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So I wrote a kink!fic.
This is that other thing I was talking about. Also, I have since discovered that spreader bars were also alluded to in 50 Shades of Grey. Any similarities are entirely coincidental, as I have not read that book nor do I ever plan to.
Title: Proof of Commitment
Pairing: Reds
Rating: R/M for kink. If you do not know what that is then you are probably too young to be reading this.
Disclaimer: I am really sorry if I offend you, Mr. McCracken. (FWIW, you are my hero.)
Summary: They're way more into this than either of them expected to be.
BDSM, rope, toys, vinyl, implied pegging, and use of the word “cock.” Because why not. **If you are not into any of these things then DO NOT READ THIS FIC. It says “warning” for a reason!**
Notes: My knowledge of BDSM is fairly limited (at least, in my consideration), so I will happily accept corrections from more seasoned audience members out there. (Do keep in mind that this is pretty vanilla on the BDSM scale and is not intended to be depicted as a 100% master/slave relationship.) While I can't say I'm completely happy with it, I owe a lot to this fic, as it broke a long-running bout of on/off writer's block. Now to release it into the wild. Comments appreciated. Un-beta'd.
Proof of Commitment
-sbj
As soon as the doubt entered her expression, Brick resigned himself to disappointment. He tried not to let it show.
“You're not into it,” he sighed.
“No!” Blossom hastily said. “I mean, not, 'No, I'm not into it,' more like, 'No, I'm still thinking about it.'” She examined the ends of the spreader bar and paused. “Is this our old curtain rod?”
“Yes. Yeah.” Brick scratched his neck. “You know, it was just sitting in the closet, and I figured I could just as easily make one instead of ordering it.”
“You carved grooves for the rope and everything,” Blossom marveled in awe. “You're, ah... you're really getting into this, aren't you?”
“Well, just... considering where things went last time.” He cleared his throat as she set down their former-furniture-now-turned-sex-toy to inspect the leather cuffs. “I thought. Um. I mean. If you were into it.”
“Mmm,” she said. A noncommittal sound, he noted. “These you didn't make.”
“No.”
She slipped one over her wrist, examining the buckle and the simple D-ring adorning it. “I like these. Very minimalist.”
Dare he hope? “The other ones I was looking at had all these studs and other hardware on 'em.”
“And you weren't into that,” she said, letting the cuff fall to the floor to join its three brethren.
“...No.”
“But you're into this.” She stepped on one end of his homemade toy so it arced off the floor, up into her hand.
“... Yeeeeah.”
The look she gave him made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't exactly upset, or judgmental, or even that unhappy. But it hardly seemed enthusiastic—
She waved the bar about and hunched up her shoulders. “You know. I. I'm willing. I mean, we could try it.”
“Really?” Now his stomach was churning for entirely different reasons. His cell went off; he shot it an offending glare and punched Decline. Butch could wait.
“I'm definitely not opposed to it.” Blossom suddenly got a little shy, a little pink. “Especially... like you said, considering where things went last time...”
Oh, now, now it felt like his entire insides were aflame.
“Although you keep surprising me with all these... these toys. Next time I'd really like you to at least talk to me before you go off buying or making anything new—”
“Yeah, I know.” Brick was already in dire straits, ever since he'd first seen her handling the bar. Her getting huffy was not helping his current condition. “I'm sorry. I promise I'll bring it up with you next time, it's just... I mean, I'm still getting used to this too—”
His phone went off again just as she said, “Brick, it isn't something you have to be ashamed of. You can talk to me about this. It's not like I'm going to judge you. It involves both of us, you know?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, declining the call. Jesus, Butch had shitty timing. “Yeah. You're right. Um, hey.”
Blossom had gone back to kneeling and studying the cuffs, testing them at various places along the bar.
“Yes?” she said, then her eyes caught at his waist and held. She immediately shut her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God.”
“I'm sorry! But you were holding it and waving it around—”
“You want to do this now?!”
“I mean, if I'm turned on, I'm turned on—”
“It is two in the afternoon!”
“It's not like we don't have curtains!” he said, gesturing around the room.
“Wait, not only do you want to do this now, you want to do this in the living room?!”
Brick suddenly went what passed for sheepish on him. “I could move the coffee table.”
“Oh my God, I don't believe this,” she grumbled, then stood. “Fine. Okay. Yes. Okay. I... let me go get ready.” She glared as she walked past him to the bedroom, but her eyes held no real malevolence in them. “You horny... sack of horniness. You.”
“Uh, maybe work on your bedroom talk?” he called after her, moving to make sure the blinds were closed before shucking his shirt. “Because that wasn't very sexy.”
“All this toy stuff got me riled up too, you know! That's the only reason I'm agreeing to this!”
Brick allowed himself a little fist pump and mouthed YES.
“You know you're going to have to exercise some serious control this time, unless you want to break the rest of our rope.”
“I know! I will!” Brick wondered if dipping all these things in some Chemical X would fortify them against potential future breakage when things got more intense.
“And please get a towel! I do not want you making a mess in there!”
“Okay! For the record, that was not sexy, either!” he shouted, scooting the coffee table and couch aside. “Or, well, it kinda was, but oh my God Butch, what the fuck do you want?!” Brick snatched up his buzzing phone, ready to crush it into tiny, environmentally unsafe pieces.
Blossom's head poked out into the hall. “Just answer it. He's called three times already. It must be important.”
“It'd better be important,” Brick snarled, and stabbed at the Answer button. “This better be fucking important!”
“Hi to you too, Sunshine,” Butch said cheerily.
“What is it?” Brick snapped. “Do you not text anymore? Is that not a thing you do now?”
