by Romilly King
“What do you think Ash?” Brio carefully placed a small velociraptor between Ash’s shoulder blades.
Ash didn’t have time to reply before Brio looked up and saw Painter in the doorway, his huge dark eyes looked stricken and his arms jerked, “Painter,” he breathed and there was such yearning in that tone that Painter wanted to weep.
“Hey baby, boy,” Painter said and hoisted a smile onto his face. Ash turned his head to look at him and huffed out a snort before turning back as if he couldn’t bear to look at Painter.
Painter stepped carefully into the room, Richard close behind him. Brio didn’t take his eyes off Painter.
“Can I play too?” Painter asked quietly,
Brio looked down and bit his lip, “Yeah,” he said softly, “If ya want to,”
“Good,” Ash pushed himself up from the floor scattering dinosaurs, “I think we were about to re-enact the Chicxulub impact and I have a feeling it was going to be on my bottom!”
He squatted and rubbed noses with Brio, making him giggle, “Will you be okay to stay here with Painter, Ricky and I are going to go and make something to eat,”
“Yeah,” Brio ducked his head, shy again
“Good,” Ash hopped to his feet and stepped into Painter’s space, they were nearly the same height, Ash just an inch shorter, “Nice to see you Painter,” Ash’s tone was mild but the look in his eyes, hidden from Brio, was pure loathing. Shame rushed through Painter and he felt the flush rise in his cheeks. He looked away and said nothing.
Ash stamped out of the room and Richard rolled his eyes, grinned at Brio, and then followed him.
“Ash is cross,” Brio said quietly, he was wearing old sweatpants and an ancient t-shirt with “My Attitude isn’t Bad, It’s in Beta” written on it. His hands twisted the hem of the t-shirt, stretching it out.
“I think Ash has a right to be cross,” Painter said as he sat on the floor opposite Brio and began to drag the scattered dinosaurs towards him.
“Are you cross?” Brio asked carefully.
“No,” Painter looked at him, “I’m sorry,”
“I’m sorry too,” whispered Brio and his eyes were full of tears,
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Painter said firmly, “This is me, I was the one who did something wrong,”
Brio looked dubious and chewed his lip.
It was weird, Painter found it easy to see the child rather than the man in front of him. Brio wasn’t small and whilst he was flip and snarky and frequently playful it was an adult playing. This was no adult, this was a child and Painter felt a fierce protectiveness fill him.
He didn’t know why Brio chose to regress like this, but like with everything about Brio there were layers upon layers and it would take years to peel them all back and kiss the insides. He wished he would have the time to do that.
“Can I read you a story?” he asked,
Brio smiled at him from under his messy hair, “Yeah, that would be cool,”
“Okay, go pick a book,”
Painter got to his feet and went over to the daybed, he arranged the pillows into a nest against the wall and kicking off his boots climbed up and settled back, “Come here,” he said to Brio who had selected a book from the crammed shelf.
Brio scrambled onto the bed and clumsily scooted himself between Painter’s spread legs. Painter pulled him back against him and nuzzled into his hair, “Good boy,” he said.
Brio smelled of sweat and tears and underneath that the faint odor of come and lube. Painter hugged him and felt like the biggest shit on the planet.
“We’ll read this and then we’ll have a bath, okay?”
“Yeah,” Brio snuggled back him, “Can I have bubbles,”
“Of course you can,”
“I like bubbles,” said Brio, “Their surface tension balances the outward force due to the pressure difference between the inside and the outside air, it’s a neat trick,”
Sometimes Painter thought Brio was trying to explain something to him but he just wasn’t quite getting it.
◆◆◆
Painter nearly left again when he stripped Brio for his bath and saw the welts on his body, eight on the cheeks of ass, and two across his thighs.
He was on his knees before Brio, easing his pants down and Brio hissed as the fabric pulled across his thighs, “Shit, I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,”
He looked up at Brio and their eyes locked, Brio was slowly coming up from his little space and when he spoke his voice was more mature, “Don’t be sorry,” he said, “I like them, I know that’s weird, but I like to feel them and touch them,”
Painter softly placed his palm over the welt on the front of Brio’s left thigh. He could feel the heat in it, the swollen ridge of it. Above him, Brio sighed.
Painter made sure the water in the bath was only lukewarm and even though he helped Brio ease himself into the bubbles the sub still hissed with the pain.
Eventually, the tension started to ease from Brio’s muscles and he relaxed back into the water with a sigh. “That’s so much better,” he said.
Kneeling by the side of the tub Painter ran his hand up and down Brio’s wet arm, gentle strokes, keeping contact, “Can I wash you?” he asked,
Brio looked at him with a sweet smile, “That would be lovely,”
Painter took his time, he massaged sweet shampoo into Brio’s thick dark hair, rubbing his scalp in light circles until Brio moaned with pleasure. He held his head back and shielded his eyes and rinsed the soap out before picking the softest sponge he could fine and sitting on the side of the bath began to wash Brio’s limbs with long slow strokes.
