#johanlin

Create your account.

Tamlin’s thumb hovers over the link. All he has to do is click. Nothing difficult or scary about it. Everyone uses dating apps. Not like this. An account doesn’t commit him to anything, right? He just wants to look. A little peek never hurt anyone and well, fuck, with the shit he’s been watching lately, there’s nothing he can find here that he hasn’t already seen.

You’re overthinking this, he reprimands himself and just clicks.

His name is stupid, and he hopes no one he knows is on this app. FullBareBack is his username. Dumb as hell, but he thinks it’s on theme. He tells himself that anyone who appreciates his sense of humour is worth responding to. He opts not to put a photo, too shy to invite anyone to actually match with him.

What are you looking for?

More hovering.

Tamlin has only even been with women, but his browser history indicates a vested interest in the opposite sex. You don’t even have a picture. No one’s going to know it’s you. He selects ‘men’ and flips to the next page, as if that would allow him to continue living the lie. As soon as his profile is set up, Tamlin tosses the phone aside. It bounces on the sofa, innocuous, as if it didn’t hold his deepest, darkest secret. He scrubs his face with a groan. What if he found someone he was interested in? What if he found someone he knows? A friend? A classmate? Oh god, what if he found one of his brothers there? His father ? He scrubs his eyes. He’s losing his mind and he hasn’t even done anything yet. He could just forget the account and the app, like the hundred other junk accounts he has on random websites he’d signed up on for a measly ten percent discount.

He leaves the phone where it is for the next two hours. Tamlin cleans his small apartment, cooks a well-balanced meal that meets all his nutritional needs and helps him make weight for the season and when all is said and done, he just sits and stares . Not a single person in the world is pushing this onto Tamlin; the obligation is of his own making. Tamlin bounces his leg nervously, then grabs his phone as if it’ll get up and run from him at a moment’s notice.

There are all kinds of people on this app: men, women, non-binary, trans, singles, couples, married people trying to fulfill a need their partner won’t, people of all ethnicities and seemingly different backgrounds. Most of the photos include paraphernalia pertaining to the… app’s nature —gimp masks cover faces, chastity belts or full on… Tamlin can’t fight the blush on his face, but he can’t look away either. These people are more courageous than he is, and he envies them for being able to just give in.

Signing up for Mastr had been such a big step, but Tamlin doesn’t think he can cross the rest of that bridge. There are expectations placed on his shoulders. His parents are the picture perfect couple—beautiful, rich, blonde and conventional . He refuses to entertain any ideas of them in the bedroom, but just by the nature of his parents, how prim and proper they always are, he knows that they’re nothing but normal. What would they say if they found Tamlin yearning for a collar around his neck? If they saw his near-obsessive fascination of men tied to a St. Andrew’s cross, moaning as their backs are painted red with the kiss of a whip. 

His older brothers are equally flawless. Enfys is set to inherit their father’s business and his wedding was the social event of the year. Iolin doesn’t have time for a relationship, not with the innovations he is making in the medical field, or so, he says. Tamlin has seen the furtive glances between his brother and his research partner. On paper, Tamlin isn’t even that much of a black sheep. He took a year and a half sabbatical for philanthropic reasons, an idea his mother vehemently approved. He spent the other half of the year acclimating to coming back home, and now he’s finishing his last year in university by taking his team to the collegiate football championships. In all honesty, not a bad track record.

One wrong move and his entire world collapses the second this secret is out. On second thought, maybe his username is dumb because it’s so obvious.

He keeps swiping, slowly growing numb to the overt sex on the screen. Little by little, Tamlin realizes he may have been worrying about nothing. While he envies the people on his screen, he isn’t enticed. The submissives are too overt, and most of the doms have Tamlin cringing whenever he reads their bio, except—

This one. His heart skips a beat. Yes, he’s… everything.

The picture on the screen is nothing more than a man, from the neck down, in a crisp white button down shirt, glass of whiskey hanging from his fingers, and black slacks. The fit of the shirt is immaculate and Tamlin can tell that he’s in decent shape. The man is leaner than Tamlin, but his forearm is well defined and his chest looks… uh, solid . His eyes shift to the bio, praying for the worst. Johan, 42, hardcore D/M, casual only. Simple. Straight to the point. Tamlin should be sighing in relief, but instead his heart is hammering harder in his chest. He wasn’t planning to find someone he was actually interested in. He doesn’t know what to do. His leg starts bouncing with worry again.

Last online 2 years ago.

Tamlin frowns—wait, no, he shouldn’t because this is good . ‘Johan’ probably already found a partner and uninstalled the app. Maybe he could use this as… practice? He doesn’t expect a reply, but if ‘Johan’ was still around, what would he say? He clicks the message with the confidence of a man who knows no consequences.

Hi. Are you still looking for a partner?  

Equally simple, Tamlin thinks someone with that kind of straightforward bio would appreciate this a lot more than some kind of come on. He smiles to himself, hitting send. He sits there, smug, because he’s done something terribly naughty and daring.

The gray status bubble blinks bright green. The colour drains from Tamlin’s face.

JOHAN

I don’t date children.

Tamlin blinks, reading the message. It’s not—it’s not what he expected?

I’m twenty-five. That’s way over the legal age, Tamlin types back quickly, mildly offended.

JOHAN

To me, you are a child. What do you want?

TAMLIN

I was just checking if you were still looking for a partner. Guess not.

JOHAN

Send pics.

Oh, this is getting worse by the minute. Tamlin panics and starts moving around the apartment trying to find the right spot to take a picture. He’s not good at taking pictures. All the ones he has are either professional—too formal—or family photos—too personal. He could take one now, but the only pose that comes to mind is shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror and that can’t possibly be what a guy like Johan is looking for.

“Fuck!” He shouts. 

An idea strikes him as he furiously texts the group chat with his friends, the one he never replies to. I need help, he says, and everyone immediately starts making fun of him. Please. Don’t ask why, but I need a good picture of me. Cassian starts asking why, and Lucien just isn’t answering. The only photos Feyre has are group photos or photos with her. Even if they dated years ago, Tamlin doesn’t want to give this guy the wrong idea. 

His phone chimes, a private text from Lucien with a single attachment.

LUCIEN

This one. It’s you in a nutshell, and you look great in it.

In the picture, Tamlin is grinning, holding a football in hand. He seems like he was on the cusp of throwing the ball, and he recognizes the location from last summer’s barbecue at Lucien’s family estate. He looks good, dressed in casual wear. Most importantly, he looks comfortable. Happy. It’s perfect.

TAMLIN

Where do you get this?

LUCIEN

I took it. Figured you might need some candids when you finally got on the apps. That’s why you’re asking, right?  

Lucien has always been so damn perceptive, but for some reason, that doesn’t scare Tamlin. He trusts Lucien completely.

TAMLIN

Thank you.

LUCIEN

If it works out, do I get to meet them?

TAMLIN

Let me start with the first step, please.

LUCIEN

Haha, you got this. Just be yourself.

He saves the photo and sends it over to ‘Johan’, afraid that he might have wasted so much time that this feels like a scam. What if he’s mistaken for a bot? Tamlin waits impatiently, staring at the screen and waiting for ‘typing…’ to appear. When it does, Tamlin can’t breathe. 

JOHAN

JOHAN

You can return the car to my office on Monday. Leave the keys at security. Come up to the top floor.

Tamlin still hasn’t told him. Their texts over the weekend have been brief, and it makes Tamlin nervous. The hopeful part of him says that everything’s fine and Johan is just letting him enjoy the weekend and the car with his friends. The logical part of him tells him that he’s been avoiding Johan because of the scratch. The guilty part of him knows that he’s made a grave mistake and that haunted him for the better part of the weekend. 

Dark circles line his eyes and he has a cowlick that won’t go away. He hasn’t slept. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the flicker of shock as he rejected Johan. Monday is coming too quickly, and the day itself passes quicker. All mentions of how tired he looks does not help, and every time Lucien asks if Tamlin’s going to be okay with him, Tamlin just groans. At this rate, there won’t be a relationship to worry about. 