“Don't look,” Blossom said. “I've got a surprise for you, too.”
“Huh?” Brick said, his head whipping to the hall.
“I said, 'Don't look!'”
“Sorry,” Brick mumbled, turning his head back the way it was.
A low whistle sounded through the line. “Damn, brother. That lady's got you whipped.”
Brick ignored the oddly apropos remark and said, “You've got five seconds.”
Butch launched into conversation right as Blossom tossed a towel at Brick's feet. “You didn't grab the towel.”
“You told me to take the call,” Brick snarked back, before getting a fist in the face.
“Don't look!”
Butch paused and asked, “Have you guys got something going on over there?”
“We're doing laundry,” Brick muttered, rubbing at the side of his face. “What did you say?”
“I need your help picking out a ring.”
Brick froze. Blossom came up behind him, her hands going to his jeans, and she began tugging at his fly. She got through the zip fine, but the button was giving her some trouble. Brick pinned his phone to his cheek with his shoulder and helped her out.
“Thank you,” she whispered against the nape of his neck, and he tried not to shiver as she tugged down his jeans, then his boxers.
“What kind of ring?” Brick asked Butch, stepping out of his shed clothing.
“What?” Blossom cried. She popped to her feet and clamped onto Brick's shoulders. “What do you mean, ring?”
“Like an engagement kind of ring.”
“You're getting married?!” Brick gaped and started to turn to his girlfriend. “They're getting—”
SMACK—
“Don't look!”
“OW!”
“Put him on speaker!” Blossom demanded. “Put him on speaker now!”
Brick did as he was told just in time to hear Butch imitating the sound of a whip cracking.
“Fucking hilarious, Butch.”
“You're getting married?!” Blossom shouted from behind him. “When?! Are you proposing? What are you doing? Have you guys talked about this at all?!”
“We talked about it plenty! Last night, we were—well, you know—”
“No details,” Brick and Blossom said simultaneously.
“And afterwards, I was just like, Hey, Buttercup, we should get married or something, and she was like, Okay, cool.”
“Typical,” Blossom said.
“So what do you need an engagement ring for? She's already said yes.”
“I can't believe she's getting married before I am,” Blossom muttered, fitting a cuff around Brick's left ankle and buckling it.
“Hey, we've talked about this,” Brick said, going on the defensive.
“Just to make it official. I mean, publicly. It's like a contract or something, you know?”
“Yeah, Brick,” Blossom muttered, finishing with his second ankle and buckling another to his thigh. “Proof of commitment.”
Brick tugged at the cuff on his thigh and hissed, “Is this not enough proof of commitment for you, Blossom?!”
“Shut up,” Blossom said, and kicked at his legs, causing him to buckle to his knees on the carpet. Brick bit back both a swear and a groan.
“Should I call back?”
“Yes,” Brick said.
“No,” Blossom said. “What do you need Brick's help with?”
“I want him to help me pick out a ring.”
“Why don't you ask your girlfriend?” Brick said. “Excuse me, your fiancée?”
“Well, I want to surprise her. Since, you know, I can't surprise her with a proposal now. Exactly. Since we already talked about it.”
“That's very sweet, Butch,” Blossom said, resting the spreader bar on the backs of Brick's knees. He could hear her measuring out the rope and tried vainly to suppress another shiver.
“Yeah, well. You know me. So Brick, I want you to help me pick out a ring.”
The rope fell against his skin, tickling him as she wound it through the rings on the ankle cuffs and around the grooves in the bar. He wanted to turn his head, to watch her at work with the rope, the knots.
“Brick,” he heard her say, and he blinked and exhaled. Butch was trying to catch his attention.
“Brick? Brick, are you there?”
“Reluctantly,” he muttered.
“So you'll help me pick out a ring, right?”
Blossom tugged him back a bit, using her legs as leverage to spread his own. He groaned, “Can't you... ask Boomer, or... something?”
“No, dude, I need someone who's more, like...”
“Flexible?” Blossom supplied quietly. “Because my, you are very...”
“Practical. Know what I mean?”
“Practical,” Brick breathed. It was very hard for him to concentrate. Her hands kept kissing his skin as she fitted the rope through the rings on the thigh cuffs and fastened it to the bar. “Right.”
“I hope I'm doing this right,” she muttered.
“I think this one needs to come down more,” Brick said, tugging at the cuff on his right thigh. “It's too high.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Hanging a painting,” Brick said as Blossom obliged. “Okay, Butch. I'll help.”
“Dude, you're the best. Are you busy now?”
Brick bit back the urge to murder his brother via the phone through sheer willpower and snapped, “Hanging a painting! Kinda tied up at the moment!”
“Not yet,” Blossom murmured, and the phone bounced on the carpet as she jerked his arms back and wrapped the rest of the rope around his wrists. Brick's jaw dropped, a tiny noise threatening escape.
Almost instantly there was a fist in his hair and then his face ate the carpet, hard.
“Shh,” she said, and oh holy Christ.
“How about later?”
“Oh, for the love of God, Butch! Tomorrow! We will go tomorrow!” Brick said, his voice dissolving into near-desperation. Blossom's hand reached around, skimming across his chest and then lower. He drove his head against the carpet, his cap shifting, falling over his eyes. “But right now I am really fucking busy! Also later! I am also going to be super busy later!”
“Are you?” Blossom purred, nipping at his shoulder.
“I hope I am going to be super busy later!” he amended. “Anyway, today's just not a good day! Sorry! Bye!” He tried to reach an arm to hang up his phone, forgetting that he was wholly and effectively bound. Blossom's hand came into view as she reached for it herself.
“Congratulations, Butch,” she said, running a hand through Brick's hair as she straddled his back. She didn't have it on. Brick tried to think of a discreet way to bring it up as she bade Butch goodbye and hung up.
