Off Stage

by Jaime Samms

  Vance pressed the cuff into Len’s palm, curled his fingers through Len’s shaggy hair, and tipped his head back, leaning down to look him in the eye again, to make sure he was focused before tipping him up farther and taking a kiss. Hot and heavy, his tongue invaded Len’s mouth, cutting off his breath, taking over his thoughts, and another, louder, possibly more desperate sound was swallowed into the kiss.

  Vance moved away before Len was ready for him to. He didn’t release Len’s hair, though. “You can make all the pretty, protesting sounds you want, but unless you call your safeword, it won’t matter. You’ll do what I say and take what I give. Understood?”

  “Safeword?” It implied that Len was being given the chance to say yes to Vance, once, and forever, unless he said no, in that ritually prescribed way. He shook where he stood.

  “Pick something that means something to you. Something that feels safe and happy. Something you wouldn’t normally say in bed.”

  “Firefly,” Len blurted. There was nothing, save for the man holding him, that meant more to him than that.

  Vance’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Okay, then.” He bent and kissed Len again, softer this time, but no less demanding. “Fitting, I suppose. Give me your other hand.”

  Len didn’t hesitate to hold up the other wrist this time and he watched as Vance released the buckles.

  “Put them on the pillow and go shower. No need to cover yourself when you come out. I’ll be waiting.”

  Len nodded, padded to the bed to leave the cuffs, and headed for the bathroom. He could feel Vance’s hot gaze on him, and a self-conscious flare of heat rose to engulf him and make him sweat.

  Vance’s soft chuckle followed him into the other room.

  WHEN HE emerged from the shower, the heavy cuffs he’d left on the bed were gone. In their place was a different set, thinner, lighter, made from tooled black leather and looking more like jewelry than anything meant to tie a man down.

  He stopped and studied them without touching. They were pretty, he decided. The buckles were burnished silver, and the straps sported delicate, shiny chains that tinkled when Vance picked one up.

  “Hand,” he said briefly.

  Len looked from the cuffs between his sturdy fingers to Vance’s face. “I thought….”

  “I know what you thought. But now is not the time. Trust me.”

  Len said nothing as he stood there, naked and worried.

  Vance picked up his hand, kissed his knuckles, then curved the pretty leather around his wrist. “I ordered these a long time ago. Just after Boston, in fact. They came, and it never seemed like the right time to give them to you.”

  “We aren’t going to…?” Len gazed up at him. “But I want—”

  “To feel grounded.” Vance smiled softly and smoothed the strap of the cuff into place. “Thought they’d suit you. Pretty.” He cupped Len’s face. “Just like you.”

  “They’re not very sturdy.” Len ran a finger over the rose design carved into the leather. Closer inspection showed him the black stain of the leather only touched the tips of those carefully tooled petals. The deeper cuts in the leather were a fiery splash of flame-colored intensity. “They’re beautiful.”

  Vance smiled and held out the second cuff. “Like I said, darlin’. They suit you.”

  “So we aren’t spending the rest of the afternoon in bed,” Len surmised, disappointment spreading through his belly and flushing up into his cheeks as Vance fastened the second cuff in place.

  “Tempted as I might be to say yes to that, in fact, no. We aren’t. I left some clothes on the bed. Get dressed and come downstairs. I’ve packed some leftovers and everything we need. Hurry now.”

  He turned Len by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shove toward the bed and the clothes tossed on it.

  “Packed?” Len asked. “Where are we going?”

  “Get dressed,” Vance said again, giving Len’s ass a not-so-subtle tap. “Meet me downstairs.” He left the room then, as Len eyed the clothes.

  Jeans Len usually wore in the barn and an old T-shirt—faded but serviceable—socks, and one of Vance’s plaid, oh-so-country button-ups were clumped in a heap on their comforter.

  “Hey!” Len pawed through the pile. “You forgot boxers!”

  “Didn’t forget!” Vance called back, already halfway down the stairs. “Move it!”