Johan’s office is an unmarked building in the middle of the city, the kind that blends in with the cityscape. It’s nothing flashy and Tamlin assumes it’s intentional. His father would never tolerate not having his name on his buildings, so the contrast is stark. Other companies are listed in the building, but when Tamlin hands over the keys to the security desk, he’s directed to a different set of elevators hidden off to the side. He expects a service elevator, or something with mirrors because every fancy place he’s been to has extremely reflective surfaces, as if only the rich can afford (or care) to look at themselves.

As soon as he steps into the metal box, the walls bleed away—the same technology that outfitted Johan’s jet lines the walls of the elevator. Instead of looking at walls or a mirror image of himself, he looks out at the city and his view rises with him. 

“Good evening Tamlin,” a crisp voice greets and Tamlin looks around for a camera or speakers. “I am Amren, Johan’s assistant. Would you like any refreshments?”

“No, thank you.” The last thing Tamlin wants is for Johan’s assistant to trouble herself when he’s going to get thrown out shortly. With each rising floor, the pit in Tamlin’s belly grows.

“I see your pulse is unsteady, are you experiencing a medical emergency?”

“What?” Heat rises on Tamlin’s cheeks and Amren loudly points that out, too.

“I will inform Johan.”

“No! No. Please don’t! I’m fine, I promise. Super fine. Look, see calming down now.”

Whether he manages to calm down or not must be debatable because Amren says nothing for a long moment before finally acquiescing with a “very well”.

This day is getting progressively worse, and his meeting with Johan does not bode well. It occurs to him that he never even selected a floor—there are no buttons. The elevator keeps rising and rising. A private elevator? Technological concierge? Tamlin doesn’t know. 

The doors open to reveal a sleek lobby with a single desk. A woman with short black hair and a stern gaze looks at him. Tamlin can see that both her arms are prosthetics in the same black design as Johan’s. Aside from her white sleeveless blouse, the rest of her outfit is prim and extremely put together, tailored to a ‘T’. It’s intimidating to be surrounded by so many people who seem to have it together. Amren motions at the only possible door he can take.

“Johan will see you now.”

Tamlin swallows hard. This is the beginning of the end. He steps forward and the door opens on its own, welcoming him into Johan’s kingdom. 

Here goes nothing.

Johan’s office is more than anything Tamlin could have imagined. It is so surreal, like something only seen in movies and then some. His office spans half the floor and could be considered more of a workshop than a proper CEO’s office. On one side of the room, there are leather couches backed by a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The coffee table and end tables are full of papers, notes and sketches held down by empty coffee cups or ashtrays. On the other side of the room, various prototypes lay strewn on a backlit work table. Tamlin can’t even tell what they’re supposed to be, overwhelmed by the hanging wires, blueprints and other miscellaneous tools he needs. Lastly, in the centre of the room, by the windows, is Johan’s desk. The silhouette of a person is projected in the air, and Johan makes a series of gestures to move the hologram around. His brow furrows, but whatever thoughts he has about his current project pauses at the sight of Tamlin.

“Hi,” Tamlin says, unable to bear the tension.

Johan does not walk across the room to greet him, and he doesn’t say anything glancing back at his work, seemingly debating what interests him the most right now and Tamlin feels bad.

“Have a seat,” Johan says, motioning at the chair in front of his desk.

Each step feels like a walk towards his father’s gallows. His father isn’t here, but the tone and the tension—each are precursors to berating and a verbal beating into the ground until Tamlin is nothing more than a speck of dust. He feels like a child again, sitting in front of his teacher and dreading to hear all his failures listed out for all to hear. Yet, Tamlin obeys no matter the weight in his heart.

He takes the seat assigned to him.

“Do you mind if I work while we talk? I’m nearly done.”

Tamlin doesn’t know if Johan’s divided attention makes this better or worse. He gulps, and nods. “Yeah, sure. Yeah, that would be fine.”

He catches the way Johan’s eyes flicker towards him, an unspoken question, and he presses a button on the touchscreen that is the surface of his desk. 

“Have you thought of your safe words?”

Oh. He was supposed to do that, wasn’t he? Tamlin has been so busy worrying about the consequences of his… everything. It’s the one thing Johan asked from him, aside from not scratching the car. Fuck, is there anything he can do right?

“How about ‘honey’? Is that something you think you’d use normally in context?” Johan pauses, still leaning on the desk and Tamlin notes the definition of his forearm—a very errant thought fluttering across his mind, as if drinking a handful of final details before—

The realization is put on hold as the door opens, and Amren walks in. She’s petite, and much shorter than Tamlin imagined, even in impossibly high heels. They click across the marble floor as she makes her way towards Johan, her stride gracefully feline. As she makes her way closer, she pulls off her shirt in a smooth motion. Amren doesn’t stop walking, her hips swaying in those black tailored trousers.

As she stands there, perky breasts with tight nipples, Tamlin finds himself growing more shy. He doesn’t want to look; just because he’s dating a man now doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate a beautiful woman. It’s just… awkward. Unexpected? He glances away, staring at the ground.

This is a punishment, he realizes. Maybe Johan’s going to make him watch as he fucks his assistant just to replicate the feeling of being rejected. He deserves it.

Tamlin holds his breath as Johan invites her to sit on her desk in front of him. His mind is at war with itself, drilling into his heart that this is terrible and horrible, but there is a part of him, more basic and reactive, that wants to watch. He finds his gaze locked onto Amren as she sits on the desk, her naked back to Tamlin, and then she lays down. Johan picks up a pair of glasses and Tamlin nearly gasps. He’s never seen him with glasses. What a beautiful sight to see before the end.

He should have known it wasn’t going to work. Johan is just… so much better than him, he’s perfect. What does Tamlin have to offer? A nice body? Desperation? Johan doesn’t even need that, he could probably find hundreds of people willing to submit to him. So, really, it’s Tamlin’s fault for being so delusional.

Johan settles himself between Amren’s legs and leans over her. His fingers trace the column of her pale neck, down her collarbones and then between her small breasts. Johan’s face is so full of focus and seeming admiration as he touches her. Though it’s feather-light, Tamlin damns himself for the question that crosses his mind as he shifts in his seat: do I want her or do I want to be her? He shifts, trying to… adjust himself.

This is why Tamlin deserves all the shame in the world. How can he sit here in the face of his punishment and humiliation, and get hard? His boyfriend is going to fuck someone else in front of him. Tamlin doesn’t like the betrayal. He doesn’t want to share. He feels guilty that he rejected Johan and now, he can’t have him. His mind is all muddled with conflicting emotion. All he wants to do is bury his face in his palms and scream. Not that it’ll help.

Johan thumbs the spot above her heart, and Amren sighs wistfully. Then, he drives it into her chest as she arches her back. Her ribs click, and open to reveal all the whirring mechanisms inside her. Johan picks up a small screwdriver and gets to work.

What? She’s not—? He can’t keep up anymore. What is happening?

“You haven’t answered me,” Johan drones, leaning his face closer into the… robot?

“Wait, you’re not breaking up with me?” Tamlin blinks several times.

Johan doesn’t miss a beat, hands still busy with the task at hand. “Why would I break up with you?

“Because of what happened at the game? I… I also scratched your car.”

“I know.”

“What?” Did security call up to tell Johan the state of the vehicle? It’s not completely trashed, but it is a long stripe along the entire  side. Oh god, he’s mortified thinking about it. 

“The car has 360° cameras. They’re not just to help you park.”

“You were recording us?”

“It only sends the recordings when it detects impact or near misses. It goes back three minutes before any incident.”

Which means that Johan would have received the footage the moment Cassian scratched the car. Tamlin makes a face, asking one more careful question. “Does it have audio?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, god.” Tamlin groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Not usually how I like you moaning,” Johan says without skipping a beat.

“So, you heard all that?”

“Yes.” A small smile crosses Johan’s features, a twitch of his lips at the corner and the flare of his nostrils—all subtle signs of his amusement.

The moment Cassian hit the car, there was screaming of disproportionate levels. Yes, the car was scratched, but no one was hurt. Tamlin was repeating, horrified, that Johan was going to kill him. Lucien demanded to know why Tamlin thought that, convinced that this is proof Johan isn’t good for him (but never said as much in front of Cassian). Cassian was just offering every terrible solution under the sun. The screaming did escalate when Cassian tried to colour the scratches with permanent marker, and Tamlin had to tackle him. So. All of that. Johan witnessed all of that.