His cap obscured most of his vision, but there was a tiny sliver where he could see his phone drift within sight. She waggled it in his face.
“I'm turning this off.”
“Be my guest,” he said.
“And mine.” Her weight left his back.
“Sure.”
A tug at the rope around his wrists. From the way the bar shifted, he guessed his wrist bindings were connected to the bar as well.
“I don't think these knots are tight enough,” she said.
He wet his lips. “I... don't think so either.”
“But we're out of rope.”
Shit. He hadn't thought of how much more rope it would take to tie all the new props together. He racked his brain for alternatives. The duct tape in the kitchen came to mind, but before he could suggest it she said, “Wait, I've got it,” and he felt a new texture binding his wrists together—flatter than the rope, and smoother. It took him a second to recognize it as her hair ribbon.
“There we go.” She grasped him about the hips and tugged, adjusting him so his chest pulled away from the floor and his neck cricked at an awkward angle, his shoulders and knees serving as his only leverage. He couldn't bear it any more; he had to ask.
“Are you... going to put it on?”
“Put what on?”
He bit his lip, irritated and ashamed at how hard the idea of saying it aloud made him. To his relief (and his dismay), he didn't have to say anything.
“Did you mean this?” she teased, and he gasped as she took his erection in one hand and dragged the tip of the strap-on up the inside of his thigh. She bit his shoulder again and pulled away. Oh, God, just listening to her fasten it around her waist was enough to...
She walked around in front of him and he tried to twist his head to look at her, cursing his cap for falling over his eyes. The pointed toe of a vinyl heel—his last “gift” for her—nudged the cap away from his eyes, and he looked up past those sexy thigh-high boots, past that very sexy attachment, to...
He stared.
After a long bout of silence, she said, “Judging by the expression on your face, I am guessing you don't like it.”
That was an understatement. “Please don't tell me that was your surprise for me.”
“Wow.” She looked down at the sweater to inspect it herself. “You really don't like it.”
“Five seconds ago I had an erection,” Brick said. “A very hard one. And that sweater has effectively nuked it out of existence.” It was bright red with a single bold stripe of black running across the middle—a replica of the one he'd worn as a kid. And it was not turning him on at all.
Blossom pouted. “I don't think it's that bad.”
“Did you not hear me? Your sweater has killed my boner.”
“Okay okay, I'll take it off,” Blossom said, leaving his line of sight. “Sheesh.”
“Where are you going?!”
“I need to put something on! I'm cold.”
“You've got way more on than I do! Maybe I'm cold, too!”
“Quit crying, worm!”
Silence. Then:
“Did that do anything for you?” she asked.
“Not really,” Brick said. “Wait. Maybe try it again? Like, in a different sentence?”
“Um, okay.” Blossom re-emerged, sporting a plain button down. The fabric tented around the attachment, which came very near Brick's face as she knelt in front of him. “Um... bend over, worm.”
Brick snorted.
“See, it sounds stupid,” Blossom said, throwing her hands up.
“No, it's just... well, it's not very you.”
“Yeah, some of the things I've been reading about this whole dom thing don't really sound like me,” Blossom said, playing with a strand of her hair. “You know, sorry about the marriage thing.”
“What?”
“On the phone. Earlier. Like, ugh. I know we've talked about it. And I didn't mean to make it sound like we have to get married. I'm just surprised that Buttercup's doing it before I am.”
“Or at all,” Brick said, then, after a beat, sighed. “... Do you want to get married?”
She threw her hands up again. “I don't know. I mean, I know we talked about it at the beginning. I know we said let's see how this works out first. But it's been working out for a long time now, and it hasn't really... come up again.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “And... I don't know. I wonder if it's because you... want to keep your options open or something.”
“Are we really going to have this discussion while I'm tied up on our living room floor waiting for you to fuck me in the ass?”
She smacked him in the head.
“Ow.”
“Don't make it sound so crude.”
“Sorry.”
“But can you blame me for wondering?” She gestured at the contraption affixed to her waist. “I mean, not that I don't enjoy this—like, to the point where it genuinely surprises me and makes me re-evaluate my sexual psychology—I just can't help but wonder if you'd rather...”
She trailed off, getting shy and pink again, and after some time Brick prodded, “Rather... what?”
She stared at him, then said, “You're right, this is a weird talk to have when you're tied up on the living room floor.”
“Well, we're already talking about it, so why stop now. Rather what?”
She took a deep breath, then mumbled, “If you, you know... if you'd rather be with a guy.”
He blinked at her, several times in succession, then scoffed. “Seriously?”
“I don't know! I mean, every time I put this thing on you get super aroused—”
“You know we've only used that thing twice.” He had been keeping count.
“Can you blame me for wondering? Really?”
“Well, no, I guess not, but it's like... then you're placing the entire weight of my attraction to you in the... 'attachment,' when it's not about the attachment, it's about the person wearing it.” Brick flexed his arms against his bindings; he was getting a little stiff, and not in the sexually aroused way. “I'm not into dudes or being fucked by dudes. I'm into you, and, subsequently, getting fucked by you.”
Something seemed to shift in her expression, and her eyes went soft. His breath hitched at the sight of it.
“Okay, you're making really romantic eyes at me when I am pretty sure what just came out of my mouth was not romantic in the least.”
“There was a sweetness to it,” she said, shifting closer so he could rest his head against her lap.
“My neck doesn't bend that way. It barely bends this way.”
“Sorry,” she said, and settled for pulling his cap off and combing her hand through his hair. “You really didn't like the sweater, huh?”
He cringed. “You look a lot like me when you're wearing it.”