By the end of it, Brio was dopey and doe-eyed, yawning and pliant. Painter helped him out of the tub and gently patted him dry. Brio stood silent and still when Painter gently dressed his welts with numbing cream and carefully applied arnica cream to his hole. His anus was swollen and bruised but there was no tearing and he moaned softly when Painter rubbed the cream in.
When they got upstairs Ash and Richard had disappeared leaving a pot of tomato soup on the stove and grilled cheese sandwiches in the warming oven along with a note telling them to get some sleep.
Brio sat quietly on a seat at the island and Painter fed him, small bites of sandwich dipped in the soup. Brio never took his eyes off Painter and every few minutes Painter felt compelled to touch him, brush his hair off his forehead, trace the shell of his ear, wipe a crumb from his plump lips with a thumb,
“Can I sleep with you?” he asked eventually
Brio nodded.
He half-carried Brio to his room, the man yawning and stumbling now, exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
As he climbed into bed with Brio Painter realized this was the first time he had slept in this room, previously he and Brio has stayed in the bedroom attached to the play suite. He wondered if he should have taken Brio back there, but it was too late now.
Brio was curled into his usual question mark position on his side and Painter was pressed up against him, bare chest to Brio’s warm back. Their legs were tangled together and Brio was already breathing steadily as he drifted to sleep.
Painter pressed a kiss to the back of Brio’s neck, he smelled like clean skin and body wash now, summer warm air and spearmint toothpaste. He wanted to say something profound, something to send Brio into sleep knowing how important he was, how much Painter thought of him, admired him, adored him.
He didn’t dare start to speak, he didn’t know where he would stop, instead, he just held Brio close and breathed him in.
Chapter Eleven
Brio and the workday routine
Brio can pretend, he can pretend the drop never happened and he can sink into the moments he has because he is a world-class ostrich with his head so deep in the sand he can smell lava.
So he snarks and he teases and he grumps when Painter bends him over to spank him, but he’s a good boy within the rules and he kisses and he flirts and he lets himself be himself until
it’s routine again, until he’s him again. He plans to be himself for as long as he is given.
◆◆◆
“What ya doing?” Brio asked opening the fridge and scanning it as if expecting snacks to be handed to him.
Painter was leaning back precariously on the stool by the island, his boots up on the polished black granite. “Online shopping,” he said scanning through his phone,
“Are you buying me sex toys and slutty lingerie?” Brio asked, “Because I will be very impressed if you did.”
Painter was off the stool and pressed up against Brio’s back in a heartbeat. “Would you wear slutty lingerie if I asked you to? Or would you rather that I did?”
“Oh god,” Brio’s voice dropped, broken, and the drink he had just taken from the fridge hit the floor.
“Is that oh god, yes you, or oh god, yes me?”
“Both, both, definitely both. Maybe even at the same time, but yeah, either, or,” Brio turned into Painter’s embrace, cupped his hands on either side of Painter’s face and drew him in for a kiss that went from tender and sweet to biting and deep and legs around Painter’s waist, being dry-humped against the fridge within minutes.
“Would it make your boring days better to wear something silky and slutty under that business suit you hate so much?” Painter growled into Brio’s ear and Brio felt his cock grow hard against Painter’s body, “Can you exercise that beautiful brain of yours knowing that when you get home I’m going to strip you down and it will just be me and you and black lace that smells like your cock. Do you think you’d be able to get anything done when all you can think about all day is how I’m going to play with you later in your pretty panties?”
Brio groaned and rubbed himself against Painter, “Please, please, let’s do that, can we do that, I want to sit in meetings and feel my cock leaking in my panties,”
Painter bit at Brio’s neck, “Oh hell yes, we’re going to do that, and the toughest decision I will have to make is do I suck you off through the silk, or do I pull them to one side and fuck you?”
◆◆◆
Brio was in trouble, he knew it, it was 2 am and he should have been home eight hours ago but he lost time, slid down the rabbit hole of research and now here he was, sneaking into his own house.
Painter was on the sofa watching TV, laid out long and lithe with his arm tucked behind his head, “Hey sweetheart,” he said when Brio slunk into the room.
“Can we just get to the part where you’re mad at me and get it over with,” Brio burst out,
“You think I’m mad, or do you think I ought to be mad?” asked Painter
“Yes,” replied Brio who even this tired could still exercise logical thought.
“I’m not,” Painter said.
“But I’m supposed to be home by six and you were waiting. For eight hours!”
“Come here,” Brio went reluctantly and Painter pulled him down onto the sofa beside him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“When we agreed on the contract terms I think I was aware that you are an important scientist who co-runs a multi-billion dollar organization and as such, whilst you might have promised to always be home by six, I didn’t think you could always manage that. Did you?” Painter propped himself up on one elbow and ran his fingers through Brio’s hair, which felt really nice. He hesitated to press back into it, but oh, god, it felt good.
“I probably meant to always do it but I think, like you, I figured that I probably wouldn’t be able to manage it?” Brio found himself saying with surprising honesty.
“Are you, or are you not, an adult?”
“Chronologically, or--”
“Brio!”