“You’re not mad?” Tamlin speaks straight into his palms, sound muffled.

Johan pauses, and the silence is long enough to make Tamlin look up, afraid that something is wrong. Johan’s amusement is gone, and Tamlin is worried.

“I am.”

Those words sink deep in Tamlin’s heart. The guilt, shame and anxiety come flooding in. He was just easing me in.

“About… the car?” Tamlin’s voice is so small and so soft.

Johan stops what he’s doing inside of Amren and gives Tamlin a look.

“Not about the car, then.” His leg bounces with anxiety. “You’re mad at me about the game.”

“I am frustrated with your lack of clarity. You asked for a relationship, and I told you what that entails. I am not interested in the games that come with your self-discovery journey. This is why I do not date children.” Johan sets the screwdriver aside and straightens himself, standing and looking down at Tamlin. “I don’t care if you want privacy, but I do think you need to figure out what you want.”

“I… I didn’t know you’d come. No one ever comes.” His games are simply not important enough for his parents or his brothers. They are above coming to something as mundane as a football game; he thought Johan was humouring him when he let Tamlin go on about it in bed.

“What do you think being boyfriends entails?”

“Having someone to call my own,” Tamlin answers without missing a beat. “Someone I can go to.” Aside from that, he didn’t think that much further ahead. He just wanted someone he can… reach out to. Every fantasy with Johan, beyond sex, was always somewhere hidden away, but not because he was ashamed of Johan. He didn’t want to share something so precious with the world. 

“Does being your boyfriend not entail that I should show up to events that are important to you? You were excited about this.”

“Yes, but… The moment you showed up,” he confesses. “I was scared the reality of my… life would ruin what we have.”

Johan cocks a brow, unimpressed.

“My friends don’t know.”

“I gathered that much.”

“I’m not planning on telling them.”

“I don’t care what you do with them. I want you to be clear about what you want from me. Set your expectations, and I will meet them. This way, there will be no resentment or embarrassment.”

Embarrassment? Did I embarrass him?

“I’m sorry,” Tamlin says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I panicked.”

“Me? I’m not embarrassed.”

“Oh. Oh. You didn’t embarrass me. You’re good. You’re perfect.” Tamlin gets up, leaning on the desk and determined to make this clear for Johan. He didn’t do anything wrong. All of this is Tamlin’s fault. “I did everything wrong. You deserve better. I asked for this, and I hurt you. I’d understand if you don’t want this anymore.” His throat prickles as the words leave his mouth. He doesn’t want this to end.

Johan leans forward, face inches away from Tamlin. “Does ‘honey’ suit you as a safe word?”

Tamlin swallows hard. “Yes.”

“From now on, anything outside of our play and our dates, you will ask for. Until you decide what you want from your boyfriend, you are in charge of communicating your expectations to me. Understand?” 

His breath is warm against Tamlin’s lips, and it smells like peppermint gum. He must have been smoking earlier. Tamlin is distinctly aware of Amren still laying between them, her gray eyes gazing up at them while… while Johan takes back the reins of their relationship. He feels watched, and he feels vulnerable.

“I put myself out there for you. You are going to make it up to me.”

Tamlin fights the urge to ask ‘is that all’. It’s punishment for his bad behaviour, and he really should be ashamed, but he’s learning quickly that Johan’s punishments usually… end in ways that are a lot better than he’s used to. He nods, lips parted to sigh wistfully. The tone Johan takes reminds him that he is safe. The truth spilled forth makes Tamlin realize how much of an effort it was for Johan to be there for him. He was out of his element and Tamlin saw that, but Johan always looks so… composed. Even when Tamlin was spiralling, Johan knew what to do to play it off without a hitch. 

He never wants to make Johan feel like he’s wasted effort, but he’s warmed knowing that it mattered to him.

“Undress. Your outfit and toys are in the bathroom, you may choose to stretch yourself in front of me while I finish working on Amren.”

“Could I…” Tamlin has no right to ask anything from Johan, but this is going a lot smoother than he expected and though he is guilty, he also feels confident. Something about the way Johan continues to trust him and keep him around while helping him work through his hangups makes him feel empowered. “Could I kiss you?”

They’re still a hair’s breath apart, and Tamlin’s gaze hangs onto Johan’s lips.

“Do you deserve it?”

The question strikes at his heart, and his shoulders droop. “No.”

“Do you want it?” Johan asks without missing a beat.

“It’s fine.”

A soft sigh escapes Johan as he pulls back, standing up straight and setting down the small screwdriver. “Pick a number for your punishment. You know my policy on honesty. You’ve had enough chances.”

Tamlin’s mind immediately flits to spanking. Everything else so far has been training, and he can’t conceive of any other method that doesn’t inadvertently sound like a reward. If he selects a too low number, Johan will be disappointed. He needs to answer fairly and honestly, of course. “Thirty.”

Johan nods. “Go change.”

The bathroom is fully equipped, as sleek as the rest of Johan’s office and mostly bare. It has the essentials like a shower, towels and a toothbrush, but all of those are Johan’s things. The only thing that has been prepared for Tamlin is a tan trench coat, a gold-plated choker and a decent-sized dildo. Nothing else. Tamlin’s hands tremble with anticipation, touching the soft waterproof fabric of the coat and carefully tracing the choker—no, the collar—without leaving fingerprints. God, he still can’t make eye contact with the sex toy without feeling embarrassed. He’d played with himself at the hotel for Johan’s benefit, but he can’t quite get used to it.

(It excites him every single time, and he hopes he never gets rid of this feeling.)

He tiptoes back to the door, hesitating. He still worries about being too much; all he has is one question, but he’s known more occasions where that irritated people. Tamlin should know the answer. His hand rests on the handle for a moment before he opens the door just a sliver. He clears his throat.

“Um, do I have time to shower? I didn’t have time after class.”

Johan looks up, tipping his head forward to look over his glasses—hot—and nods. “Take your time.”

“Thanks.”

He means to take a quick, perfunctory shower—the kind that tackles the essentials—so he can get on with the rest of the night, but the hot water eases his nerves. Tamlin never noticed the little details of comfort, like the size of a shower or the design of its head. Rain falls all over him, wrapping the heat around him. His mind wanders, processing the weekend and the day up until this moment.

He’s not mad.

Unhappy, maybe, but Tamlin doesn’t feel the same nausea when faced with his father’s disappointment. He just feels… guilty, deeply so, but he’ll be punished, and that will be the end of it. The thought of paying for his sins eases him.

He wouldn’t hurt me.

This, Tamlin is sure of. Johan is patient and communicative, more than he needs to be; he made it clear when they started to date that this wasn’t what he was interested in, the journey of coming into his identity and truth. He gets to thinking about his future while soaping himself, trying to imagine the kind of life he’d like to have. His stomach does a strange little flip. His life has been planned out already by his father, so Tamlin never bothered to entertain the idea. What’s the point? But now…

He bites his lip and lets the water wash the suds away. He prays that it takes away these silly, impossible notions.

It’s just—Sigh.

Johan fills him with such confidence and hope. He asks Tamlin questions about what he likes, gets him to think about everything and anything, and cares about Tamlin’s answers. His relationship with Johan makes him feel light, and he smiles to himself thinking about what life would be like with more of this. The sex is great, and there’s more to come, but he really, really likes Johan’s steady hand and enduring patience. He has to find a way to make it up to him, not just for the car, but for everything.

He hops out of the shower, dries himself off and grabs the lube. There’s nothing for him to wear, except the coat, so he slings it over his arm, puts on his shoes, grabs his… equipment and heads over to Johan’s couches. Tamlin is thoughtful about his task, considering positioning and comfort. The best way to do this is either hanging off the arm of the couch, his ass facing Johan, or on the coffee table? It goes against everything his mother taught him in terms of etiquette and propriety.

“You don’t have to overthink it.” Johan says from the other side of the room.

“I’ve got it!” Tamlin says, a little too brusque. “Sorry.” He casts a glance over his shoulder to Johan. His breath catches. Sometime during his shower, Johan must have gotten comfortable. He’s opened an additional button, revealing the muscle of his chest and the carefully trimmed hair there. He catches Johan staring at him, nostrils flaring with interest and Tamlin blushes again. “Sorry,” he says, out of politeness, but he’s becoming less and less apologetic at catching Johan off guard.