  “But….” Len picked up the jeans and frowned. What the hell. It wasn’t like the jeans were so loose he’d be dangling around inside or they were so tight his junk would be abraded by the rough denim. Much. He shivered and slipped his legs into the fabric. A little bit of friction might not be so bad. The heat that infused his cheeks couldn’t be embarrassment. He was alone in the room, after all.

  Heart thudding slightly, he hurried to don the rest of the clothes and meet Vance by the kitchen door. “So?” he asked, twisting his hips a little to better seat himself inside his jeans. “Where are we going?”

  Vance grinned at him. “Time to ride the biggest horse that ever lived. Where’s the flannel?”

  Len had left Vance’s oversized shirt on the bed. It was still warm, and he didn’t see the need for the heavier garment, even if they were riding horses and not inside the truck.

  He glanced guiltily at Vance. “Upstairs.”

  “I put it there for a reason,” Vance told him. “Go get it.”

  “But—”

  “Everything is for a reason, Len. Know that now. I think about these things, and I don’t half-ass my orders to you. If I say do it, you have to trust there’s a good reason for it.”

  “Like suck my dick?” Len asked, only partly joking. “There’d be a good reason to tell me to do that?”

  Vance growled at him. “If I wanted to get off, hell, yeah, there’d be a good reason.”

  Len curled a lip.

  “But if I wanted to ground you, and you were in a place where fuckin’ you would only freak you out worse, then yeah. Suckin’ me off might just do the trick,” Vance continued before Len could make a smartass reply.

  Len closed his mouth. It wasn’t like Vance hadn’t already used that trick on him. More than once. And it worked. It did put him in his place. It gave him something to hang on to that wasn’t fear, and Vance knew that about him.

  “I’ll get the shirt,” he said quietly, and headed for the stairs.

  “Good boy,” Vance said, just as quietly, and Len warmed a bit, from the inside out, to hear the praise. No reprimand for not doing it right the first time. No anger or recrimination for second-guessing Vance’s decision. Just a calm explanation, not even about the shirt. But about them. About what was expected. Len liked to know what he could expect and what was required of him.

  When he came back down, red cotton flannel tied around his waist, Vance was waiting. He drew Len in by his hair and kissed him hard.

  Len shuddered under the touch. The tightening of his scalp zinged pleasure down his spine, and he sighed as it drew him farther from the cliff, closer to Vance. He was beginning to anticipate this joy when Vance’s fingers sifted through his hair. It was so far from Ace. So far from what he’d known. If he could only get to this place before the other, he’d always be safe. If only.

  “I don’t expect us to get this all right from the start,” Vance said when they parted. “If it seems like I’m startin’ small, darlin’, it’s because the baby steps now will make the big steps later easier. I need to prove to you that you can trust me, and I’m doin’ that at a pace that won’t break us. You’ve got to believe I’ll do what I think is best for you.” He looked Len in the eye. “You have to talk to me. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, but understand, sometimes, I’m goin’ to say, ‘Because I told you to,’ and you’ll have to accept that.”

  “I like to know what’s coming,” Len said. “I hated never knowing with Ace if he was going to come home high, if he was going to beat me up just because, or if something he liked last week wasn’t good enough this week.”

 
“And I get that. But I’m not Ace. You’ve said yes, now it’s time to let go and let me take care of you.”

  “And if I don’t like something?”

  “You know how to stop me in bed. Out of bed, it won’t always be so simple.”

  “That’s what has me worried.”

  Vance studied him, carefully searching his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  Len nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “I do.”

  “Say it,” Vance repeated.

  “I… trust you.”

  “Sort of,” Vance completed the thought, and Len flushed.

  “I want to.”

  “But I screwed up, and that makes it harder.” Vance kissed the top of his head, his forehead, and his lips very gently. “I know. And I promise, darlin’, I know I have work to do to gain that trust back. It’s harder now than it was before. I get that. But we have a whole year to work this out, yeah?”

  Len nodded, loving the feel of Vance’s hand at the back of his neck, the closeness, the honesty Vance showed in admitting things were tentative. How could he not respect the man for admitting he had weaknesses too? If it took every ounce of strength Len had some days to admit he needed the control Vance offered, how much more did it take for Vance to offer up the truth that he wasn’t always perfect? That he could make mistakes? Sure, Len wanted him to be perfect, but that hadn’t gotten him anywhere so far.

