by Jack L. Pyke
“No games, Jack, just us,” Gray said quietly, now looking down, “and a simple request now. Mine.”
Kneeling there, Jack frowned and Gray stroked at Jack’s jaw seeing it.
“I’d like to do it right this time, too.”
Jack eased back onto his heels, his stance relaxing. He was no trainee, no Dom who had passed training, but a Master’s sub at heart, and he recognised why he was here. He glanced up at Jan, his quiet asking that Jan was okay with this. His way of making sure everyone else recognize that Jan was his lover too, and that both Gray and Jan had a say in his life.
“Sir,” he said back to Gray as Jan smiled down. Gray took a slim case off Brennan as Brennan came closer. Click was heard. Then Gray took something out and handed the case back to Brennan.
A sad smile touched Jan’s lips as he glanced from Gray down to Jack.
The silver collar in Gray’s hand was left to fall to his side as Gray brushed a thumb over a D-link. The colour to the collar matched the unique clarity of Jack’s eyes, and Trace knew it had been handmade specifically. Calligraphy marked the inside, but the words themselves were lost to the Welsh language, where even Trace’s skills couldn’t decipher them.
“This,” said Gray, looking down at what he held, but somehow barely seeing it, “it’s something I know you can’t wear for me.”
Jack went to say something, then stopped. He didn’t drop his head in shame, but a lot of anger and regret flared. Mostly for himself, at himself. He knew his limits, but so too did Gray. What was coming now was their compromise.
Gray smiled, just a touch. “No fancy words, Jack.” Gray took the collar away and put it in his pocket. “Would you allow me to Claim you?” He looked down a touch. “Would you Claim me?”
“Fuck,” mumbled Jack. “Claim you?”
“The collar is mine, and you can ask to let it touch your skin when I know you’re ready.” He eased to his feet. “But where you can’t wear a collar now, and I respect that, I’d like my touch to be more permanent on you, from those who matter most, where it matters most.”
Something washed through Jack’s gaze and he eased into such an easy smile. “Fuck yes,” he murmured.
The longest black silk blindfold was pulled from Gray’s pocket, measuring the distance from hand to almost floor as Gray held it. Gray played it through his fingers, watching the run of silk through them.
“Remove your T-shirt for me, Jack.”
Jack tugged it over his head. As he looked around for a place to ease his OCD needs, Jan briefly took it for him. Now Jan had taken a step back, Gray shifted behind Jack, then eased the silk blindfold into place. Something was whispered in Jack’s ear, causing such a beautiful smile to shade Jack’s lips, then Gray made sure Jack’s view of the world was darkened. The long black silk fell behind Jack, all to rest on the curve of his back.
Pecs were displayed, abs, the loose fit of jeans tempting life between the sheets as they hid the rest of Jack in a comfortable fit. Gray ran a touch down Jack’s back, gaze following the touch as if he needed to see his touch as well as feel it on Jack. Not much existed away from that, and the slight shift with Jack’s blinded look back to Gray was met with a kiss to Gray’s cheek. Then Gray shifted, moving to Jack’s side, and Jack’s blind gaze shifted in his direction again, almost following his scent, maybe leaning into it, keeping close contact where sight failed. Gray’s touch on Jack’s back followed Gray too, around Jack’s hip, to the rim of his jeans, and, ultimately, the buckle to the slim black belt.
Gray unbuckled it and there was no protest from Jack, no unease with being touched, with being half-undressed in front of everyone here.
In fact, as Gray slipped the belt open and made a gentle touch to undo the clasp on Jack’s jeans, Jack brushed a gentle breath of a kiss against Gray’s lips.
“Lower, lower,” Trace heard Jack mumble, and Gray bit back a grin.
“That comment will get you in serious shit, Jack. You keep that heads-up real close.”
“Fucking peachy with me, mukka.” Neck exposed, Gray got a very gentle bite to the toned curve. “I get to Claim every inch of this—you—next.”
“You need a reminder on how to say my name too?”
Jack hid his head in Gray’s throat for a moment. “Oh yes fucking please,” he laughed so softly.