The couch is more forgiving with its cushions and padding, so Tamlin climbs onto his knees on the arm and gets comfortable. He arches his back, pushing his ass out for all (just Johan) to see. Tamlin uses one arm to steady himself, the cut of his tricep and forearm prominent as he carries his weight. With his free hand, he squeezes the lube between his ass cheeks. The liquid is nice and cool; he tightens slightly at the touch, but urges himself to relax. Johan told him not to overthink, but he’s mindful about not tossing the bottle aside carelessly. He’s in Johan’s office, this place is now precious to Tamlin. 

He starts with his fingers, coating the cleft of his ass with the middle one and playing with his balls from behind. He’d never paid as much mind to them, not until he started seeing Johan. Now, it’s an essential part of his ritual. He rolls them in his palm. A shuddered breath slips from his lips. Tamlin’s getting better at touching himself, and it feels good. Knowing that Johan is watching him feels better. He keeps focused, unwilling to look over his shoulder no matter how curious he is. He wasn’t given permission to cum, and if he catches that barely-veiled hunger in Johan’s eyes (on an otherwise inexpressive face), Tamlin won’t last. He just needs to focus.

One finger is easy now, and two too. Time spent practicing is paying off, and Tamlin trains himself with the same diligence he does in the gym or on the field. Maybe it’s eagerness that makes it easier for him to take in the third finger, but soon enough, he’s thrusting all three of them into his hole. Tamlin glances at the dildo; he can take it. Four fingers would be safer, but… he wants the stretch. Just the thought of it has his stomach tightening and his cock bobbing against his belly, staining it with glistening precum. Fuck, how’s he supposed to remember he’s being punished?

The dildo comes next. Tamlin fists it, getting it nice and slick with the extra lube from his hands, and then adding some more. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to use less, if punishment means that he should deprive himself of comforts like this, but Johan makes no comment and Tamlin assumes it’s okay. With him, silence does not mean disapproval. With him, honesty means trusting Johan to say something if Tamlin is falling short which he has done time and time again. Tamlin moans softly, turned on by the safety of it all. 

There’s a little resistance as he works the head into him, arousal pooling more and more at the base of his spine. Tamlin arches his back even more, helping with the natural spread of his ass cheeks while his hands are otherwise occupied. His breaths grow heavy, and he bites back a moan as he widens around the dildo’s widest point. He hears muted steps approaching him, and the moan spills free from his lips.

He’s coming… to watch me…

Oh, Tamlin has to do well. With Johan watching him like a hawk and so closely, Tamlin is desperate to please and do well. He wants to earn Johan’s praise. He lets himself fall forward, pressing his cheek against the couch seat and using his now free hand to tug his hole open as he pushes the dildo further and further. It slides in, deeper and deeper, and thickens at the base. Tamlin doesn’t know when he started whimpering, but he knows he’s growing more desperate as he wants to take more, but his body needs to adjust.

“Patience,” Johan hums, squatting so that he’s at eye level with Tamlin. The corner of his lips tug into a near smile. He smells so good; his cologne makes his belly flutter wildly. He wonders if Johan would ever wear one of his sweaters so that it can smell like him when he gives it back. He wants that so much it makes his cheeks burn. 

Johan nudges his fingers off the sex toy, and Tamlin knows to hold himself open for him. He starts working the phallus into Tamlin, drawing it out and penetrating him with it. His moment is slow and languid, as if they have nowhere else to be. 

“‘H-han,” Tamlin whispers, unable to speak louder lest it devolve into a desperate sob for more. “Why…” Tamlin bites his lip and rides out the wave of pleasure that takes over him when Johan hits that spot. “Why ‘honey’?” He manages to croak out. It’s been on his mind since Johan proposed it, but a lot has happened tonight. The word is fine, he just wonders what happens if one day he does want to call him ‘honey’ as… as a lover and not a safe word.

The older man tips his head, still fucking him with the toy, while pondering the question.

“It sounds like Hani, which is a childhood nickname. There are a handful of people allowed to call me that. They are the people I love most in the world.” He says those words so casually, and yet they make Tamlin’s heart stop. Johan is trusting him with something precious, and if Tamlin hadn’t asked, he would have never said anything.

“Wait, wait,” Tamlin says, scrambling onto his knees. “Am I… one of them?”

Johan shrugs, glancing away. “I suppose so.”

Is he… shy?

Love is a big thing for Tamlin, and although he isn’t there yet—or ready to say it—it means everything that Johan would let him in like this. Tamlin cups his face, and kisses him on the mouth. “Thank you. For this. For sharing.”

He can’t help but laugh when the only thing Johan manages is a grunt of acknowledgement. It’s not dismissive, it’s just Johan.

“Your punishment is not done.”

“Right… Should I, um, lay in your lap?”

Johan furrows his brow. “No. Get dressed,” he says, making his point by tapping the dildo inside Tamlin and driving it home. The gesture is so unexpected, Tamlin’s knees grow weak and he holds onto Johan. Pleasure threatens to spill over, but he rides out his almost failure. 

“Okay, okay.”

Tamlin finally gets up, and pulls on the trench coat. It fits him perfectly, but the sensation of the lining against his bare cockhead is strange. His mind reels with the many possibilities of what’s to come. Johan unrolls his sleeves and gets his jacket on, but doesn’t bring any keys. So, that rules out car sex. There’s still thirty spanks to come, so it has to be somewhere nearby? Maybe another room in his office.

They make their way to the elevator, the plug snuggled comfortably in Tamlin for now. Tamlin hadn’t noticed Amren return to her post, but she’s there, buttoning up her shirt. He nods at her, embarrassed even though she isn’t human. She looks human, and that’s enough for Tamlin to treat her like one.

“Good night, Amren.”

“Have a nice evening, Tamlin. Enjoy yourself out there,” she says, amusement in her tone as she clicks on her computer.

The elevator ride is quiet and Tamlin leans against the railing to help keep the dildo inside of him. It’s getting harder by the minute, each step making it slip so this is a welcome reprieve. His mind wanders, looking around awkwardly, and he’s only eased when Johan extends an arm for him to slide into as the elevator continues its descent. The play hasn’t started yet, if he’s being so nice.

“May I ask you another question?” Tamlin meets his gaze, surprised that they’re so… close. Nearly nose to nose.

“Mhm.”

Tamlin glances away, if only to give Johan space to breathe. “I’ve never seen such a pretty robot. All the ones on TV look so… well, robot-y.”

“Robot-y,” Johan repeats with a cadence that makes Tamlin feel like he’s being teased. “Making her pretty makes it easier to deal with our business partners. She’s petite, therefore seen as harmless, but cold enough to make her… desirable, like a challenge, but most men in this field of work are waiting to be dominated, especially by women.”

“Oh,” Tamlin says, surprised. He’s never thought of his father and his associates that way. His father rages at the slightest disobedience by his mother. Different fields, then. He had started to lump rich, successful business men in the same category, but there must be some nuance he’s missing. “Does Amren… Can she?”

“Amren lives a very fulfilling life, sex or otherwise.”

“Oh.” That’s a lot to think about. “Okay.”

They reach the ground floor. It’s perfect timing because Tamlin doesn’t have any more questions. He’s curious, but not in an invasive way. He doesn’t want or need to know more about her life. A small part of him wonders about Johan’s relationship with her, like how far his tests extend, but decides that his life is better without knowing for now. He’s got more important things to think about, like how long he can clench to keep the dildo inside of him.

Johan helps, cupping his ass outside of the jacket. No one else is in the lobby, and Tamlin thanks the universe for that.

“Where are we going?”

“On a walk. There’s a park nearby here, it’s beautiful at night.”

The sound that escapes Tamlin is not a hopeful one. It’s a squeak of desperation. He can’t make it that far or that long. Johan pauses, looking at Tamlin and without saying a word, digs out black lace underwear from his pocket, along with a garter belt. He kneels, holding the leg holes open for Tamlin. Tamlin stands there for a long moment, staring at him there, on his knees for him like a prince in a shining designer suit.

