Rattling Chains

by T. Strange

  Realizing he’d gotten distracted, caught up in his own sensations, Harlan forced himself to stop and check on his partner. “Is this all right?”

  Charles moaned, the sound moving straight to Harlan’s groin. “Definitely! Don’t stop, please!”

  Harlan could see the appeal of being spanked and had fantasized about it since he was old enough to have fantasies, but he’d never really understood why the person on the other end would enjoy it. Now… He’d never felt anything like it.

  Harlan’s cock was full and throbbing, twitching between his legs every time he struck, his pelvis canted forward to rut against Charles’ thigh whenever he paused between spanks.

  Charles laughed. “I hate to break it to you, but—” He was cut off by another spank.

  “Mmm?” It took Harlan a moment to realize Charles had spoken, a few more for the words to make sense. He pinched and kneaded the red marks on Charles’ ass while waiting for a reply. The other man’s cheeks were warm, so warm…

  “I think you’re a top.”

  Harlan froze, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Charles’ skin.

  “Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

  “Hey.” Charles sat up, his eyes fluttering shut when the movement tugged his freshly spanked skin. Sliding down the bed, he sat behind Harlan and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m not mad. I mean, it’s not something I would’ve predicted, either, but it’s okay. I switch.”

  Harlan could feel Charles’ erection pressing against him, reinforcing his words.

  “In fact…I don’t get to bottom all that often. The way I look, people expect me to be a big, toppy bear. Which is fun—it really is—but it’s nice to be on the receiving end from time to time, too.”

  Harlan couldn’t seem to make himself move or speak, sitting still and passive in Charles’ arms. He wasn’t a top. His reaction alone proved that. He wanted—needed—to be told what to do…not like a top at all.

  “We can stop now if you want and try again later…or not.”

  Another still, breathless moment, then Harlan was finally able to nod. Tears were prickling the corners of his eyes, and he bowed his head. Whatever spark had filled him while spanking Charles was gone, leaving regular, pathetic, useless Harlan in its place. “Do I have to say the safeword?”

  Running a hand through Harlan’s hair, Charles gave him a little hug. “No. We’re both deciding to stop.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harlan said, his voice a humiliated whisper.

  “It’s okay. It’s a lot for your first time. You got…really into it.”

  Releasing Harlan, Charles lay back on the bed, one arm outstretched, patting the mattress beside himself invitingly.

  Too embarrassed to even meet Charles’ eyes, but too desperate for comfort to leave, he cuddled against Charles’ side, facing away from him. He was relieved when Charles silently turned off the lamp. He was even relieved when, after Charles thought he’d fallen asleep, he jerked himself off. Good. At least one of them had gotten off after that train wreck.

  * * * *

  “You might feel… Well, it hits different people differently. You might feel tired or upset for no reason, or irritable—or you might be totally fine. It’s called ‘top drop,’ and it’s important to take care of yourself and monitor how you’re feeling over the next few days. I don’t want you to just disappear, okay? I want to hear from you, make sure you’re doing all right.”

  Harlan shrugged, nodding when Charles raised an eyebrow. “If I’m the top, shouldn’t I be taking care of you?”

  “We take care of each other. That’s how this works. And I have more experience than you.” Charles gave Harlan’s hand a quick squeeze, then went back to stirring scrambled eggs.

  Harlan nodded again, unconvincingly, poking at his coffee with a spoon.

  “Need more cream or sugar?”

  Harlan shook his head. He tried to force a smile, to stop feeling like such a failure.

  “I’d do this again, if you wanted.” Bringing Harlan a plate of breakfast—the eggs and some buttered toast—Charles laughed. “I know you’re feeling bad, but believe me, I’ve had worse.”

  Harlan found that hard to believe, but he did feel a little better with food in his stomach. He’d felt adrift since his colossal fuck-up the night before, and now he finally felt like he was anchored in his body again.

  Something occurred to Harlan, something he should have thought of much, much sooner. He felt suddenly cold. “Are you…? You said you don’t get to bottom very often. Are you doing this with anyone else? Right now?” he asked, his head bowed so he wouldn’t have to look at Charles.

  Charles reached over and lifted his chin, making steady eye contact with Harlan before shaking his head. “No. I’m not. Are you asking because you want this to be exclusive? Just the two of us, no other partners for either of us?” he clarified, likely after seeing Harlan’s obviously confused expression.

  “I… Maybe? Yes. Yeah. I think… Yeah. If that’s okay with you.”

  Luckily Charles smiled, even though Harlan had sounded like a complete idiot. “That works for me.”

  He was glad Charles had warned him about top drop. Over the next few days, he felt lethargic and grouchy.

  Charles called, and Harlan ignored it. A few hours later, Charles texted a few links—one about top drop, another about BDSM in general. Harlan read them both, sending Charles a thumbs-up emoji to let him know he’d seen them. A lot of it was material Charles had already told him before they’d played, but it made him feel a little less like a freak, knowing there were other people out there who desired the same things he did. He texted Charles back to let him know he was okay. Charles replied with a smiley face and left him alone. Harlan got the impression that Charles was waiting for him to make the next move. If only he could figure out what he wanted his next move to be.