  “I love you, you know,” Len blurted.

  Vance closed his eyes and pulled Len against his chest. “God, darlin’, you barely know me.”

  And Len knew that. It was terrifying to see all the ways he could get hurt, but one thing was certain, one thing he didn’t question and never had: “You love me too,” Len said for him. “So we’ll figure it out.”

  And for once, saying the words felt real. Saying they would figure out their hang-ups and mistakes and triumphs—together—felt like the truth. It felt like the prayer Len had never been brave enough to pray could really come true.

  HOURS LATER, spread nude once more on top of that huge flannel plaid Vance had ordered him to wear, Len was glad he’d listened. The material was soft under his ass, which was slightly sensitive from riding and not having the comfort of boxers to hold all his bits out of harm’s way.

  “A little tender, darlin’?” Vance’s calluses were coarse on Len’s skin.

  Len’s reply was a long, low moan. His body twisted, almost of its own volition, and he wasn’t sure if it was to escape the constant sensation on oversensitized skin or to find more contact with those rough hands.

  Whatever the reason, Vance didn’t allow him much movement. He clamped down on Len’s hips, pinning his ass to the ground as his mouth moved over bare skin. The evening breeze cooled all the places left damp by Vance’s tongue and lips, and Len shivered in delight. The sound that crawled up and out of him was mewling and plaintive, and he clamped his lips over it.

  “Don’t hold back,” Vance told him. “I want to hear all those tiny, beggin’ noises, darlin’. Those are mine to hear.”

  “No.” Len licked his lips, then pinned them between his teeth. “Please let me go.” Panic crawled up his body, clogged his throat. Sweat broke over him, erasing the traces of Vance’s lips. Oh God, not now. Please not now.

  Vance’s fingers tightened to near pain on his flesh, bony where his hips didn’t have a lot of padding.

  “Get off!”

  “No chance, darlin’. You belong to me.”

  “You said we were going riding.” He closed his eyes, shut them tight, blocking out the sun and the light, and it was Ace all over, and God, how he wanted it to be Vance. Always Vance. Only Vance. Only that could never be. “Off! God, off!”

  “Len.”

  Len scrabbled in his head for something, anything, that wasn’t Ace. Something now. Here. Something of Vance. “Firefly!”

  Instantly he was alone. A light breeze blew across his skin, cooling the sweat. He shivered and gulped at that sweet air. “Firefly,” he whispered. “It worked.” He sat up and opened his eyes. “I’m s—”

  Vance put a finger over his lips. “Don’t be sorry, darlin’. You did exactly what I told you to do.” Slowly, he trailed fingers over Len’s face. “You did perfect.”

  “I stopped you.” The stinging tears burned, and Len dropped his face. “We were supposed to ride….”

  “We did ride. Open your eyes and look around you, Len. This ain’t home.” He snaked fingers into Len’s hair.

  Len let out a breath, pulled in another. “If someone comes?”

  “No one will. I own this land. I’ve got you all to myself out here. No one to hear but me.” His calluses scraped along Len’s skin as he once more trailed his hand down along Len’s arm to his side and stopped on his hip. He lifted, but Vance stopped the movement easily.

  Len went very still under him. Hands that had been deliciously strong one moment were suddenly painful and terrifying, the skid of mind into memory unstoppable. “Let me go.” He heard his own voice, only it didn’t sound like him. It creaked and nearly broke over the plea. “Lemme go. I don’t want this.”

  Vance’s hands remained on him. Vance’s lips traveled up his stomach, slow and careful, to his throat.

  Len’s breath caught. “No.” The certainty of imminent pain, helplessness, intruded on the quiet of the secluded spot.

  “Shhh,” Vance crooned.

  “Firefly. Firefly,” he whimpered. No. He didn’t want Ace overriding everything Vance did. He sobbed. “Please.”

  Once more, Vance backed off. Len sweated and shook, lying there on his back, shivering in the sunlight and hating what he’d become. Too weak-minded to accept the man being so careful with him was not the man who had hurt him and ruined him.