“And that's a bad thing?”
“It's a bad thing in the sense that I don't want to think about being fucked by myself. Doesn't exactly press my buttons.”
“Mm. But the boots. Those press your buttons.”
“To a point.”
“And, ah.” She reached over and tugged gently at the spreader bar. “This. This presses your buttons.”
“It's hard to tell. I've been like this for awhile. I'm kinda going numb.” He rolled his shoulders back to emphasize this point. It wasn't like it hurt, what with the superpowers, but he still wasn't built to be tied up for indeterminate periods of time.
She pulled harder. The rope went taut as the bar impressed itself against his thighs. He sucked in a breath, then exhaled, slow.
“Does it press your buttons or not, Brick?”
“It, ah. It's pressing something.”
“And these?” She tightened the knots around his wrists. The satiny smoothness of her ribbon slid against his skin, and he couldn't help but laugh a little in disbelief. “What do these do?”
“Right now all they're doing is making me really, really hard,” he breathed. She unrolled the towel underneath him—one of their best, he realized, as the tip of his cock grazed it and the softness of the fibers made him seize up in pleasure. “Jesus, Blossom, could you...?”
She laid on the floor next to him upside down, a smirk playing at her mouth, a mouth he wanted to kiss, to kiss him. She reached past his shoulder, into the tented space beneath his body, and he followed her hand with his gaze, watched as she uncapped a bottle of lube. He shut his eyes and gasped when the coldness of it touched him, followed by the unbearable warmth of her hand.
“What was that, Brick?”
He made a small noise and began to move against her hand. She suddenly latched onto his erection with a sharp, steely grip.
“Stop.”
“OhmyGod.” He stopped, her command ringing in his head.
“What was that, Brick?” she said, her voice husky and low and dangerous, and he shivered against the floor, against her hand. “Could I... what?”
The look she was giving him.
“Could you,” he breathed—
“What?”
Her hand.
“Please—”
“What?”
Her voice.
“Don't stop,” he pleaded, wanting her closer, against him, inside him.
She drew close, her breath warm against his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth. When he tried to move to kiss her fully, her free hand went into his hair, twisted, held him in place.
“Blossom...!”
“I've been thinking we should use a safeword,” she whispered, and at his body's treacherous response she giggled, squeezing. “Oh. You like that, huh?”
His mouth was thick with saliva; he swallowed. “So... so you're planning on hurting me?” he asked, a grin threatening to break.
“Only if you ask for it,” she said, and jerked his head back so his neck opened up to her. Her tongue dragged against his throat and she bit at his Adam's apple. “So what do you want the safeword to be?”
“It can't be something stupid,” he said.
“So pick something not stupid.”
He tried desperately to think of a word that wouldn't sound stupid coming out of his mouth during sex. There were woefully few of them. Unless...
“Can it be 'blossom?'”
She giggled, then, when he didn't respond, pulled back to look at him. “Seriously?”
“Well, everything else really does sound stupid.”
“You realize you've said my name like three times already.”
He furrowed his brow. “I have?”
“Ohhhhh yeah. And you said it last time, too.”
“I did? You remember that kind of thing?”
She smoothed his hair away from his face, twirling it in her hand. “Well, the context was kinda difficult to forget.”
“What was the context?”
“You know, you are super flexible for a guy,” she said, tapping the bar. “You really don't remember?”
“At some point I tend to blank out from the sheer pleasure of it all.”
She smiled, then leaned in as if to share a secret, her hand moving to the bindings around his wrists. “You said—”
She yanked on them, causing the bar—and everything attached to it—to ride up.
“Ahh,” he managed.
“And I quote—”
She yanked again.
“Ahh!”
“'Oh my God, Blossom,'” she growled against his neck. “'Blank me harder, please.'”
She released the rope, and his muscles eased, relieved at the slight cessation of tension. Brick was panting, his breath hot in his mouth.
“Oh...oh. Wow. I must've been having a really good time.”
“You certainly sounded like it. So you should pick a different safeword. Because I am pretty sure you would not want me to stop if those same words happened to come out of your mouth while you were blinded by—what did you call it? Sheer, unadulterated pleasure?”
One hand was in his hair while the other gently scratched at his chest, which was too close to and too far from his cock, and she was making really lovely eyes at him and just outside his peripheral vision he could sense the very thing he wanted her to take him with, the very thing he wanted, right now, inside him, with her hands braced against his back as she claimed him, made him hers.
Proof of commitment, he thought. He could never imagine belonging to anyone else.
“Or I could pick one for you, if you like.”
“Yes,” he breathed, his head swimming.
“How about...” Her eyes pulled away from his, scanning the room for inspiration. They traversed floors, the walls, one end of the room to the other, then back to him. She smiled, then sat up on her knees again and reached for his wrists to stroke the ribbon binding them. “How about, 'red?'” She looked down at him expectantly.
“Red,” he murmured. “That'll work.”
She smiled, leaning in once again to kiss the corner of his mouth. It took enormous self-restraint to not move for her. She hadn't given him her permission.
“Does this work for you?” she asked, and he glanced up to see she had donned his cap, brim facing forward. She looked so sexy with it on. It was much better than the sweater.
His wrists shifted against the rope, her ribbon. “Yes.”
Her eyes steeled, and she said, “'Yes,' what?”
Her voice sent a chill down his spine, a hot flush to his cheeks. The ropes squeaked faintly against the bar.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said. It came out in a hard breath, hasty, barely vocalized.
He wanted very badly to see how she would respond, but she pulled away before he could get a good look. The vinyl of her boots creaked as she settled behind him, and her hands ghosted over his back. He heard the telltale snap of the cap to the lubricant bottle and held his breath, his erection stiff, aching.