  Work on Monday morning offered a pleasant distraction, and he was downstairs early enough to wait a few minutes before Hamilton pulled up.

  “I have a nice, easy one for you, a nuisance ghost in a high-end apartment. They even know who it is—the former owner. Person living there now is her niece. Apparently, they didn’t get along, but Auntie didn’t write her out of the will. Now she’s dead and still hanging around being a bitch.”

  Harlan blinked. Hamilton had hardly said that many words in a row before—at least in front of him—never mind giving him that much information about a case before they’d even arrived. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, Hamilton was finally starting to warm up to him.

  “We’re here.”

  There was a uniformed doorman and the lobby floor was marble. There was even an elevator attendant who made Hamilton tell him the floor number and pressed the button, rather than just letting Hamilton press it himself. The opulence made Harlan feel bristly and out of place, like he had to defend his own existence to these people. Like he was the help, called in to deal with an unsightly mess away from the view of the wealthy people who lived in the building.

  The apartment itself was no better—all plush carpet in rich jewel tones, unfriendly oil paintings encrusting every wall and porcelain knickknacks adorning every surface.

  Harlan immediately saw a problem.

  “The old woman’s body is gone, right?”

  “Yeah, she died”—Hamilton frowned at his notebook—“eight weeks ago. She’s long gone. Cremated. Why?”

  “And the niece is…okay?”

  “If you’re asking if she’s alive, I talked to her this morning. What’s with the fucking third degree?”

  “There are two ghosts in this apartment.”

  Hamilton sighed, massaging his temples. “Are you sure? You’re not looking in a…I don’t know…ghost-mirror or something? You’ve got a ghost-hangover and you’re seeing double?”

  Glancing between the ghosts—one a stately, older black woman, the other a white girl barely out of her teens—Harlan shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “One of them coul
dn’t have just…wandered in from somewhere else?”

  Harlan shook his head again, slowly circling the ghosts. They turned to watch him, frowning but still quiet. Neither had any obvious wounds, nothing to show how they’d died—but not every ghost manifested their cause of death. The older woman looked miffed, while the girl looked frightened, but that didn’t tell him anything, either.

  “They usually stay pretty close to where they’re buried or where they died. Sometimes where they lived, but…” Harlan searched for a polite way of saying the girl didn’t exactly blend in with the expensive surroundings. It seemed rude to say it in front of her. “I don’t think she lived here.”

  They exchanged uneasy glances.

  Hamilton looked at his notebook again. “On the record, no one else has died in this building, never mind this apartment, since…1963. Fuck. Are you sure about this?”

  No. There were very few things Harlan was sure about, but…

  He nodded.

  “All right. Can you question them, keep them here, whatever? I have to make some calls.”

  Harlan had barely thought about stepping closer to the translucent pair when the girl vanished. He could feel her nearby, in a wall where he couldn’t reach her.

  “Ah…hello,” he addressed the other ghost, glancing over his shoulder at Hamilton, who flashed him a thumbs-up.

  Hamilton had his phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek. “No, Miss Granger, we’re not suggesting your aunt was a murderer. We just need—”

  The aunt’s ghost looked down her aristocratic nose at him. “What are you supposed to be, some kind of…janitor?”

  “I… Kind of,” Harlan agreed, flustered.

  She made a sound that could only be transcribed as ‘Hmph.’ “Are you here to get rid of that…hussy?” She whispered the last word, as though it were too vulgar to pass her lips but she couldn’t think of a more accurate description.

  Not sure if she meant the other ghost or her niece, Harlan nodded. “What do you—?” He decided a less interrogatory approach might work better with her. “Do you know anything about her?” Hopefully, they were both referring to the same her.

  “She appeared here a few weeks ago, insisting that she couldn’t leave! She doesn’t speak, but she screams all night long. Dreadful.”

  A few weeks. Well, at least Hamilton hadn’t lied to the niece. It was extremely unlikely that her aunt was a killer, unless she’d murdered the girl as a ghost. Which was possible, as Harlan nearly knew from personal experience—but again, it seemed unlikely.

  “Have you…seen her body?”

  “Don’t be disgusting!”

  The ghost disappeared. Harlan groaned.

  Hamilton approached. “Hey, I just got off the phone with someone who can hook us up with a cadaver-sniffing dog. You come up with anything?”

  Harlan shook his head. “She wouldn’t tell me anything before she disappeared.”

  “Ah, well.”

  Startled—he’d been expecting irritation at his lack of progress—Harlan glanced at Hamilton. He was grinning, actually rubbing his hands together with glee.

  “I can’t wait to see what these people think of a big, drooling dog in here.”

  Harlan couldn’t help grinning back. “Maybe it won’t drool.”

  “Trust me. They all drool.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At the Centre, there’d been an older girl who’d sworn she’d found a way around the internet tracking on every computer. She’d had a certain degree of authority. Her power was over electronics, and she could make a TV answer questions in an age before Siri. All the teenagers—Harlan included—had surreptitiously traded chores with her in exchange for her services. Harlan had no idea if her hacking had actually worked or if she’d just seen an easy market in a group of horny, suspicious young adults. The administrators and teachers probably had better things to do than track their charges’ porn consumption. He’d always been sceptical of the oft-repeated story of the boy who’d been called to the director’s office—and later expelled, put in jail, maybe—for his extreme and illegal pornography collection. No one could actually name him or even say exactly what he’d had in his possession.

