

  Cut groaned is disappointment. He expected Samson to stop, their fun over, but he didn’t. “Better hurry,” Samson whispered.

  Well, if he insisted.

  Cut reached back again, aiming for where he thought Samson’s mouth was. Samson caught his lips, and sucked them in, lathing his tongue over the tips of the digits.

  That was it.

  Cut shouted as he came, hips pushed forward into Samson’s waiting hand. He lied there afterward, spent, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to lie there for the next hour, but meeting Mikela out there before they came looking in here for them or worse, ate their share of the food, was for the best.

  If he stayed there, they’d never make it out. They both threw on some clothes and stepped out into the living space. Mikela had been teasing them about fooling around for days. If they said anything today, they’d be right for the first time. Luckily, Mikela didn’t seem to notice how disheveled they were today, too concerned with getting the food out of the bag.

  “I was about to come get you guys. I’m starving,” they said. They started to scoop food onto their plate, Cut and Samson’s appearance serving as the go sign. Juggling a plate in one hand, they reached into their pants pocket for a tiny envelope with a logo emblazoned on the front. “The host at the restaurant gave me this for you.”

  Samson took the envelope and sat. “Viktor told me he was sending something extra along. A courier left it for me.”

  “Also… We’re good to go on my end. All of your board members’ secrets are accounted for. Whenever you’re ready to pull the trigger, I’m here to support.”

  “Every single one?” Samson’s whole body seemed to sag.

  “I had to call in a few favors here and there, but yeah. Everyone’s a little corrupt. These people more morally bankrupt that most. Most of them affect you or your company too much except for this one person. You need to get rid of him. Quick. Too many unsavory hobbies involving vulnerable people. I’ll send his info to you later if you want, but it’s not pretty.”

  Samson looked aghast. Cut was bothered by the idea of someone like that in their midst, as well, but at least he wouldn’t be much longer. “I’ll take your word for it.” Samson sighed. “So this is it then. Nothing’s holding us back from starting.”

  “Nope. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  Cut sat across from him. He wanted to know what was inside the envelope, but he was also really hungry. He started to make their plates while Samson stared at the envelope in his hands.

  He ate while Samson worried. But when he was halfway through his first plate and Samson hadn’t taken so much as a bite, Cut tapped his foot under the table.

  “You gonna open it, or are you trying to save the paper?”

  Samson tore it open and thrust it across the table. “You read it.”

  “Only if you eat something.” Letting the worry eat him up wouldn’t lessen the bad news, either.

  He watched Samson shovel a few forkfuls into his mouth before pulling a white, bi-fold card from the envelope. The large dark green print on it made it pretty clear what this was.

  “It’s a reminder for some sort of event. An inductee invitation for the Merchants Fellowship or something.”

  “T
hat’s the event my father wants me to attend. He’s a member, and he’s been trying to get me to sign up pretty much since I started my business. I would have applied for membership on my own, if he wasn’t a part of it. I hadn’t planned on going to this one.”

  Mikela stopped pretending to eat long enough to interject. “But you’re going, right? I mean, we have the dirt, but I haven’t sent the ultimatums yet. I was waiting on your go ahead.”

  “You’ve got it. I imagine they aren’t all going to fall in line right away.”

  “Exactly. So anything that will keep him off the offensive is something you need to do.”

  Samson frowned, twisting his napkin in his hand. “But what if he…”

  “What if he what?” Cut patted his hand, encouraging him to go on.

  “There are people there he wants me to meet. People he expects me to marry.”

  Mikela dropped their fork. “Is he from the unenlightened period? Who the fuck does that? You aren’t going through with it, are you?” They whirled on Cut. “He’s not right? I mean, he has you.”

  “Never.” Samson said. “But he gave me a list. I know at least half of them are going to be there.”

  “Pass it to me. I’ll make sure every single person on that list won’t go near you. They’ll feel sick just from hearing your name.”

  Samson laughed at the idea, but he agreed. Cut tried to look shocked. Rami had told him all this before, but Cut hadn’t believed him. This confirmed it, but by now it was far from a shock. Ramzan was just such an asshole. He needed to be gone that much sooner.

  “When is the event?”

  “Three days from now.”

  “Plenty of time.”

  Mikela loaded up a second plate. “I’m going to send out the messages. Mail me that list.” And with that, they disappeared.

  “I meant to tell you,” Samson said. “I didn’t want to freak you out. I never intended to marry someone my dad picked out for me. Rami—”

  “I already know about him.”

  Samson froze, his brows drawn together in confusion. “What? He told you? What else did he tell you?”

  Cut didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Samson’s jaw dropped as if Cut had just slapped him.

  “He told you about me?”

  “Yes. He told me the whole thing about marriage, his kids out there somewhere, how you’re supposed to get married too…”

  Samson’s dropped his voice and bit his lip. “What else did he tell you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cut said, fixing his gaze on anything but Samson’s face.

  “It matters to me.” Samson hit the table with his hands as he pushed up from it. He stood there chest heaving as he waited for an answer Cut didn’t want to give. But continuing to hide it when Samson had already caught the scent would make things worse.

  “He told me about you. About the way you were born. How your father had more of a hand in it than normal.”

  Samson’s lip wavered before his mouth pressed into a flat line. “So you knew that too…” He fell back bonelessly into the chair. “You knew, all this time.” His whole body seemed to cave in on itself. He rubbed his arms, staring down at his lap. “I never wanted you to know,” he whispered. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Cut went around the table and took him by the shoulders. “I knew—I know, but it doesn’t matter how you got here, only that you’re here. You’re you and I… Come with me. Let me show you.” Action would speak louder than his words ever could.