“Step in,” he says.

“Right!” Tamlin scrambles to do as he says. 

He holds onto Johan’s shoulders as the underwear is slipped onto him, Johan’s hands rising higher and higher. He feels his fingers, especially the cooler metal ones, against the skin of his thigh. Johan has to duck under the trench coat to clip on the garter belt, making sure everything is resting in the right places, and attaching the underwear so it does not fall with the weight of the slipping dildo. He pushes it into Tamlin once more for good measure. Then, then, he presses three pecks on Tamlin’s leg, so gentle and affectionate, it sends shivers up his spine.

Johan allows Tamlin to hold his hand—the metal one is preferred—all the way to the park. Tamlin is too nervous to say anything more, now. The gentleness has to be a precursor to his punishment. Thoughts of being spanked in the park where anyone can see and watch, the same way he watched Amren on Johan’s desk so open and vulnerable, makes him achingly hard. He’s led further into the vast park, large enough that they could get lost in here if they really wanted. Johan comes to a slow pace further away from any population or late night hikers.

He repeats the motions from the lobby, kneeling and kissing his thigh, then removing the underwear, but not the garter belt. A part of Tamlin hopes to keep it for future use; he loves the idea of stockings and teasing Johan. He wonders if that would be a surprise, or if, with all his experience, Johan has already seen it all.

Johan stands and holds his hand out. “And the coat.”

“Huh?”

But the coat is the only thing standing between him and the world. Tamlin wraps his arms around himself, fisting the fabric in hopes of finding comfort and reassurance, but that’s part of the punishment, isn’t it? His mind has already caught on to Johan’s game. He was afraid of being exposed at the school, so Johan is exposing him now. He could run into someone who knows him, or worse, knows his family. He stares at that open obsidian palm and slowly opens his coat. For all his nerves and shaky hands, his cock’s interest has not waned. 

It’s difficult, and he doesn’t want to, but Tamlin concedes the coat.

“Good boy,” Johan purrs, and all is well. “Follow along.”

He turns on his heel and starts leading his way up a small hill deeper in the park’s forest. The way isn’t lit very well, there’s only some ambient light from the main path, but Tamlin would rather be far from areas of foot traffic than see. Johan walks a few steps, then stops. Tamlin walks into his back.

“Oh, forgot something.” Somehow, Tamlin knows that’s a lie, but doesn’t dare call it out.

Johan finally removes his garter belt and clicks a button, shrinking its width until it’s the size of a collar. Tamlin’s eyes widen when he realizes that’s what it is, now—a collar.

“May I?”

Tamlin is so aroused, he can barely function, much less say anything. He nods and brows his head forward to make it easier on Johan. The collar is fastened around his neck, then a thin silver chain is clipped to it. 

“Who do you belong to?” Johan deadpans.

“Y-You.” Tamlin barely gets the words out, his whole being hyperfocused on the collar around his neck. He is trying to process how he feels about it, if he’s ashamed or if he likes it so much that it’s paralyzing. He has no time to think about it because Johan is moving and he refuses to fall behind. He wants to be good—to hear those words again and how they strike a fire in his belly.

The night air is cool and crisp, making his nipples pebble under its cool touch. Tamlin has the mind to cover himself, but he knows better than to try and make himself comfortable. Punishment means baring what’s given to him. Sweat begins to bead on his brow as he fights harder and harder to keep the dildo nestled tightly in his hole. He shouldn’t have used so much lube, it keeps slipping from him. He barely makes it to their destination: an abstract concrete art display. There’s a thin slab standing tall, some that are laying against large concrete cylinders and concrete walls. Surely, these were made for people to take pictures in or play, or something that isn’t whatever Johan has in mind.

Johan walks him to the vertical one, it has a large hole cut out, around waist-level for Tamlin. He drops the leash and removes the belt from Tamlin’s coat, then folding it and placing it at the bottom of the circular gap. He tosses the leash through, then motions at it.

“Go through it, lay your belly on my jacket.”

For a moment, Tamlin wonders if the structure can bear his weight, but it wouldn’t be here if it couldn’t. The wall is too thin for it to be comfortable, cutting into his stomach if he puts his full weight on it. The jacket helps, but he’s meant to hold himself up and only rest enough to relieve the tension in his lower back. Johan meets him on the other side, wrapping the additional length of the leash around his wrists so that Tamlin’s hands are trapped against his collarbone. He holds up the fabric belt from the trench coat, letting Tamlin see it and then blindfolds him with it.

Tamlin swallows hard, nervous as all hell. The spanking comes next, right? He can feel Johan move away, and he wants to tell him to stay close because he’s worried that someone will see. He looks to Johan for protection, but refuses to cry out to him. He’ll be good. He won’t complain. He’ll just hold his knees together and hope his dildo doesn’t slip out.

“Since you refuse to be mine, and you care more about what everyone else thinks, you will serve anyone and everyone who passes by here for the next thirty minutes. Do you understand?”

“W-What?” Tamlin says nervously. The number he chose was not how many strikes, but how many minutes he’ll be left out here, bare and… free to use?

“Do you remember your safeword?” Johan ignores his question.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to use your safe word?”

Tamlin has to think long and hard about it. This is a game about trust. His browser history is full of glory holes and he’s seen so many ridiculous trapped-in-wall scenarios, but he never thought it would be real. His heart rattle against his chest, now. This is happening. Right now. Either he embraces it, or he listens to all the doubts in his mind. Either he remembers Johan’s promise to keep him safe, or he shows Johan that he hasn’t done enough to earn Tamlin’s unwavering trust. 

He wouldn’t push me if he didn’t think I could do it.

“No.”

“That’s my boy.”

Johan laughs, a muted chuckle and Tamlin smiles too. He promised Johan he would show him he isn’t some inexperienced kid. He can keep up with whatever he comes up with. His master walks around him and tugs on his plug slightly and—fuck, no, it’s too much—it starts to slip. Tamlin tries desperately to clench and hold in whatever end is left, but the sound of a camera shutter makes him stop. The dildo fully slips out of him and hits the floor with a thud.

“W-What’s that?”

“I’m taking pictures. How else will people know you’re here? Oh, and for the comparison after they’re done with you.”

“Where… Who are you sending this to?”

“A couple of friends who’ll take good care of ruining you. I’ll be close enough to hear you if you use your safeword.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Tamlin’s voice kicks up a notch.

“Not everyone likes company. We’re not looking for a gangbang tonight, maybe another time. Oh, and if someone uses your mouth, stomp your foot three times and we'll stop.” Johan’s voice sounds further and further.

Tamlin’s revenge is simple: tease Johan back.

It has nothing to do with whether or not he and Johan are dating. No, the tease is meant to find the crack in Johan’s facade—to get him to show more and more of what he really feels, instead of Tamlin having to ask him. It’s only fair. Tamlin feels like he’s always on display, and the only one of them who’s vulnerable. He holds no ill-intent. At worst, he gets punished (which will satiate his curiosity and may be his real goal) and at best, Tamlin has yet another mind-blowing orgasm.

He waits until midday to enact the first part of his plan. 

TAMLIN

I’ve found a new date. You might be familiar with him.

He puts out.

There isn’t a response, but Tamlin had expected as much. Rich, powerful and brilliant men don’t have time to check their phones. He sends the video and waits for it to be marked as ‘ delivered ’ before putting his phone away.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Lucien grins, sliding into the bench across him. “The others are grabbing lunch at the cafeteria. They’ll be here shortly.”

The redhead keeps smiling and it unsettles Tamlin. His friend has always been able to pick up things that others wouldn’t usually notice. He’s even better than Cassian, and Tamlin trains to be perfectly in sync with him. Does he know?

“What’s her name?” But Tamlin doesn’t answer, glancing away. “ His name?” Lucien leans forward, invested. “It’s about damn time.”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“You haven’t been this happy since Feyre. I should think it is a big deal.” Lucien’s grin is sly. “I knew you were upset she was dating Rhysand for more than one reason.”

“W-What are you talking about?!” Tamlin buries his face in his hands, trying to hide the colour on his tanned face.

“You can’t hide from me, Timtam. I know everything about you.” Lucien wags his fingers. “So, tell me about this new boyfriend of yours.”