No, nobody else. Only ever her.
“Good boy.”
-fin-
Title: Proof of Commitment
Pairing: Reds
Rating: R/M for kink. If you do not know what that is then you are probably too young to be reading this.
Disclaimer: I am really sorry if I offend you, Mr. McCracken. (FWIW, you are my hero.)
Summary: They're way more into this than either of them expected to be.
BDSM, rope, toys, vinyl, implied pegging, and use of the word “cock.” Because why not. **If you are not into any of these things then DO NOT READ THIS FIC. It says “warning” for a reason!**
Notes: My knowledge of BDSM is fairly limited (at least, in my consideration), so I will happily accept corrections from more seasoned audience members out there. (Do keep in mind that this is pretty vanilla on the BDSM scale and is not intended to be depicted as a 100% master/slave relationship.) While I can't say I'm completely happy with it, I owe a lot to this fic, as it broke a long-running bout of on/off writer's block. Now to release it into the wild. Comments appreciated. Un-beta'd.
Proof of Commitment
-sbj
As soon as the doubt entered her expression, Brick resigned himself to disappointment. He tried not to let it show.
“You're not into it,” he sighed.
“No!” Blossom hastily said. “I mean, not, 'No, I'm not into it,' more like, 'No, I'm still thinking about it.'” She examined the ends of the spreader bar and paused. “Is this our old curtain rod?”
“Yes. Yeah.” Brick scratched his neck. “You know, it was just sitting in the closet, and I figured I could just as easily make one instead of ordering it.”
“You carved grooves for the rope and everything,” Blossom marveled in awe. “You're, ah... you're really getting into this, aren't you?”
“Well, just... considering where things went last time.” He cleared his throat as she set down their former-furniture-now-turned-sex-toy to inspect the leather cuffs. “I thought. Um. I mean. If you were into it.”
“Mmm,” she said. A noncommittal sound, he noted. “These you didn't make.”
“No.”
She slipped one over her wrist, examining the buckle and the simple D-ring adorning it. “I like these. Very minimalist.”
Dare he hope? “The other ones I was looking at had all these studs and other hardware on 'em.”
“And you weren't into that,” she said, letting the cuff fall to the floor to join its three brethren.
“...No.”
“But you're into this.” She stepped on one end of his homemade toy so it arced off the floor, up into her hand.
“... Yeeeeah.”
The look she gave him made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't exactly upset, or judgmental, or even that unhappy. But it hardly seemed enthusiastic—
She waved the bar about and hunched up her shoulders. “You know. I. I'm willing. I mean, we could try it.”
“Really?” Now his stomach was churning for entirely different reasons. His cell went off; he shot it an offending glare and punched Decline. Butch could wait.
“I'm definitely not opposed to it.” Blossom suddenly got a little shy, a little pink. “Especially... like you said, considering where things went last time...”
Oh, now, now it felt like his entire insides were aflame.
“Although you keep surprising me with all these... these toys. Next time I'd really like you to at least talk to me before you go off buying or making anything new—”
“Yeah, I know.” Brick was already in dire straits, ever since he'd first seen her handling the bar. Her getting huffy was not helping his current condition. “I'm sorry. I promise I'll bring it up with you next time, it's just... I mean, I'm still getting used to this too—”
His phone went off again just as she said, “Brick, it isn't something you have to be ashamed of. You can talk to me about this. It's not like I'm going to judge you. It involves both of us, you know?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, declining the call. Jesus, Butch had shitty timing. “Yeah. You're right. Um, hey.”
Blossom had gone back to kneeling and studying the cuffs, testing them at various places along the bar.
“Yes?” she said, then her eyes caught at his waist and held. She immediately shut her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God.”
“I'm sorry! But you were holding it and waving it around—”
“You want to do this now?!”
“I mean, if I'm turned on, I'm turned on—”
“It is two in the afternoon!”
“It's not like we don't have curtains!” he said, gesturing around the room.
“Wait, not only do you want to do this now, you want to do this in the living room?!”
Brick suddenly went what passed for sheepish on him. “I could move the coffee table.”
“Oh my God, I don't believe this,” she grumbled, then stood. “Fine. Okay. Yes. Okay. I... let me go get ready.” She glared as she walked past him to the bedroom, but her eyes held no real malevolence in them. “You horny... sack of horniness. You.”
“Uh, maybe work on your bedroom talk?” he called after her, moving to make sure the blinds were closed before shucking his shirt. “Because that wasn't very sexy.”
“All this toy stuff got me riled up too, you know! That's the only reason I'm agreeing to this!”
Brick allowed himself a little fist pump and mouthed YES.
“You know you're going to have to exercise some serious control this time, unless you want to break the rest of our rope.”
“I know! I will!” Brick wondered if dipping all these things in some Chemical X would fortify them against potential future breakage when things got more intense.
“And please get a towel! I do not want you making a mess in there!”
“Okay! For the record, that was not sexy, either!” he shouted, scooting the coffee table and couch aside. “Or, well, it kinda was, but oh my God Butch, what the fuck do you want?!” Brick snatched up his buzzing phone, ready to crush it into tiny, environmentally unsafe pieces.
Blossom's head poked out into the hall. “Just answer it. He's called three times already. It must be important.”
“It'd better be important,” Brick snarled, and stabbed at the Answer button. “This better be fucking important!”
“Hi to you too, Sunshine,” Butch said cheerily.
“What is it?” Brick snapped. “Do you not text anymore? Is that not a thing you do now?”
“Don't look,” Blossom said. “I've got a surprise for you, too.”
“Huh?” Brick said, his head whipping to the hall.
“I said, 'Don't look!'”
