by Romilly King
Ivo gently withdrew his finger from Birch’s lips, “Were you good for him?” Ivo kept his voice even, not looking for details, just checking in.
“I think so, Sir,” Birch said and tried to chase after the finger with his lips.
Ivo tapped him on the nose, “Stop it, boy,” he reprimanded gently, and Birch sighed, his huge eyes mournful.
“He was perfect,” Griffin spoke from the doorway, and Ivo looked up at his husband. Griffin was shirtless, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and the sweet curves of his hipbones cast shadows on his abdomen.
“You can go now, Birch,” Ivo said gently, “Do you feel okay? Can you get home alright?”
Birch shook himself and blinked his way out of the light subspace he had slipped into, “I’m fine thank you, Sir,” he said, “That was nice, but I wasn’t under far,”
“Good boy,” Ivo said, “Thank you for staying with me, it was kind of you,”
“You are welcome, Sir,” Birch rose gracefully to his feet, “I’ll be going now, I’ll be back on Friday.”
Griffin stepped forward, “Yes, you can let yourself in, we’ll probably be home by six.” He pressed a kiss to the top of the younger man’s head, “Go safely, we’ll see you soon,”
Birch gave the little bow he seemed to naturally use when content or pleased and let himself out of the house.
Ivo sighed and sipped his drink.
“Ready for bed?” Griffin asked.
“God, yes, long day,” Ivo glanced at his phone, “And I get to do it all again in six hours.”
“Come on,” Griffin reached out and pulled Ivo up from the chair that seemed determined to keep him in its embrace.
Ivo wrapped his arms around his husband, “Was he really good?” he asked, plaintive.
“Yeah,” Griffin kissed Ivo gently, “He was wonderful, you are going to love him.”
Ivo hoped not too much.
Chapter Twelve - Griffin
When the door closed behind Birch, Griffin rested his forehead against Ivo’s, and they shared a quiet moment, breathing each other in, “Did the procedure work?” Griffin asked eventually.
“No, died on the table,” Ivo sighed.
“You okay?” Griffin asked.
“Yeah,” Ivo said quietly, “That helped, more than I could have imagined,” he jerked his head at the armchair.
“Yeah, he’s something of a miracle,” Griffin said, “I felt like shit earlier, I knew the procedure was going to go badly, and I knew you were going to try anyway and I just couldn’t do anything to help. It was good to have Birch take my mind off that.”
Ivo drained his bourbon and placed the heavy glass carefully on the side table, his movements meticulous, which told Griff that he was beyond tired.
“I need my bed,” Ivo said, and Griffin wrapped an arm around his shoulder and led him to their bedroom.
Once in bed, Ivo was asleep within seconds, his body pressed against Griffin’s, his breathing deep and regular. Usually, he would have lain and looked at the ceiling for hours after a failed emergency procedure, Griffin thought.
It had been a revelation to watch how Birch had responded to Ivo’s aching tiredness and need to just control something.
All Griffin would have done in the circumstances would have been to give Ivo a drink and rehash the night from the hospital’s perspective – it wouldn’t have helped. It never had in the past. He would never have been able to give him what Birch had at that moment. Birch had slipped straight into being what Ivo needed because more than anything, Ivo had needed something non-judgemental to stroke.
Griffin wondered why he didn’t feel jealous of Birch, for his ability to, within a few days of knowing him, give Ivo precisely what he needed. Should he not feel jealous of someone who established such an easy connection to his husband? Sex was one thing to be okay about sharing but an emotional connection, that was different, surely? Yet he didn’t feel jealous, he just felt relieved. Relieved for his husband and relieved for himself.
Birch was stretching himself between them, bridging their fundamental incompatibility, and Griffin just hoped he could keep it up. He hoped the boy would get as much out of Ivo’s kinks as he seemed to get out of Griffin’s.
God, he hoped Ivo in full Dom mode wouldn’t freak the fuck out of Birch like it had freaked Griffin.