“You won’t like the bastard in me, Jack.” Gray eased the clasp open to Jack’s jeans now the buckle was undone.
“Might need a reminder on how much I hate the bastard too, Sir. So fucking badly.”
Gray put a hand on Jack’s throat and eased away a touch. “Stop it.”
Jack’s kiss was rough, then softened almost in the same instance against Gray. “Sir.” And all devilment was instantly buried, but with a brush of cheek against cheek that asked for leniency when that heads-up would come back to bite him in the ass. Trace knew Gray was getting close to stopping handling Jack with kid-gloves, and it was a good look that played well with both of them. They both just needed to remember how good it could be.
Brennan came back over carrying a silk sheet, a startling sterile canvas that was spread behind Jack.
“A sheet has just been spread on the floor behind you,” said Gray gently to Jack. “Lie down. On your back.”
Jack eased down with a hand on his arm off Jan to help, and Jack relaxed as his shoulders touched the sheet on the floor. Jan seemed to have figured this out, and he knelt above Jack’s head, stroking a gentle touch through Jack’s hair.
From the corner of the hall, a door opened and a young man came over carrying a black case. Gray knelt next to Jack and stroked gently at the hip, but his look held Jan’s.
“You mentioned a tattoo.” Gray rested the flat of his hand against Jack’s hip, where Jack had been brutalised with Vince’s iron. “Here.”
Jack’s hand brushed over Gray’s. “Sir.” His touch shifted, and with an escape of breath, he eased his jeans off his hip, exposing what remained of Vince’s brutality.
“My design, my Claim,” said Gray. “But your permission.”
“Always, mukka,” mumbled Jack.
Jan switched from stroking through Jack’s hair to his cheek as the tattoo artist took a position between Jack’s thighs. Trace caught Gabe’s grin at how effortlessly Jack’s body welcomed more players. It wasn’t sexual, not with the tattooist. Jack stayed with Jan, with Gray’s touch as the case was clicked open, and the tattooist got to work with cleaning the area to be marked.
With the rest of the Masters and subs free to take refreshments, it took an hour for the outline, and a few push downs on Jack’s hips off Gray when Jack got a little... lost in the sensations of the needles. The artist must have been one of the MCs because his face kept a professional edge to it, although a smile would creep up each time Gray encouraged Jack to keep still with a press down on his hip.
“Done,” the man said eventually. “Recommend the colouring and shading be done in a few days from now. I want to make sure the scarred tissue can cope. I’ve avoided where the corner of the scar shows a little open wound.” As he packed his things away, Jack eased up with a wince. Jan started untying the blindfold, then as the tattoo artist left, Jack eased back to his knees, his look and finger-prodding automatically seeking out the outline of the tattoo.
The smile there held a lot of sadness as he studied the design.
Trace partly understood the relevance. A collar with Welsh writing wrapped itself around the outline of an intricately drawn rose. The collar was Gray all over, the rose...? Trace glanced at Jan. Yeah, he knew what that meant, but the placement of the tattoo, that said it all.
Vince’s branding mark, or what was left of it, would be given colour, depth—them.
Jack traced the rose, then followed the outline of the collar, how it wrapped protectively around it. Finally, the Welsh written there held his attention.
“What does it say?” Jack looked at Gray. “It’s the same words written on the collar in your pocket. The one you
tried to give me last year.” He looked so torn. “What did I miss back then, Gray?”
Now to his feet, Gray took the collar from his pocket and moved behind Jack. Kneeling down, he brushed the collar against Jack’s throat, then a kiss came to Jack’s half-turned cheek.
He answered in Welsh first, then—“Never far from here, stunner.”
Giving a nod, a tear slipped free from Jack. “Should have taken time out to translate, should have—”
Gray rested his head against the back of Jack’s. “Too many should have’s, Jack. Just the bollocks now to say how much I love you.”
Jack caught the hand that snaked his waist. “Yeah,” he mumbled as he rested his head against Gray’s. “The bollocks to say I love you... Can’t wait to see what this looks like in colour, though. Because this Claiming, it works both ways, mukka, and your ass is getting inked.”