“Ah, it’s not… We’re not… We might not?”

How does he tell Lucien that he’s met the man of his dreams on a fetish website? How does he tell his best friend that said man is older and cut off his own arm ? He doesn’t ever have to tell Lucien the second part, but Tamlin is suddenly becoming more and more aware of all the red flags he’s been ignoring up until now. Fuck, Lucien looks pissed already.

“Tamlin,” Lucien chastises, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do this every time.”

“Do what?”

“Pine. Chase. Whatever you want to call it. When you like someone, you suffer through liking them and when you finally work yourself up to being with them, you let them use you.”

“Feyre didn’t use me.”

“Feyre started dating Rhysand immediately after you. I love her as a friend, but Tamlin, be for real right now.” Lucien has always thought there was some overlap between them. “You deserve to be with someone who treats you well and that includes commitment. You can’t keep letting your partners decide what you need.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” The last thing Tamlin wants is to push Johan. What they have now is… nice. Johan has been spoiling him. He even kissed him, and called their last meeting a date at Tamlin’s request. Everything is fine.

“No, it’s not. It hurts me to see you get hurt. You’re a catch, Tam.”

Tamlin’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He has a plan. It could work in his favour, but he can’t tell Lucien.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“Okay what? ”

“I’ll make sure I get what I want out of this relationship,” Tamlin nods with an innocent smile. Lucien doesn’t need to know all the details.

His phone keeps vibrating in his pocket, and the longer it goes unanswered, the more anxiety builds in Tamlin’s chest, but a different kind than he’s used to. He hadn’t meant to tease Johan like that, but the anticipation of his reaction is… delicious? Can he even say that? If he ignores the call even longer, will that turn his hopes for punishment into a certainty? He wants nothing more than that, but he also… he also isn’t one to play games like that. He’s just so damn sexually frustrated. I’ll call him back after I’m done talking to Lucien. Lucien will get suspicious otherwise.

“What can you tell me?” Lucien asks, sitting back and crossing his arms. He gives Tamlin a look, silently judging him for all his secrecy. They both know Tamlin is terrible at hiding his emotions.

“Um,” Tamlin says, a flush creeping on his cheeks. “He’s handsome.”

Lucien looks unimpressed, almost as if that would be a given. “What’s he studying?”

“He’s out of school.”

“What did he study in ?”

“I’m not… sure.” Tamlin offers an apologetic smile.

“Okay,” Lucien says slowly. “What does he work in now? I’m sure we can work backwards from that.”

Finally, something Tamlin can answer with confidence and no fear that Lucien will judge him or jump to conclusions. He grins, squaring his shoulders proudly as he says: “Tech.”

“Tech’s a pretty big field. Is he a developer or something? Computer science is booming these days.”

Tamlin swallows, nerves getting the better of him. He’s never been particularly good at hiding his emotions in front of Lucien. He clears his throat, tring to buy himself sometime. Are you a good man? No. There’s no way Lucien will be alright with that. 

“He designs cars and planes. I was thinking of going for a drive this weekend with Cass, if you wanted to come.”

“Is that a pity invite?” Lucien leans forward. “Or a guilty one?”

“Maybe a little bit of guilt because I can’t tell you more.”

For a long moment, Lucien watches Tamlin, then he abandons the topic to dig into his food. “You’re buying me lunch on the weekend to make up for all this secrecy.” 

Tamlin lights up, and his worries wash away. “Deal.”

By the time they’re done eating, Lucien and Tamlin have to return to class. Tamlin steals a second to look at his phone, check how many calls were missed and how many texts were received. One call, one text. Fairmont Hotel. Dinner at 6pm. Tamlin double checks his classes, making sure that he’ll have enough time to change into something nice. Fuck, fuck, he doesn’t have time to make it back to his apartment and change. Tamlin wouldn’t have cared about the upscale hotel—he practically grew up in his jammies and fancy places—but it’s the fact that Johan keeps taking him to nice places and he always looks nice. (For Tamlin? Probably not, but a guy can dream.)

The rest of the day passes at an eternally slow pace. Tamlin keeps glancing at the clock on the classroom wall, counting the ticks on the thinnest hand. There’s no point in counting, he has two classes after this. Oh, god, this is miserable. His mind reels towards the possibilities of their evening. Did the video work? Or did it do the opposite and is Tamlin getting punished for what he’s done? What does it mean that Johan booked a restaurant in a hotel? It could mean nothing. It could also mean… He wishes he could send his barrage of thoughts to Lucien, but he’s not ready to put words to his journey in hardcore BDSM with another man. The thought makes him queasy, still, even if he’s sure Lucien will support his choices.

As soon as the professor dismisses the class that Tamlin admittedly has learned nothing from, Tamlin darts towards the nearest bathroom. He pulls off his shirt, wets his hands and tries to clean himself as best he can. He doesn’t smell, and it helps that he hasn’t done any activities, but Tamlin is self-conscious. Johan always smells good. He looks good. There’s never a hair out of place or an unwanted emotion slipping through that perfectly controlled expression of his. It makes Tamlin feel out of sorts, makes him blush when his attention is trailed on him when it could be— should be—on anyone else. Heat rises in his cheeks anyway and a tingle settles on the base of his spine.

Oh, no.

He’s aroused.

Tamlin scrubs his face with his hands, reminding himself to calm down. He’s in control. He’s stronger than this bodily desire. It’s not fair, and he can’t let Johan get him all out of sorts in his imagination too. What if it was Johan who was disheveled and flustered? Hair tousled as if Tamlin had carded his hands through it, lips parted in a moan and kneeling before—

He’s getting hard.

This is not helping. Tamlin, he looks at himself in the mirror, leaning on the counter. Calm the fuck down.

He recites all the plays for next week’s football game, cycling through the names and the runs, where he needs to be and how it would feel to execute them perfectly. It helps to feel his body move in his mind’s eye and it grounds him. On the field, he’s focused and he brings it here to this moment. He can do this. He sent the video to Johan. He may not be in control, but he can level the playing field, too. He just needs to focus.

Tamlin pats his face dry, looks himself in the mirror and for all his calm, he allows himself to smile. He can’t wait.

The staff at the Fairmont welcome Tamlin by name, not needing to confirm his identity. They lead him to one of their in-house restaurants, run by a Michelin star chef on the top floor, and for the first time in his life, Tamlin feels wildly underdressed. Johan is already there, sitting at a private table far back next to a window overlooking the city. He’s handsome, sitting there looking at a tablet thoughtfully and tapping the screen. Tamlin thanks the host, not needing to be guided all the way to the table; he wants to savour this moment and just look at him. Tall, dark, handsome and so serious, yet so wonderful.

How did I end up here?

To think that it was just chance. One message sent thoughtlessly to an account he swore was inactive, and a little bit of courage—such little things led him to Johan. Tamlin doesn’t want to call it a date, still too afraid to impose any expectations on their young relationship. Johan can leave at any time; he’s older, more established, more experienced—he has all the control. But he’s waiting for me, Tamlin reminds himself, blushing softly as he keeps watching and committing to memory the features of Johan’s face.

Johan looks up from his tablet, and his impassive expression shifts into… joy? Would it be too forward for Tamlin to say that? Johan’s smile is so faint, but Tamlin feels the happiness bloom in his chest and he reciprocates with a grin. Now that he’s been caught, he closes the distance between them eagerly.

“Is there something wrong?” Johan asks as he stands, his hand finding home on Tamlin’s waist as he leans in to kiss his cheek to greet him.

Tamlin already wants more, and so he turns his head, standing ever-so-close. He wars with his shyness and desire.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Johan asks, amused.

Tamlin nods, and he’s rewarded with a deep kiss for his honesty. Johan tastes like faint smoke and clove, and his lips send sparks throughout Tamlin’s body. Tamlin kisses him back, reaching for Johan. He nearly whines when their kiss is broken, biting his lip. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me want to skip dinner,” Johan breathes softly against Tamlin’s lips.

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Tamlin has no idea what comes after dinner, but he’s eager to find out. Right now, if he can.

Johan laughs and retreats to pull out Tamlin’s chair, then reclaims his own. “We have things to discuss. First, the wine menu.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Then, the mocktail menu?”