  Harlan’s own pornographic tastes had always been fairly standard—two or more men stroking each other, fucking each other in the mouth or ass. He hadn’t known or thought much about alternatives and he hadn’t wanted to get caught—by teachers or other kids—watching anything really exotic.

  Now, in what was nominally his apartment—even though it still didn’t feel that way, not entirely—Harlan felt a moment of hesitation before typing the address of his favourite porn site on his phone.

  He turned off Wi-Fi and opened a new, Private Mode tab. He doubted it made an actual difference, but it felt more secure, and even though he was ninety percent sure no one would be looking at his browser history, old habits died hard.

  Comforted by at least the illusion of privacy, Harlan finished entering the URL and clicked on the banner asking if he was of age. He scrolled, hovering his finger over a few of his favourite videos, but none of them were quite what he wanted tonight.

  He opened a new window, searched for ‘gay spanking videos’. There were plenty of results, but almost all of them featured the same thing—a big, grizzled older man spanking a smaller, younger man. He wanted their positions reversed, and he wasn’t finding very much.

  Frustrated, he chose a video more or less at random, jerking himself to a quick, unsatisfactory climax.

  All he could picture was the way Charles’ ass had gone from white to pink to red beneath his hands, the way his palms had stung after each strike. The rush he’d felt, like nothing else in his life. He remembered how terrible he’d felt for a few days after, but hopefully that was only due to inexperience, and he could build up a tolerance or something. He wanted—needed—to do it again with Charles, if Charles even wanted to see him after the way he’d freaked out the first time.

  After giving himself some time to recover, so he wouldn’t sound like he’d just jerked off alone in his apartment, he dialled Charles’ number. The call ended. Charles had hung up on him.

  Groaning, Harlan threw his stupid phone towards the end of the bed, not caring if it fell on the floor and smashed, even though it was brand-new.

  The phone chimed. He had a text.

  It was probably just Hamilton. His shift had just ended and he was texting to check up on Harlan.

  The phone chimed again.

  Hamilton hated texting. He always called. He was probably the only one in the universe who felt that way.

  Harlan sat up so quickly that he almost bounced himself off the bed and scrambled to reach his discarded phone.

  The text was from Charles.

  @ the club. Too loud to talk. U okay?

  Harlan pressed the phone between his hands, resting his chin on it. Charles had replied, but now he wasn’t sure what to say. It was a good thing Charles hadn’t picked up the phone.

  The phone vibrated, startling him. He dropped it on his knee. “Fuck!” It bounced off and fell under the bed. He had yet to actually find a ghost under his or any other bed, but it was still an unknown, frightening place to reach in to.

  Another text from Charles—a ghost emoji with a question mark next to it.

  He must have taken too long to respond and now he’d scared Charles.

  I’m fine. Just wanted to say hi.

  I’m glad you did. Smiley face. Been thinking about u

  For one horrified moment, Harlan was convinced Charles somehow knew what he’d just been doing—and who he’d been thinking about while doing it—but reassured himself that was impossible. Well, at least highly unlikely.

  Impulsively, before he could talk himself out of it, Harlan replied.

  Me too

  Charles sent an eggplant and a winky face.

  While Harlan tried to decide how to respond to that, Charles sent another text.

  Hope to see u soon.
Heart emoji.

  Me too

  TTFN Gotta go.

  Harlan held his phone long after it went silent, still feeling a warm glow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was nearly two weeks before they could secure the dog and her handler. The niece stayed in an expensive hotel rather than the haunted apartment.

  Harlan and Hamilton had decided to wait before dispatching the aunt’s ghost, too, in case she could be of any help in dealing with the unknown spirit.

  Standing beneath the apartment’s awning, Hamilton waved to the unassuming woman holding the leash of a black, brown and white Basset Hound. The dog threw herself against her leather harness when she saw Hamilton, baying.

  “Hi, Moxie. Good to see you, too.” After a messy, enthusiastic greeting, Hamilton held out his hand for Harlan to see. It was covered in a thick sheen of drool, and he smirked triumphantly. The handler offered him a towel, and he wiped it off.

  Someone a dog liked that much couldn’t be too bad, Harlan decided, declining the handler’s offer to greet the dog.

  Their group made it past the doorman and through the lobby easily, following in Hamilton’s wake, but the elevator attendant blocked their path.

  “Sir, that…animal…is not allowed on the premises! All animals must be approved by the—”

  Hamilton held out his badge.

  The attendant opened his mouth to continue, then jerked a thumb in the direction of a small sign beside the elevator—No Animals Allowed.

  “Fine. We’ll take the fucking stairs.” Hamilton stepped around him, and the rest of them followed.

  Moxie bounced onto her two hind paws, straining against her taut leash to reach the elevator attendant. Her handler, not bothering to hold back a grin, half-heartedly told Moxie to stop.