Chapter Thirteen - Birch
Birch knelt quietly in the vestibule, he was naked, and he rested comfortably on his knees, his hands upturned on his thighs, and his head bowed. He loved this position, it always relaxed him into a place of quiet contemplation – he could kneel like this indefinitely, just content, listening to his own breathing.
He was aware of the turning of a key in the door, but it wasn’t until a finger under the chin tipped his face up that he allowed himself to rise to full awareness. “This is a very nice surprise,” said Griffin, “It’s a lovely way to be greeted when we come in from work,”
“It is indeed,” Ivo peered over Griffin’s shoulder, “Hello Birch, it’s very nice to see you. All of you!”
Birch beamed up at the two of them, “I made dinner,” he said because they were both so obviously a little worn from their long working week.
“You didn’t need to do that,” said Griffin, “We could have ordered in,”
“I wanted to make you something,” Birch rose sinuously to his feet and took the light jacket that Ivo had been shrugging his way out of, and hung it on the rack.
“Well, that’s really kind of you,” Ivo rumbled, he turned and brushed a light kiss on Birch’s cheek, “Isn’t it Griff?”
“Yes,” Griffin cheerfully ogled Birch’s naked body, “It’s one thing to have a naked sub waiting at the door, it’s even better to have one that’s prepared to feed us!”
“Please don’t expect too much,” Birch started towards the kitchen, he swung his hips a little more than necessary, knowing that his ass twitched enticingly as he walked, “It’s just a seafood salad, and some honey baked figs. I went to the market on my way here.” He glanced over his shoulder, “I hope you don’t have any allergies, I didn’t see any in your files,”
“We eat anything,” Griffin said, he hurried after Birch and grabbed him around the waist, “Including sweet subs, isn’t that right Ivo’” He bit at Birch’s shoulder, and Birch giggled and saw Ivo smile at them indulgently.
Birch has already laid the dining table in the nook off the kitchen – it had likely been a Butler’s Pantry at one point, and the small room made an intimate dining space. Birch had dressed the neat mahogany table with a white cloth he had found in the dresser and left the low backed Windsor chairs opposite each other.
“I’ll just get the salad and the bread,” he said, “I won’t be a moment,”
Birch had adored the kitchen as soon as he had seen it. It was light and white with open shelving and hooks on the walls that housed an eclectic mix of house dishes, apothecary jars, pots, and pans. The countertops were wood and the appliances all white. The cooktop sat on top of a salvaged piece of stone that rested on an antique desk fitted with recycled hardware. The room managed to feel totally in keeping with the age of the house but casual enough to inspire cooking.
Birch took the salad from the fridge and tossed his homemade dressing through it. He picked up the basket of warm bread wrapped in a napkin and carried both to the dining area. He smiled when he saw a cushion had been strategically laid on the floor between Ivo and Griffin.
Carefully Birch placed the salad bowl and bread on the table and then sank to his knees on the pillow. “I hope you enjoy it,” he said.
“We already are,” said Griffin, he took his fork and leaned forward to spear a juicy shrimp from the colorful salad. He held his hand under it to catch any drips and turned to offer it to Birch, “You first baby,” he said.
Birch hummed happily and ate the shrimp from Griffin’s fork.
This was how Birch had imagined it would be with two Doms. Ivo and Griffin traded jokes and stories
in between feeding him morsels of food with fork and fingers. They caressed him, petted his hair and let him suck the dressing from their fingers. They included him, smiled at him, and smiled at each other. By the end of the meal – the figs proved messy to share, but it was fun to lick the residue from lips and chins – Birch was suffused with happiness.
“That was excellent,” Ivo said. He dabbed his lips with his napkin and folded it beside his plate. He reached out a hand to Birch and caressed his face, “You love to serve don’t you,” he said, “Sends you under a bit, doesn’t it?”
Birch nodded, “I go into subspace really easily in the right environment,” he said.
“What’s it like?” asked Griffin curiously.
