#d-d-dark ... ships ... mutual ... agony ...

Edwin hummed in affected consideration, rallying his own tumultuous thoughts with the calm sound. He could tell that Charles had spent a long, long time working himself up to ask for this — otherwise, Edwin wouldn’t have even considered agreeing. Charles had waited until he was sure he wanted it — and then waited even longer, for Edwin to reach the same conclusion for himself.

Still, the situation was… delicate. One couldn’t be too careful. “You don’t think it will bring back… unpleasant memories?”

Rocking back and forth slightly, a font of restless energy, Charles shook his head. “It won’t do. Not with you.” Then, a small huff of laughter. “Know you’d never… it’s not the same.”

Edwin supposed it wasn’t, in the emotional or literal sense. He’d been very careful about that. He’d gathered a variety of tools for their use, and a leather belt most assuredly did not number amongst them.

“What about you?” Charles mumbled, looking him firmly in the eye despite his clear discomfort. He seemed very exposed, dressed down to his singlet and jeans, barefoot and vulnerable and perched obediently on the edge of the desk. But he didn’t shy away from the question, or the contact; as concerned with Edwin’s wellbeing as Edwin was concerned for his. “Is this… are you alright?”

A question he’d been asking himself ever since Charles first indicated a desire to explore this particular… interest. Edwin had undergone a myriad of torments in hell, experienced agonies beyond comprehension. Among the worst, however, were those which forced him into a wretched choice; the choice to deliver punishment to others, in exchange for alleviation of his own suffering. A hideous choice, a twisted fork in the road; and he’d walked the coward’s path more often than he cared to admit, stewing in his own self loathing all the while. It was hard to imagine, after such trials and tribulations, a situation in which delivering pain could be a blessing, a gift. An act of trust, an act of love.

Or it had been, once upon a time. When Hell was a fresh, weeping wound on his soul, and Charles a beautiful stranger he lived in fear of frightening away with his most abominable secrets.

But Hell was far, far in his past now. Just as Paul Rowland was a dark, distant blot in Charles’ history. And for some years since, they had been intimate; feeding each other’s curiosity, satiating their own. They had played, and pushed, and explored, and Edwin had made some enlightening discoveries about himself along the way.

That sly old tomcat in Port Townsend had been right about a thing or two. It would seem that pleasure and punishment were not, necessarily, mutually exclusive.

Measured, detached, as if he were merely picking it up to inspect it in a shop, Edwin took up the well-oiled leather riding crop from his own bag (or rather tray) of tricks, watching Charles out of the corner of his eye. Charles, who’s eyes had snapped to the crop, to Edwin’s glove-clad hand clasped around it, with an impatient shimmy of his shoulders and hunger writ across his face.

“Oh,” said Edwin, a smile twitching his lips as he ran the crop, smooth as a violin bow, across his palm — Charles’ dark eyes following it every slow, savoured inch. “I think I’ll manage.”

~