A smile was given. “Already there, stunner.” He got to his feet, and now in front of Jack, Gray slipped his shirt out from his trousers and—
“Fuck.” Jack pulled Gray in close and rested his hand flat against the exposed right hip, and Trace grinned. The rose was blue, the petals spread wide and leading down to a stem of green edged with brown thorns and green leaf. The collar was stunning silver, the calligraphy to the Welsh words giving more beauty in the final product. It looked a few days’ old, maybe just before Trace had arrived. It didn’t matter when, not in that moment.
Jack choked a smile. “Hurt your hip at work, you fucker....” But that was lost to how he ran his fingers over the words. “You got the wording wrong on this,” he said so quietly.
Gray knew he hadn’t, it was there as he looked down at Jack.
Jack kissed where his touch lingered. “Doesn’t read Jack’ll floor the fuck who gets close.”
“How do you know it doesn’t, stunner?”
Jack instantly came in, lip and nip against the tattoo. He had marked his way on Gray’s hip since the beginning, this just cemented that Claim. Resting his head there briefly and having Gray stroke through his black hair, Jack twisted to look at Jan.
“Hey there, things,” he said gently.
“Hey there back.” Jan knelt by him and Jack rested a hand on his neck.
“You up for inking so I can be written on you too?” Jack was full of heat, you could hear it in his voice, see it in his body language as he kept Gray and Jan close.
Jan ran his hand over Gray’s hip, his touch staying on the blue rose. He flicked a look up at Gray. “That me?”
Gray nodded. “Come all the vanilla touchy-feely stuff,” he said.
“All the kink and calamity...” mumbled Jan, his look distracted. “And this was done before Trace came? Before you pinned me against the wall?”
Gray coughed a little awkwardly, suddenly tensing and defining the fine muscles and ridges to his hip as he shifted. Brennan raised a brow.
“Well, yes,” he replied gently. Then something eased on Jan’s face for the first time. Gray was damn smart. This was what Jan needed. To see the signs that he mattered to Gray, to Jack, but on Jan’s own terms, with his own world mixed and preserved with theirs. And Jan probably understood why Gray’s temper had broken back at home. He’d already marked Jan as permanent, as his, wanting him there, and with how it had taken nearly twelve years for him to acknowledge that side of him to Jack, for a moment it seemed like Jan had wanted to take that walk into commitment with them both, away, and have it start on lies and deceit.
“You didn’t answer.” Jack was kissing at Jan’s throat. “What about it? Fancy having our mark on you?” Devilment crossed his lips. “Or, if you’re scared of needles, I could always see if there’s a transfer from the cereal box left over. Spider-Man? Thor?”
“You fucking—” cried Jan, but Jack shifted, pulling Jan down into his lap.
“Not scared of needles,” said Jan, the scowl on his face barely staying in place as he tried not to laugh.
“No?” Jack gave a run of tickles along Jan’s ribs.
“No,” cried Jan. “Got a right prick holding me down on the floor.”
“Fucking cheek.” His run of tickles had lightened, now finding their way under his shirt and playing the length of his side. Jack’s chuckles faded too, the look about him taking Jan in, mouth and tongue following as he leaned down into the heat.
Brennan and the other Masters were over by Gray, and Trace went too. Brennan was Gray’s oldest friend, and it showed in Brennan’s long hold and whispered conversation, albeit one-sided. Gray still wasn’t committing to the MC, but coming here tonight, asking the Masters and their subs to be a part of this, he was acknowledging that if Jack and Jan were ever okay with it, then he’d reconsider his position. Then Brennan moved out of the way as Trace pulled Gray into a very impersonal kiss. “About fucking time,” he mumbled, his hand around Gray’s neck.
Gray pulled back, his breathing heavy, cheeks flushed, and for the first time, in a very long time, an easy smile touched his lips. A shaky exhale came, then a run of hand through hair was given. “At least the bastard said yes this time.”
Trace looked down at the heat playing down on the floor, how Leif had a load of curses off Jack as he tried to pull Jan away and congratulate him. “I think they’ve bypassed yes and gone for full-on frolics in front of the Masters.”