  He tugged Samson out of the chair, and the big man followed without resistance. He didn’t utter a word as Cut sat him on the foot of the bed, sitting cater-corner so Samson’s back was to him as he worked.

  He rifled through his pile of belongings until he found his unopened package from Antigua. He tore it open and found tissue paper inside. He peeled the layers away, revealing his purchase. He turned it over in his hands. Brown leather with a faint pink wash, etched with swirls that were pleasing to touch. A small heart shaped charm made of hammered gold with an S laser cut into its surface. “Close your eyes.”

  “Cut…”

  “It’s important. Close them, for just a minute. Please.” Samson sighed, but did has he was asked. Cut got on the bed behind him and laid the collar on Samson’s collarbone. He drew it back until it was flush against his throat, but didn’t strain. The sound of the leather passing through the polished metal buckle was so satisfying, but the gasp Samson made beat that by a mile. He knew what it was.

  Cut got up and inspected him. It was better than he ever dreamed. It fit his neck so well, the splash of color pretty against his honey-toned skin. Gold had been the right choice. Silver was too cold, and would have washed him out. It was absolutely perfect.

  Samson reached up and brushed his fingers across it. His brows pinched together, his eyes still closed. “Is this…?” For the first time, Cut began to have second thoughts. He’d thought this would cheer Samson up, but what if he didn’t like it?

  “If you don’t want it, it’s fine. I got it without knowing your thoughts on collaring or anything.” Cut mentally kicked himself. Dammit, he should have made the time to ask.

  Samson ignored his quibbling. “Can I see it?”

  “O-of course.” Cut whipped out his pod and snapped a picture. The lighting in the bedroom wasn’t very good, but the flash helped. He gave Samson the pod and the man started at the image of himself for a long while.

  “If you don’t like it, I can always get you something els—” Samson moved faster than Cut had ever seen to cut him off. In an instant, their lips met and Cut forgot what he was going to say. The cool metal of the tag tickled Cut’s throat.

  When Samson pulled away, his whole body felt warm to the touch.

  “I’m never taking it off.”

  Cut smirked at him. He’d never been so pleased with himself. “You’d better not.”

  Chapter 22

  T

  he days leading up to the event were some of the best of Cut’s life. He and Samson lived as if an ugly reality wasn’t waiting to intrude at any moment. There wasn’t much to do but wait. Mikela sent off the assortment of threats, and with Cut’s help, Samson sent Ramzan a conciliatory text. In it, Samson apologized for his poor behavior. They fed him the same stories floating around the office rumor mill, that Cut had dropped him cold and moved on to a more fruitful situation.

  Ramzan ate it up, as Cut knew he would. He couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized it had all been a lie.

  As the event grew nearer, Samson got busy out of the house. There was a lot of work that needed doing before Cut was fit to mingle with people from the Heights. Clothes and shoes needed to be bought and tailored, he needed a shave and a shape up. All these errands, yet he couldn’t go out on the street to perform a single one. So Samson brought them to him.

  Personal shoppers, barbers, tailors. Having a parade of people coming in and out of the house, waiting on him made Cut feel princely, though, he was acutely aware of how undeserving he was of such treatment. Surely there was a way for him to contribute more than just sitting around. Then it came to him.

  When exiting the bathroom, Cut paused and regarded himself in the mirror. He gathered his dreads and pulled them up. His sides definitely needed to be cut down. He let them fall and rolled the end of one loc between his fingers. He stood out a bit, not necessarily in a bad way. He wasn’t quite as ostentatious as a club kid or even Mikela, but the cut of his hair, the rings in his nose and ears were a far cry from the understated appearance Samson and those in his income bracket preferred.

  He returned to the living room where they were waiting for the mobile hair stylist to arrive, still twisting that loc. “Should I cut my hair short?”

  Samson peered up from the data pad he’d been reading, the golden tag of his collar glittering at his neck. Cut grinned to himself. He hadn’t taken it off since Cut put it on him except to bathe. “Think
ing of trying a new look?”

  “I thought it might help me blend in better tomorrow. I can take out my jewelry for the day too. Or at least my nose ring.”

  Samson beckoned him over. “You don’t have to hide or fit in. Once I take the podium, they’re going to forget about everything else anyway. All you need to do is be there with me. The rest will work itself out.”

  Cut wasn’t sure about the plan Samson and Mikela had devised, but he knew his part in it: Avoid being seen by Ramzan if possible, and if it wasn’t, make sure he kept the man talking. If all went well, by this time tomorrow, he and Samson would be free. But this all felt like it was riding on a colossal “if.”

  On the day of the event, they drove to the venue in separate vehicles. Cut took a cab by himself while Samson rode with Mikela in Gray’s car. This inductee thing was a bigger event than Cut realized. It was covered by some news outlets, and they’d be there, taking pictures. The Fellowship also had its own recordkeeping and the whole thing was recorded. Samson and Mikela would be seen walking in, photographed together, and Cut admitted he was a little jealous. But they’d all agreed that it made more sense for Cut to sneak in. Ramzan would never let him set foot through the main entrance if he saw him coming. That didn’t stop him from craving it.

  He’d been worried that Mikela would stand out as much as Cut felt he did, but they surprised him. They cleaned up well enough to be mistaken for a debutant in a sleek coppery body suit. They’d even changed their hair to a darker color and tamed it into a fluffy fall draped over their shoulder. They always had style, but it was usually more avant-garde. Cut would have to have them teach him the ways of the fashion chameleon.

  Cut had the cab let him out on the opposite side of the block, and then it was a brisk walk down an access path they’d mapped out that ran behind the event hall. By the time Cut made it to the service entrance, Gray’s car was already there. They were both waiting for the same thing.