“Sorry,” Brick mumbled, turning his head back the way it was.
A low whistle sounded through the line. “Damn, brother. That lady's got you whipped.”
Brick ignored the oddly apropos remark and said, “You've got five seconds.”
Butch launched into conversation right as Blossom tossed a towel at Brick's feet. “You didn't grab the towel.”
“You told me to take the call,” Brick snarked back, before getting a fist in the face.
“Don't look!”
Butch paused and asked, “Have you guys got something going on over there?”
“We're doing laundry,” Brick muttered, rubbing at the side of his face. “What did you say?”
“I need your help picking out a ring.”
Brick froze. Blossom came up behind him, her hands going to his jeans, and she began tugging at his fly. She got through the zip fine, but the button was giving her some trouble. Brick pinned his phone to his cheek with his shoulder and helped her out.
“Thank you,” she whispered against the nape of his neck, and he tried not to shiver as she tugged down his jeans, then his boxers.
“What kind of ring?” Brick asked Butch, stepping out of his shed clothing.
“What?” Blossom cried. She popped to her feet and clamped onto Brick's shoulders. “What do you mean, ring?”
“Like an engagement kind of ring.”
“You're getting married?!” Brick gaped and started to turn to his girlfriend. “They're getting—”
SMACK—
“Don't look!”
“OW!”
“Put him on speaker!” Blossom demanded. “Put him on speaker now!”
Brick did as he was told just in time to hear Butch imitating the sound of a whip cracking.
“Fucking hilarious, Butch.”
“You're getting married?!” Blossom shouted from behind him. “When?! Are you proposing? What are you doing? Have you guys talked about this at all?!”
“We talked about it plenty! Last night, we were—well, you know—”
“No details,” Brick and Blossom said simultaneously.
“And afterwards, I was just like, Hey, Buttercup, we should get married or something, and she was like, Okay, cool.”
“Typical,” Blossom said.
“So what do you need an engagement ring for? She's already said yes.”
“I can't believe she's getting married before I am,” Blossom muttered, fitting a cuff around Brick's left ankle and buckling it.
“Hey, we've talked about this,” Brick said, going on the defensive.
“Just to make it official. I mean, publicly. It's like a contract or something, you know?”
“Yeah, Brick,” Blossom muttered, finishing with his second ankle and buckling another to his thigh. “Proof of commitment.”
Brick tugged at the cuff on his thigh and hissed, “Is this not enough proof of commitment for you, Blossom?!”
“Shut up,” Blossom said, and kicked at his legs, causing him to buckle to his knees on the carpet. Brick bit back both a swear and a groan.
“Should I call back?”
“Yes,” Brick said.
“No,” Blossom said. “What do you need Brick's help with?”
“I want him to help me pick out a ring.”
“Why don't you ask your girlfriend?” Brick said. “Excuse me, your fiancée?”
“Well, I want to surprise her. Since, you know, I can't surprise her with a proposal now. Exactly. Since we already talked about it.”
“That's very sweet, Butch,” Blossom said, resting the spreader bar on the backs of Brick's knees. He could hear her measuring out the rope and tried vainly to suppress another shiver.
“Yeah, well. You know me. So Brick, I want you to help me pick out a ring.”
The rope fell against his skin, tickling him as she wound it through the rings on the ankle cuffs and around the grooves in the bar. He wanted to turn his head, to watch her at work with the rope, the knots.
“Brick,” he heard her say, and he blinked and exhaled. Butch was trying to catch his attention.
“Brick? Brick, are you there?”
“Reluctantly,” he muttered.
“So you'll help me pick out a ring, right?”
Blossom tugged him back a bit, using her legs as leverage to spread his own. He groaned, “Can't you... ask Boomer, or... something?”
“No, dude, I need someone who's more, like...”
“Flexible?” Blossom supplied quietly. “Because my, you are very...”
“Practical. Know what I mean?”
“Practical,” Brick breathed. It was very hard for him to concentrate. Her hands kept kissing his skin as she fitted the rope through the rings on the thigh cuffs and fastened it to the bar. “Right.”
“I hope I'm doing this right,” she muttered.
“I think this one needs to come down more,” Brick said, tugging at the cuff on his right thigh. “It's too high.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Hanging a painting,” Brick said as Blossom obliged. “Okay, Butch. I'll help.”
“Dude, you're the best. Are you busy now?”
Brick bit back the urge to murder his brother via the phone through sheer willpower and snapped, “Hanging a painting! Kinda tied up at the moment!”
“Not yet,” Blossom murmured, and the phone bounced on the carpet as she jerked his arms back and wrapped the rest of the rope around his wrists. Brick's jaw dropped, a tiny noise threatening escape.
Almost instantly there was a fist in his hair and then his face ate the carpet, hard.
“Shh,” she said, and oh holy Christ.
“How about later?”
“Oh, for the love of God, Butch! Tomorrow! We will go tomorrow!” Brick said, his voice dissolving into near-desperation. Blossom's hand reached around, skimming across his chest and then lower. He drove his head against the carpet, his cap shifting, falling over his eyes. “But right now I am really fucking busy! Also later! I am also going to be super busy later!”
“Are you?” Blossom purred, nipping at his shoulder.
“I hope I am going to be super busy later!” he amended. “Anyway, today's just not a good day! Sorry! Bye!” He tried to reach an arm to hang up his phone, forgetting that he was wholly and effectively bound. Blossom's hand came into view as she reached for it herself.
“Congratulations, Butch,” she said, running a hand through Brick's hair as she straddled his back. She didn't have it on. Brick tried to think of a discreet way to bring it up as she bade Butch goodbye and hung up.