Gabe came over and offered his hand to Gray. Dare managed to drag Jan off, leaving Jack with open arms and crying “For fuck’s sake, give a triad some privacy.”
Gabe wasn’t smiling. He looked at how the tattoo covered Jack’s hip, then found Gray a moment later.
“With your permission, I’d like to look at working Jack in a BDSM scene,” he said, and Gray lost all of his fire. There was that look—the one that said contract or no, he wouldn’t allow anyone to touch Jack, especially tonight.
“You’ve just Claimed your sub, Gray. Along with Jack’s peace of mind, the Dom’s safety has to be taken into account too. I can’t allow you to touch him until I know you’re both okay.” Which is how a Claiming was usually cemented.
Trace buried his groan, but managed a nod. “I know Brennan would have planned a private celebration to celebrate as Masters. It’s why Leif and the others are here. Spend some time with them, enjoy it, enjoy them. But Gabe’s right. We’ll meet back at yours, your studio.”
Gray stayed quiet for a while. A nod came, then—“Fine. But you stay here as guests, as friends.” Only he didn’t sound very friendly with that last one. With every part of his soul, as old as it felt, Trace understood why. The one night Gray needed to hold them both, to keep them close, and Gabe.... Trace glanced at Gabe and just hoped to God he knew what he was doing.
Because this was like taking a man’s husband on their wedding night.
Chapter 33
Taken
Trace was right to call this a studio. No hallmarks of a traditional BDSM dungeon carried in the air, none that Gabe had worked anyway. The comfort of a huge four-poster bed with a sleek black metal frame kept the furthest part company. To the vanilla onlooker, the various sculpted spheres aligning the top and foot of the bed looked purely aesthetic. They wouldn’t take into account a pillory, where a wider hole accompanied by two smaller ones were the perfect size for a BDSM stock and perfect display of a sub, or that the metal frame could easily be hooked up to chains and hoist. A black canopy hid all of that out of sight. Discreet drawers could be seen at the base, no doubt keeping to hand everything needed. By the wall, not far from that, sat a glass case, displaying all colours, textures, and lengths of rope. This wasn’t an amateur’s collection, and Gabe ran his hand over the case, taken with a thin, deep blue rope. Gray was trained in Japanese rope art; he knew that because the few well-placed canvases caught on the studio walls had this blue rope on the model. Instinct told him that model was Jack, so did the deep tan and toned suppleness in body. It wasn’t just any studio; it was Gray and Jack’s, solely for Gray and Jack.
Back behind him, a white leather Tantra chair la
cked a lover, and not far from that, a bondage table, looking as discreet as the bed, tilted slightly as if willing to scoop any passerby up and... play. Long, built-in wardrobes with tracks along the ceiling leading away from them suggested a more serious hoist-play, with a corner reserved for photography equipment to capture it all and hold life still in the moment.
Most dungeons smelt of leather and sex, and all came with a level of creativity defined purely by the Dom. Here, sex was down to a fine art called out on the walls, and the scent was warm winter bursts that cried out kicking through golden brown leaves, the stray deep red leaf there to give it colour. If England could be defined by a scent, this was it: a walk through many a forest just after rainfall, with dust stirred but bringing nature’s fresh breath.
The photography equipment caught his attention more, and he went over. A selection of flash kits lined themselves against the wall, all rolled up and stored away on a specifically designed rack. The tripod on the left looked the most used out of the others, but the 2-ball head offered great flexibility, usually with animals and nature, but easily adapted to Japanese rope art. For those quick snapshots, a point-and-shoot camera was left on standby on a coffee table. But Gray’s selection of SLT cameras acknowledged how he preferred the time it took to capture that perfect shot. No doubt a dark room would be close by, and again Gabe knew Trace was right; he wouldn’t have seen much daylight himself if he’d seen this studio first.
“You’ve got those stars in your eyes.” Gabe turned, feeling arms wrap around him. “Do I need to be worried?”
Gabe settled into Dare’s hold. “About Jack?”
“The cameras.”
“Oh well, now that you mention it—”