  “Vance.”

  “Shhh.” Vance started again with his lips, one finger over them. He traced the tracks of Len’s tears. He crooned, hummed as he touched, careful not to pin him this time.

  Len tried clinging to the voice that was not harsh, not Ace, as Vance licked and kissed over his collarbone and back, centering on his Adam’s apple.

  “Stop it. Stop it! Ace, don’t!” Len shrieked, flailed, kicking and writhing to get free. He heard the sound, knew it was his voice, but nothing in his head connected to the part of him that made that desperate sound.

  At once the pressure on his body eased and vanished. The hands disappeared, lips and weight and warmth all evaporated, and Len scrambled back, pushing himself to a crouch and vaulting forward, flying at his attacker, ready with fists and feet, teeth, whatever it took to not let this happen again.

  He impacted another person and pulled in a breath to yell again. Vance’s scent engulfed him.

  Another unearthly stillness came over him, and he tried to squirm away again, appalled at what he’d been about to do.

  “Shh.” Vance’s arms, warm, strong, iron-hard beneath the softness of the flannel he had on still, wrapped around Len’s bare back. “I’ve got ya, darlin’. You’re all right.” And just as he drew breath to scream again, fingers clenched in his hair. He stilled. He breathed, and then sighed.

  “Vance.”

  “Shhh.” Vance soothed him again, stroking his back, his hair, his thigh, but only with the hand that wasn’t flexing rhythmically in his hair. “You’re all right.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re all right.”

  Slowly, Len managed to calm himself, to draw in breath after shaking breath and allow Vance’s calm to seep into him.

  “I’m goin’ to set you down now,” Vance said in his ear. “Gentle-like, and you’re going to settle on your back on the shirt like before. You ready?”

  “No.”

  “Breathe, darlin’,” Vance soothed as he stroked Len’s back. “Just breathe and count to ten, and we’ll get you layin’ down again.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You certainly can,” Vance assured him. “You just need to trust me. It takes practice. We’ll g
et there.” His fingers continued the soothing squeeze and release of his hair, the minute prickling of his scalp reaching to his roots again. Grounding him.

  “And you have Firefly,” Vance whispered, lips against his temple. “You have that.”

  “I could hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” Vance kissed his hair and stroked fingers through it. “Lie down. You’re goin’ to put both hands, wrists crossed, on your stomach.”

  “Why?”

  Vance set him on the grass and removed his flannel, leaving only his white T-shirt covering his broad chest. “You remember our dinner? When you made us pasta?”

  Len nodded.

  “Gimme your hands now, darlin’.”

  Slowly, Len held his arms out, wrists crossed as Vance had asked. He wasn’t ready to lie down. Not on his back, not to be that vulnerable, not to invite those memories back. But he did cross his wrists and hold them out to his lover.

  “Good boy. You remember how calm you were when your hands were tied? How well you slept the night I shackled you?”

  Len nodded once more and swallowed hard. “We’re goin’ to do that now, and then you’re gonna lie down and let me take care of you. Nothin’ bad is going to happen, and if you feel these ties, you’ll not get confused as to who you’re with.”

  “I might.”

  “Ace ever do this?” Vance asked as he wrapped the sleeves of his shirt around Len’s wrists, over the pretty cuffs he still wore.

  “No.”

  “Then there’s one thing that’s different. One thing you want he didn’t give you.”

  “Yes,” Len agreed.

  “Ever make love to him outside?”

  “No.” He didn’t want to say, “We never made love,” so he left it a simple answer and let Vance assume what he would.

  “Then there are two and three on the list. Cool breeze on your skin and stars overhead for number two.” He pulled the knot in the shirt tight, and Len found he couldn’t free his hands from the constriction. Warmth flooded through him, and some deep part of him relaxed.

  “And number three?” he asked, finally meeting Vance’s gaze.

  “I’m goin’ to love you now, darlin’. All tender and calm. Nothin’ like what you’re used to. Nothin’ to fear. Ain’t nothin’ like what Ace did to you, I promise. Now lie down.”