The suggestion feels mildly teasing, but Tamlin accepts it anyway. He settles with a ‘wildflower spritz ’. It reminds him of a recent video spiral Tamlin went on last night, listening to people talk about foraging and edible wild flora, and he tells Johan as much.

“You like flowers?”

“Plants, too.”

“I see.”

“I know I don’t look like it.” Tamlin says. 

“And what does a plant lover look like?”

Tamlin opens his mouth, then closes it. Cassian teases him all the time about these rabbit holes Tamlin gets himself in when it comes to biology, zoology and botany. Tamlin looks like a football player, he has the size and the muscle, but it feels prejudiced to say that someone who enjoys the sciences of nature should look like anything in particular. Anyone can like anything. That would be like saying someone like Johan doesn’t look like he could be sweet. Ah, that feels like a terribly mean thing to think.

“You’re right.” Tamlin smiles. “You wanted to talk about something?”

“Perhaps we should eat beforehand.”

Waiting makes Tamlin nervous. Johan doesn’t seem angry, or as if he has bad news to share, but Johan is also impressively hard to read. Tamlin’s leg bounces beneath the table, but despite his worries, he nods. He’s not one to push against anyone. Tamlin is amenable, and his affections for Johan make him even more so. His eyes glaze over the menu items, seeing the words but not committing them to mind. The dishes are a fusion between Ethiopian and French cuisine, but Tamlin’s mind is elsewhere.

“Tamlin.” Johan reaches across the table and lowers Tamlin’s menu. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“You’re still worrying.”

“I am.”

Johan huffs his amusement. His soft laughter stuns Tamlin who stares at him with wide eyes. He plucks the menu right out of Tamlin’s hands and sets it on the table. The waiter is called, and Johan exchanges his tablet for a thick contract. He places the block of paper in front of Tamlin with a dulled thud. On the first page, the title reads bold and clear: Bondage & Submission Contract, version 5.3. Tamlin’s heart sinks.

He doesn’t want a relationship.

“Tamlin.” Johan says, trying to regain his attention.

Tamlin’s eyes are locked onto the contract, mind spiralling about its contents. He’s going to be bound into playing a role, which is what he wanted, isn’t it? It just feels… it just feels like more rules are coming his way. Tamlin knows he will scramble to meet the standards depicted within. What if he can’t? He’s still new. He doesn’t know if he can do everything here. He hasn’t researched enough. He’s just barely getting the hang of playing with himself—of playing with his hole and teasing Johan. It’s too much too soon and he can’t breathe.

“Tamlin, look at me.” Johan demands, firmly. His metal hand reaches across the table and very gently squeezes Tamlin’s hand. “If you can’t listen to me now, then this won’t work.”

The threat of failure is enough to make Tamlin obey. His emerald eyes flicker up to Johan, and the terrified expression he wears makes the older man frown.

“Let’s get one thing clear. When you are with me, you will not let yourself fabricate ideas. If you have a worry, you will ask. If you have a question, you will ask. All relationships, whether it is as friends, partners or dominant and submissive, hinges on communication. Do you understand?”

Tamlin nods. He doesn’t know where to start; he has so many fears.

“And right now, you will let me speak before you panic. Fair?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What you have before you is the standard contract I normally provide for all potential partners. It structures the relationship I intend to pursue, my kinks and interests, and hard limits both privately and publicly. It is strictly a casual relationship as you saw on my profile.” 

Tamlin’s breath shudders audibly as he listens to Johan’s even keeled voice. 

“Tamlin,” Johan warns before continuing. “Everything within is up for negotiation. I enjoy structure, but I understand that this may be overwhelming.” His thumb caresses Tamlin’s hand, trying to soothe him. “That said, I am also interested in dating you. Romantically. I’m unsure of the rules of engagement in that situation, but if you’re willing to learn with me, we can opt out of the contract. I would just need a list of—”

Tamlin’s mind is spinning. He wants to date me? He’s trying to process everything being thrown his way. If—If he’s understanding correctly, Johan is offering to bend his rules for him ? Tamlin had been so scared, so afraid that this contract would be slotted between them to ensure that there will always be distance between them. He’d clung to the memory of their last date—their only date—as a fleeting dream come true.

He reaches across the table, pulling Johan to his feet by the collar and kissing him. “Yes! Yes!” Tamlin kisses him deeply, again and again.

Johan’s dark brows rise in surprise, and he kisses Tamlin back. “To which part?”

Technically, he’d listed two options, but the second one requires a list of Tamlin’s rules and expectations to make sure that he doesn’t overstep, but Tamlin is too damn happy to focus on anything. He gets to date this wonderful, strange and strict man. He’s so giddy, feeling light as air. Oh, he could jump his bones right on this table.

“You. I want you in my life.” Tamlin’s cheeks burn bright, and he can’t look into those blue eyes when he says the next part. “As my boyfriend.”

“It is done, but,” Johan pauses. “We still need rules for our play. I also owe you punishment for the video you sent. I was in a meeting and all I could think about was fucking you. Naughty.”

A shiver runs down Tamlin’s spine, and arousal pools at the base of his spine. “Let’s do it.”

Johan leans close, biting Tamlin’s lip and grinning. “No. We’ll eat, and you’ll be patient.”

“Order for me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The food is unlike anything Tamlin has ever tasted. He’s familiar with French cuisine; his father prides himself in having chefs of different specialities on rotation, but only the classics: Italian, French, Japanese, and so forth. It’s good enough to distract Tamlin from the punishment looming over his head. Good food is just as euphoric and in both instances, he has Johan at his side. Tamlin’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Are you adventurous when it comes to food?” Tamlin asks, curiously.

Johan raises a brow, taking a bite of food with an elegance Tamlin can only aspire to have. “I’m about as adventurous in food as I am in bed.” He pauses, letting Tamlin parse through that information. “This is par for the course with me. I seek out good food. I enjoy myself. Do you… not?”

Embarrassment creeps up Tamlin’s neck. Of course, he is well-educated and well-traveled. His parents made sure that he and his two brothers could stand above the rest, or so they thought. Johan is in a league of his own. 

“Ah, well, my father would never let us eat this kind of food. He, um,” Tamlin lowers his voice. “Deigns it as lesser.” He wonders if Johan will judge him for his father’s prejudice.

“His loss. I’ll make sure that our dates are a culinary adventure.” Johan watches him with amusement dancing on his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to fly me halfway across the world for dinner.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you anything.”

“Johan!”

From the end of their perfect dinner to the elevator ride up to Johan’s suite, Tamlin is painfully aware of Johan beside him. People filter in and out, depending on their floors, and Johan pointedly tells Tamlin when there won’t be anyone getting on anymore. Tamlin immediately takes his hand, twining his fingers between Johan’s metal ones.

“Can you feel things through your arm?”

“I can.”

“Oh,” Tamlin hums, pleased with a happy colour on his cheeks. He keeps his eyes riveted on the screen letting them know which floors they’re on. He’s being very patient, despite the excitement bubbling in his chest. He inevitably ends up bouncing on the balls of his feet, needing to expend the energy building within him. 

The suite is only special because it’s Johan’s, but is otherwise no different than any other hotel. It’s modern, clean and sleek. Tamlin has seen hundreds like these, so he’s happy to shift his attention to Johan. He releases his hand and wraps his arms around Johan’s shoulders to kiss him again. He could do this forever. A simple kiss is enough to make his day, and Tamlin will carry the joy he gets from it for the rest of the week. He makes a happy sound when he feels Johan pull him close and reciprocate.

“Before we do anything, could I wash up?” Tamlin whispers against Johan’s lips, caressing his stubbled cheek.

“Your master’s bedroom is right behind you. Take as long as you need.” Johan replies, stealing one last kiss before letting Tamlin go.

‘ Master ’ sends a shiver down Tamlin’s spine.

Tamlin lets himself explore as he heads towards the bedroom and its connecting bathroom. His eyes wander to different pieces of decor and sturdy looking furniture, wondering if his punishment will occur over the large couch, on the glass coffee table—maybe not—, on the fluffy duvets or right up against the window. He turns his head to look at the bathroom, and stops dead in his tracks. The adjacent wall from the bedroom to the bathroom is all glass. Anyone in the room can look straight into the shower and that springs Tamlin’s cock to life. There are privacy blinds, and Tamlin reaches for them instinctively, taught to cover himself and act proper. Then, he changes his mind and pulls them up completely, so if Johan were to enter, he can see everything.