Birch thought for a moment, “It’s like being full of goodness, so good you float,” he laughed, “That sounds ridiculous,”
He paused and thought for a moment.
“I remember the first time I felt subspace,” he settled into a cross-legged position on the cushion, “I was young, just nineteen, still in the corps de ballet because they hoped I would maybe grow into my frame a little more, even myself out, not be so bulky.
“Anyway, I was at a party – one of those parties,” he rolled his eyes at his Emptores. Griffin smiled encouragingly at him, “I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t high, but I was happy and relaxed, and a few of us guys were playing. This guy was fucking me, really slowly, and this other guy was watching him and touching me.
“He was stroking my body and encouraging the other guy – but in a nice way, not like “fuck him good, man” - but sweeter, nicer, and I was floating, totally relaxed, and I was about to come, and it wasn’t frantic you know, it was like a balloon floating higher, kind of like, oh yeah, there it goes.
“I’m not really making sense am I,” Birch looked frustrated, “Anyway, I was coming, and this other guy, I don’t know his name, I don’t even remember what he looked like, all I can remember is his voice. He leaned down, and he whispered to me, ‘Oh that’s good, you’re loving that, aren’t you,’ and it was the way he said it like I was doing something special, it just lifted me higher, and I was coming in wave after wave.
“That was my first experience of the kind of high that submission brings. When it works, it’s heaven.”
“Wow,” said Griffin softly, “If I didn’t have plans for you tonight, I would want to be a sub!”
Birch laughed, “What do you have planned for me?” he asked and looked at Griffin with a raised eyebrow.
“Let’s go and find out,” said Griffin as he got to his feet.
Birch looked at Ivo. “Go,” said Ivo, smiling, “Go play, I’ll take care of cleaning this up.”
Griffin pulled Birch to his feet.
“Oh and Birch,” Birch turned to look at Ivo, “I’m going to make you float higher than you ever have before,”
“Competition! So on,” Griffin laughed and tugged Birch away upstairs.
Chapter Fourteen - Griffin
They started slowly. First, they decided on a ‘scale of one to ten’ version of a safeword. Then Griffin tied Birch to the bed, spread-eagled and on his stomach. Griffin smoothed his hands up and down Birch’s back for a long time and lulled him with the soft sound of skin against skin.
Birch would have thought Griff would be eager to get to the main event, but there was something hypnotic about his silent attention and regular touches. Like a warm-up stretch, before the hard work of a routine.
Griffin lit a candle, and Birch smiled into the comforter. It had been a long time since he had done any wax play. It had never been a favorite of any of his Emptores –too subtle for most Dom’s, too old school.
At first, it was practically painless. Like being flicked unexpectedly. Just a gentle tap of sensation. An attention-getter.
“Scale of one to ten?” Griffin asked,
“One,” Birch answered.
The next tap was a little hotter. Or, at least Birch assumed the change in sensation was a change in heat. He thought that Griffin must have brought the candle lower, to allow less time for the wax to cool in the air. Honestly, though, Birch wouldn’t have identified the sensation as heat. It could be labeled Pain, but he couldn’t be more specific than that.
“One,” he said again.
Griffin experimented with height until Birch’s number got to three, and then he stayed there. Birch was almost offended because he was an experienced Sub, and he could take a lot more than that. They had agreed on ten being the equivalent of calling red, so Griffin could amp things up a lot more if he wanted to.
It only took a few minutes for Birch to realize the error in his thinking. Griffin changed nothing, he just slowly covered Birch’s back in tiny pinpricks of pain. Birch could identify the sensation as burning now, and it built up gradually but inexorably. It just kept going, again, and again, the same way, every time. New locations blended into a thousand pinpricks, and horrified at himself, Birch started to whimper into the bed at every drop.
The weirdest part was that the pain level itself didn’t change from a three. It maybe edged up to four, as his skin burned and sensitized, but not much more than that. It was Birch that changed. His tolerance dropped, and three became four, and four became five. It went on endlessly, and Birch wondered how long a single candle could last.