“Yes, I am,” Brio said, “but you know, rules and boundaries and…”
“Your psych report says that your tendency to overwork can exacerbate your issues,” Painter said. “But you’re… look, you’re a genius Brio, the work you do is important, and I don’t think it is up to me to tell you when you have to stop unless I see a prolonged downward trend and even then, fuck, you pay me for this, and I think there are other ways to keep you balanced.
“If you want to stay up all night and go to sleep drooling on your graphs, that’s up to you, I’m here to give you what you need not babysit your entire life.”
It wasn’t even the first time Painter had told him things like this. According to Painter the rules he and Brio made between themselves were more important than the contract from Delphic. Brio sighed. Some things were hard to get his head around. He expected to be a fuckup and he expected Painter to be angry about that but this sort of thing never made Painter mad, it just made him want to take care of Brio.
Painter was kinda perfect like that.
Brio kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and there didn’t seem to be one.
“Sometimes I think you should,” Brio said.
“What, be mad at you?”
“Yeah.”
“Not gonna happen, baby,” Painter said. “‘Because you don’t really want that, that’s too easy, it’s a cover for what you really want and I’m not going to do it.
“I’ve got my head around hurting you when you need it and I can justify it, but I can’t get my head around yelling at you like a child. That will just piss you off and irritate me. Trust me, I’m here to figure out what you need.”
“I do trust you.”
“Liar,” Painter said without malice, burying his nose in Brio’s hair.
“You don’t think enforcing boundaries would be good for me, may be reinforced with a solid punishment?” Brio asked, and there was that uncertainty in his voice again. His brain trying to work its way through the maze of what he wanted and what he needed and what he absolutely didn’t want to ask for.
“I think you want some pain,” Painter said, “But you’re not getting flogged or spanked Brio, not as punishment for making your own decisions, that’s a hard limit.”
“I’d get it because I need it and want it and you want to give it to me?”
“That’s right,” Painter said.
I love you, Brio thought, but he didn’t say it, because it was the last thing he had.
And he was saving it for when it was needed most.
“Let’s get some sleep, baby,” Painter told him, “We can play tomorrow, whatever way you need.”
In bed Brio snuggled into Painter’s heat, drawing it around him like a blanket. He kept pushing the line and pushing, and Painter never pushed back the way he expected.
Maybe there wasn’t a line, maybe there was just the two of them, both with complex needs, somehow spinning together in revolutions that were slowly syncing
Brio wasn’t sure if that made things better. Or worse.
◆◆◆
Brio was naked. Painter had strung him up by his wrists from the suspension ring and was circling him, predatory and intense, his favorite flogger draped over his shoulder.
Brio could smell the heady leather scent of the flogger and his body already tingled where Painter had warmed him up with it. They both loved that flogger, it looked amazing in Painter’s hands and nothing said high class, high maintenance, luxury slut like a handmade heavy elk flogger. All thud no sting, it was like being flogged with a velvet curtain.
“Tell me what you want,” Painter encouraged “And if you ask with enough detail I’ll think about letting you have it,”
“I want… want to strip you out of those clothes. I want to… I want you to let me please you. I want to taste you, lick you all over, blow you until you’re weak with it, and then I want to ride you.”
“More detail,”
“I want to kneel before you, lick up the inside of your thighs, bury my nose in the crease of your groin – I love your scent there, I could breathe it in forever. I want to lap at your balls, suck them gently, so gently, roll them with my tongue,”
Painter pulled the flogger from his shoulder, his wrists, expert and pliant rotated easily and the thick falls of the elk skin were a
horsetail, high flying, flag-waving instrument of pleasure in his grip. The thud of it across his back had Brio moaning with pleasure.
“More, tell me more,” said Painter, and Brio struggled to bring his brain online along with his mouth and tell him.
“I want to ride you. I never get to ride you. I want to do all the work. I want you to lie there while I take your cock in my ass with one long slide, it’s going to burn but I don’t care. I want you to just be able to lie there and let me sweat over you.
“It’s going to hurt so good because you are so thick and I love the feeling of you stretching me,” Brio was babbling now, wanton and desperate, “I want to grind myself on you, twist my hips and feel you nailing my prostate. I want to come on you and then lick it off, bathe you with my tongue, Oh please Painter, let me,”
Painter and I, we’re two different kinds of extreme, thought Brio, unconventional, working within our natures as best we can.
Brio was hard-edged and soft-centered. Painter was soft-shelled over the soul of a sadist.
In the playroom, shielded against the world, hiding from everyone else but visible to each other, here, inside the contract, where the algorithm placed them, they worked.
I want this to keep on working, Brio thought, please let me be almost loved a little longer.
Painter let him down and they were on the floor and Brio lost himself in the push and pull of Painter’s body; the way Painter, the expert Venditor could almost effortlessly undress, sliding and maneuvering around so that as much of that sleek, bare skin as possible kept touching Brio’s.
Painter never seemed to get his shoe caught up in the leg of those sinfully tight jeans. Painter could tug his shirt over his head, one-handed, and the resultant fall of his hair looked sexy, not merely messy.
Soon enough, he had that perfect body bare, exposed, and Brio was too busy worshiping every inch of it to worry about his own needs. He had this, he could have this, and there was nothing that Brio wanted more.