His cap obscured most of his vision, but there was a tiny sliver where he could see his phone drift within sight. She waggled it in his face.
“I'm turning this off.”
“Be my guest,” he said.
“And mine.” Her weight left his back.
“Sure.”
A tug at the rope around his wrists. From the way the bar shifted, he guessed his wrist bindings were connected to the bar as well.
“I don't think these knots are tight enough,” she said.
He wet his lips. “I... don't think so either.”
“But we're out of rope.”
Shit. He hadn't thought of how much more rope it would take to tie all the new props together. He racked his brain for alternatives. The duct tape in the kitchen came to mind, but before he could suggest it she said, “Wait, I've got it,” and he felt a new texture binding his wrists together—flatter than the rope, and smoother. It took him a second to recognize it as her hair ribbon.
“There we go.” She grasped him about the hips and tugged, adjusting him so his chest pulled away from the floor and his neck cricked at an awkward angle, his shoulders and knees serving as his only leverage. He couldn't bear it any more; he had to ask.
“Are you... going to put it on?”
“Put what on?”
He bit his lip, irritated and ashamed at how hard the idea of saying it aloud made him. To his relief (and his dismay), he didn't have to say anything.
“Did you mean this?” she teased, and he gasped as she took his erection in one hand and dragged the tip of the strap-on up the inside of his thigh. She bit his shoulder again and pulled away. Oh, God, just listening to her fasten it around her waist was enough to...
She walked around in front of him and he tried to twist his head to look at her, cursing his cap for falling over his eyes. The pointed toe of a vinyl heel—his last “gift” for her—nudged the cap away from his eyes, and he looked up past those sexy thigh-high boots, past that very sexy attachment, to...
He stared.
After a long bout of silence, she said, “Judging by the expression on your face, I am guessing you don't like it.”
That was an understatement. “Please don't tell me that was your surprise for me.”
“Wow.” She looked down at the sweater to inspect it herself. “You really don't like it.”
“Five seconds ago I had an erection,” Brick said. “A very hard one. And that sweater has effectively nuked it out of existence.” It was bright red with a single bold stripe of black running across the middle—a replica of the one he'd worn as a kid. And it was not turning him on at all.
Blossom pouted. “I don't think it's that bad.”
“Did you not hear me? Your sweater has killed my boner.”
“Okay okay, I'll take it off,” Blossom said, leaving his line of sight. “Sheesh.”
“Where are you going?!”
“I need to put something on! I'm cold.”
“You've got way more on than I do! Maybe I'm cold, too!”
“Quit crying, worm!”
Silence. Then:
“Did that do anything for you?” she asked.
“Not really,” Brick said. “Wait. Maybe try it again? Like, in a different sentence?”
“Um, okay.” Blossom re-emerged, sporting a plain button down. The fabric tented around the attachment, which came very near Brick's face as she knelt in front of him. “Um... bend over, worm.”
Brick snorted.
“See, it sounds stupid,” Blossom said, throwing her hands up.
“No, it's just... well, it's not very you.”
“Yeah, some of the things I've been reading about this whole dom thing don't really sound like me,” Blossom said, playing with a strand of her hair. “You know, sorry about the marriage thing.”
“What?”
“On the phone. Earlier. Like, ugh. I know we've talked about it. And I didn't mean to make it sound like we have to get married. I'm just surprised that Buttercup's doing it before I am.”
“Or at all,” Brick said, then, after a beat, sighed. “... Do you want to get married?”
She threw her hands up again. “I don't know. I mean, I know we talked about it at the beginning. I know we said let's see how this works out first. But it's been working out for a long time now, and it hasn't really... come up again.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “And... I don't know. I wonder if it's because you... want to keep your options open or something.”
“Are we really going to have this discussion while I'm tied up on our living room floor waiting for you to fuck me in the ass?”
She smacked him in the head.
“Ow.”
“Don't make it sound so crude.”
“Sorry.”
“But can you blame me for wondering?” She gestured at the contraption affixed to her waist. “I mean, not that I don't enjoy this—like, to the point where it genuinely surprises me and makes me re-evaluate my sexual psychology—I just can't help but wonder if you'd rather...”
She trailed off, getting shy and pink again, and after some time Brick prodded, “Rather... what?”
She stared at him, then said, “You're right, this is a weird talk to have when you're tied up on the living room floor.”
“Well, we're already talking about it, so why stop now. Rather what?”
She took a deep breath, then mumbled, “If you, you know... if you'd rather be with a guy.”
He blinked at her, several times in succession, then scoffed. “Seriously?”
“I don't know! I mean, every time I put this thing on you get super aroused—”
“You know we've only used that thing twice.” He had been keeping count.
“Can you blame me for wondering? Really?”
“Well, no, I guess not, but it's like... then you're placing the entire weight of my attraction to you in the... 'attachment,' when it's not about the attachment, it's about the person wearing it.” Brick flexed his arms against his bindings; he was getting a little stiff, and not in the sexually aroused way. “I'm not into dudes or being fucked by dudes. I'm into you, and, subsequently, getting fucked by you.”
Something seemed to shift in her expression, and her eyes went soft. His breath hitched at the sight of it.
“Okay, you're making really romantic eyes at me when I am pretty sure what just came out of my mouth was not romantic in the least.”
“There was a sweetness to it,” she said, shifting closer so he could rest his head against her lap.
“My neck doesn't bend that way. It barely bends this way.”
“Sorry,” she said, and settled for pulling his cap off and combing her hand through his hair. “You really didn't like the sweater, huh?”
He cringed. “You look a lot like me when you're wearing it.”
“And that's a bad thing?”
“It's a bad thing in the sense that I don't want to think about being fucked by myself. Doesn't exactly press my buttons.”