He started to drift within the relentless patter of drops on his back, he absentmindedly pulled at his bindings and took comfort in their lack of give.
“Are you okay?” Griffin asked, and at his voice and his touch on his neck, Birch sunk into subspace. He nodded as he melted into the bed.
A few drops later, Griffin asked again. “Number?”
“Two,” Birch slurred.
“You’ve stopped flinching,” Griffin commented.
Birch had stopped flinching because it had stopped hurting.
“Two,” he repeated, rather than try to explain the nuances of situational pain tolerance.
“Okay,” Griffin said and returned to the slow drifting torture with the wax.
Finally, Griffin ran out of skin to cover. Even Birch’s sides were painted opaque with the wax, the drip lines wrapped around his ribs like fingers.
A sudden sharp scraping sensation grabbed Birch’s attention, and he cried out and tried to wriggle away from it. He smelled candle smoke. Griffin must have blown it out, or it ran down, and now Griffin was…
Birch finally registered that the feeling was Griffin scraping the thick cooled wax off with a plastic edge of some kind. It was an entirely different kind of pain, although it still lacked intensity.
“Four,” he said, without being prompted, to let Griffin know this felt different.
“Good boy,” Griffin said and pressed a kiss to the newly uncovered skin of Birch’s shoulder blade.
“Oh my god,” Birch breathed because his skin was so sensitive. Even that touch had almost hurt, like rough fingers against tormented nipples, or a hand pumping his spent cock for just a few seconds too long.
“Yeah?” Griffin murmured. “Sensitive? He brushed his fingernails against the skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to again trigger that same almost-pain.
Birch writhed. He panted his way through the rest of the wax being scraped off.
Finally, it was done, and Birch felt as though his skin had been split open like overripe fruit.
Griffin lay down in the bed and faced Birch, “One day,” he said, “I’m going to do this to you again. Maybe I’ll even do it twice in a row. Scrape you clean and then start over, just to scrape you clean again.” Then he leaned in close and whispered in Birch’s ear, “And then I will flog you until you can’t tell pain from pleasure, and you come from that alone.”
Birch felt like he had already been flogged, and he shuddered under the threat and the promise. His whole body shook violently at the imagined crescendo of sensation that would entail, and then he stilled again, his eyes locked with Griffins.
“Not tonight, though,” Griffin said, more softly.
Chapter Fifteen - Ivo
Ivo was sat in the kitchen on his second French press of dark coffee when Birch entered the room. He had worked late in his office the night before while Griffin scened with the sub, and Birch had been in his own rooms by the time Griffin came to bring Ivo to bed. They had both slept like the dead, but Ivo had woken early.
“Good morning,” Ivo said. Birch looked adorably tousled, his eyes still heavy, and his overstretched t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. He wore calf-length compression leggings and short socks. “Did you sleep okay?”
Birch nodded, “Yes, thank you,” he stifled a yawn, “Sorry, I need coffee.”
“Come and sit down,” Ivo said, “I’ll make a new press for you,”
Birch sighed happily at his first sip of coffee, “I’m afraid I am a zombie in the mornings until I get my coffee,” he said.
“Aren’t we all,” agreed Ivo.
“Did you want to scene this morning?” Birch asked, “And I’m sorry, I know I should have checked sooner, but do you want me to call you Sir while I am here,”
“You can call me Ivo, when we aren’t playing,” Ivo said, “I prefer Sir or Doctor when we’re in a scene, depending on the context,” He noted the tiny dilation in Birch’s pupils when he mentioned the Sub calling him Doctor, that encouraged him.
“I thought we would maybe spend some time together this morning. I don’t want to scene per se, but I’d like you to come to my rooms, and we can discuss things and just spend some time together, we haven’t really had the opportunity yet.”
Birch looked a little disappointed, but he nodded, “Of course,” he said.
“Is that okay?” asked Ivo, “Did you want to scene?”