“Mm. But the boots. Those press your buttons.”
“To a point.”
“And, ah.” She reached over and tugged gently at the spreader bar. “This. This presses your buttons.”
“It's hard to tell. I've been like this for awhile. I'm kinda going numb.” He rolled his shoulders back to emphasize this point. It wasn't like it hurt, what with the superpowers, but he still wasn't built to be tied up for indeterminate periods of time.
She pulled harder. The rope went taut as the bar impressed itself against his thighs. He sucked in a breath, then exhaled, slow.
“Does it press your buttons or not, Brick?”
“It, ah. It's pressing something.”
“And these?” She tightened the knots around his wrists. The satiny smoothness of her ribbon slid against his skin, and he couldn't help but laugh a little in disbelief. “What do these do?”
“Right now all they're doing is making me really, really hard,” he breathed. She unrolled the towel underneath him—one of their best, he realized, as the tip of his cock grazed it and the softness of the fibers made him seize up in pleasure. “Jesus, Blossom, could you...?”
She laid on the floor next to him upside down, a smirk playing at her mouth, a mouth he wanted to kiss, to kiss him. She reached past his shoulder, into the tented space beneath his body, and he followed her hand with his gaze, watched as she uncapped a bottle of lube. He shut his eyes and gasped when the coldness of it touched him, followed by the unbearable warmth of her hand.
“What was that, Brick?”
He made a small noise and began to move against her hand. She suddenly latched onto his erection with a sharp, steely grip.
“Stop.”
“OhmyGod.” He stopped, her command ringing in his head.
“What was that, Brick?” she said, her voice husky and low and dangerous, and he shivered against the floor, against her hand. “Could I... what?”
The look she was giving him.
“Could you,” he breathed—
“What?”
Her hand.
“Please—”
“What?”
Her voice.
“Don't stop,” he pleaded, wanting her closer, against him, inside him.
She drew close, her breath warm against his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth. When he tried to move to kiss her fully, her free hand went into his hair, twisted, held him in place.
“Blossom...!”
“I've been thinking we should use a safeword,” she whispered, and at his body's treacherous response she giggled, squeezing. “Oh. You like that, huh?”
His mouth was thick with saliva; he swallowed. “So... so you're planning on hurting me?” he asked, a grin threatening to break.
“Only if you ask for it,” she said, and jerked his head back so his neck opened up to her. Her tongue dragged against his throat and she bit at his Adam's apple. “So what do you want the safeword to be?”
“It can't be something stupid,” he said.
“So pick something not stupid.”
He tried desperately to think of a word that wouldn't sound stupid coming out of his mouth during sex. There were woefully few of them. Unless...
“Can it be 'blossom?'”
She giggled, then, when he didn't respond, pulled back to look at him. “Seriously?”
“Well, everything else really does sound stupid.”
“You realize you've said my name like three times already.”
He furrowed his brow. “I have?”
“Ohhhhh yeah. And you said it last time, too.”
“I did? You remember that kind of thing?”
She smoothed his hair away from his face, twirling it in her hand. “Well, the context was kinda difficult to forget.”
“What was the context?”
“You know, you are super flexible for a guy,” she said, tapping the bar. “You really don't remember?”
“At some point I tend to blank out from the sheer pleasure of it all.”
She smiled, then leaned in as if to share a secret, her hand moving to the bindings around his wrists. “You said—”
She yanked on them, causing the bar—and everything attached to it—to ride up.
“Ahh,” he managed.
“And I quote—”
She yanked again.
“Ahh!”
“'Oh my God, Blossom,'” she growled against his neck. “'Blank me harder, please.'”
She released the rope, and his muscles eased, relieved at the slight cessation of tension. Brick was panting, his breath hot in his mouth.
“Oh...oh. Wow. I must've been having a really good time.”
“You certainly sounded like it. So you should pick a different safeword. Because I am pretty sure you would not want me to stop if those same words happened to come out of your mouth while you were blinded by—what did you call it? Sheer, unadulterated pleasure?”
One hand was in his hair while the other gently scratched at his chest, which was too close to and too far from his cock, and she was making really lovely eyes at him and just outside his peripheral vision he could sense the very thing he wanted her to take him with, the very thing he wanted, right now, inside him, with her hands braced against his back as she claimed him, made him hers.
Proof of commitment, he thought. He could never imagine belonging to anyone else.
“Or I could pick one for you, if you like.”
“Yes,” he breathed, his head swimming.
“How about...” Her eyes pulled away from his, scanning the room for inspiration. They traversed floors, the walls, one end of the room to the other, then back to him. She smiled, then sat up on her knees again and reached for his wrists to stroke the ribbon binding them. “How about, 'red?'” She looked down at him expectantly.
“Red,” he murmured. “That'll work.”
She smiled, leaning in once again to kiss the corner of his mouth. It took enormous self-restraint to not move for her. She hadn't given him her permission.
“Does this work for you?” she asked, and he glanced up to see she had donned his cap, brim facing forward. She looked so sexy with it on. It was much better than the sweater.
His wrists shifted against the rope, her ribbon. “Yes.”
Her eyes steeled, and she said, “'Yes,' what?”
Her voice sent a chill down his spine, a hot flush to his cheeks. The ropes squeaked faintly against the bar.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said. It came out in a hard breath, hasty, barely vocalized.
He wanted very badly to see how she would respond, but she pulled away before he could get a good look. The vinyl of her boots creaked as she settled behind him, and her hands ghosted over his back. He heard the telltale snap of the cap to the lubricant bottle and held his breath, his erection stiff, aching.
No, nobody else. Only ever her.
“Good boy.”
-fin-