Layer by layer of clothing is shed onto the floor, and Tamlin lets the shower run to his preferred temperature. Tamlin steps into the water, running his hands through his long blonde hair. The scent of ginger, honey and sandalwood fill the bathroom. (It’s what it says on the bottle.) Tamlin closes his eyes, letting the water sweep over him like a soothing hug. After this, he’s going to have sex with Johan. Finally.

Movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Tamlin rinses the water out of his eyes only to see Johan enter the bedroom with a bottle. Somewhere along the way, he has discarded his dark suit jacket, leaving him only in his white button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He seats himself in the seat opposite the bed, facing the shower. Tamlin can feel the weight of his gaze, bright despite the fog on the glass and droplets of water. His presence brings Tamlin’s cock to full attention.

He’s watching me. 

The thought pours over him, running hotter than the water caressing his skin. He starts by lathering his chest; he starts with the same place Johan taught him, lavishing his chest and letting his palms run over his nipples. They’re perked by sheer arousal rather than the cold, tight and ready to be toyed with. His first instinct is to close his eyes and imagine what he’s seen online, but now—oh, now —he slides his gaze towards that dark figure on the other side of the glass. Tamlin’s lips part as he pinches his nipples, tugging on them and arching his back. His cock rises at full mast, bobbing with every movement.

Johan raises his glass, taking a casual sip, and Tamlin wipes the glass to get a better look at him. He can’t tell the expression on the older man’s face, but he is so eager to please.

Tamlin pumps more bodywash into his hand, circling his chest again, building his arousal only through his nipples just the way Johan taught him. Has he become more sensitive? Sparks dance beneath his skin and Tamlin can’t get enough of the tease; he won’t take too long, not when the real prize is just on the other side of the wall. His hands slide down the planes of his abdomen, proud of his beautiful body that he’s worked so hard for. Now, he can show it off to someone who wants him— all of him. It’s so easy to imagine Johan touching him, and the mere thought of Johan’s hands on him makes him harder. The tip of his cock beads with precum, washed away by the water.

His touch trails lower, and lower, through the soft patch of blonde hair and down towards his balls. He lathers them, cradling each with careful gentleness. It’s what Johan would want, he’s always so meticulous and Tamlin wants to be good. He alternates between cleaning and fondling himself until he’s satisfied. He shifts his focus to his erection, gripping the base tightly. Tamlin sighs softly, euphoria blooming within him. 

He glances at Johan again, and he hasn’t moved from his seat. Johan’s eyes are riveted on Tamlin. 

Tamlin can’t help the smile blooming on his face. He starts to stroke himself, shuddering with pleasure. The rhythm he keeps is slow and steady, adding to the build in the pit of his belly. He has no intention of cumming. All of it is nothing more than a tease. Tamlin takes himself to the edge, then releases his cock, letting it throb with complaint. So close, and yet so controlled. He wants to show Johan that he can do this—that will is more important than experience. Tamlin exhales a shuddered breath, and moves to the very last step of his quick shower. 

Fingers slip into the cleft of his ass, lubed by the luxury soap. Tamlin lets it slide deeper until he finds his furled hole. He circles his own entrance with his fingers, biting his lip and trying to resist the desire of finger fucking himself now. Focus, he reminds himself. He toys with himself just enough for the muscle to accept the pad of his finger. God, fuck, he’s so excited. Tamlin cleans himself thoroughly and efficiently, now.

The shower turns off with a squeak.

There’s a slight numbness to Tamlin’s hands, nerves getting the best of him because this is what he’s been waiting for all this time. Whatever happens, whether Johan leaves new bruises on his skin or fucks him so hard he can’t walk tomorrow, Tamlin is ready and willing to take it. He wraps a towel around his waist and steps into the room.

The air is much colder here, and it sends a different kind of prickle across Tamlin’s flesh. Tamlin is a big guy—tall, broad and powerful if his stats are to be believed—but he feels terribly vulnerable standing in front of Johan who always watches. Yet, the attention makes him feel larger than life, too. 

Tamlin swallows hard, unsure of what to say. He focuses on breathing instead.

“Drop the towel,” Johan says smoothly, bringing the glass to his lips. It’s whiskey.

Tamlin hooks his finger into the fold of his towel and pulls it apart in a single motion. The towel falls to the ground with a dull sound, the only sound in the room except for the beating of Tamlin’s heart. It’s impossibly loud in his ears. His breathing, too. He doesn’t ask for more instruction. They’re coming at whatever speed Johan decides.

“You like putting on a show, baby?”

Tamlin swallows again, nodding.

Johan nods at the bed. A soft gasp escapes Tamlin. On it, a handful of toys await his attention: lube, a dildo, nipple clamps and a thin, long piece of metal that Tamlin recognizes as a sounding rod. All of it is brand new, shiny and polished. Tamlin hadn’t noticed Johan lay them out, he’d been so focused on his own activities.

“You wanted my attention so badly, boy, and now you have it. Dance for me.”

Heat rises behind Tamlin’s neck, up towards his ears and colours his cheeks. He’d prepared himself for a spanking or some kind of fucking, but Tamlin didn’t think he’d have to… to perform for Johan. He’s shy and the confidence he had this morning when he sent the video is nowhere to be found.

“What,” Tamlin croaks and clears his throat. When did it get so dry? “What are the rules? Can I touch you?”

Amusement dances on Johan’s features. “Good question. You set the rules. I won’t be touching you. Go as far as you like, but you will be getting yourself off.”

“You… won’t?”

“What did you think your punishment was going to be?” Johan leans back in his seat, holding his glass within the tip of his black metal fingers. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked the video far too much. Perhaps punishment is the wrong word. This is my vengeance.” He smiles, briefly revelling in his own amusement, then motions for Tamlin to get on with it.

The toys intimidate Tamlin. In the back of his mind, he can’t help but think of Johan analyzing his performance and how much he has progressed. He worries about failing, like this is some test. He glances at Johan who seems on the cusp of getting up and comforting him. That’s not what Johan—hardcore dom—signed up for. 

Tamlin inhales and heads straight for Johan, but not before grabbing the lube. I’m taking what I want from this relationship, he reminds himself, an echo of the words he’d spoken to Lucien earlier that day. He’s been given control, perhaps for the last time until they define their terms, and he decides to make the best of it. His approach has Johan uncrossing his legs, readying Tamlin’s seat for him. From this close, Tamlin can see the bulge in those dark designer trousers. From this close, there is nowhere for either of them to hide.

He straddles Johan, sitting in his lap and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Tamlin leans in, stealing a kiss to help with his nerves. The gnawing, frayed and numbing feeling is replaced with butterflies, fluttering about in the pit of his belly. Much better. Johan tastes of whiskey, faint notes of caramel coming to mind. Tamlin hums, and Johan’s cock responds by growing harder. It gives Tamin even more confidence, kissing Johan more firmly and grinding their hips together. For every demand, Tamlin can feel the way Johan responds beneath him and Johan isn’t even touching him back. The day that he does reciprocate, Tamlin knows that he will be at Johan’s mercy, but now, he’s having far too much fun with this.

Tamlin sets the lube on the windowsill and he plucks Johan’s drink out of his hand. He tips the whiskey into his mouth.

“I thought you didn’t dr—”

Johan isn’t given the chance to answer because Tamlin presses his lips against his, feeding him his drink. The heat of the alcohol is nothing compared to the desire burning brightly between them. Droplets spill from the corner of Johan’s lips, but Tamlin is quick to catch them with his tongue. He sucks at the stubble on Johan’s neck, considering the consequences of leaving little marks there. A thought for another day.

Button by button, Tamlin reveals Johan’s tanned chest. The hairs there are perfectly trimmed, and it amuses Tamlin. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he isn’t surprised by how well Johan takes care of himself. He pulls Johan’s shirt open, untucking it from his trousers, and then, he just touches him. Tamlin runs his calloused fingers across Johan’s muscular chest with open fascination, cupping his pectorals and thumbing his nipples. He glances at Johan who watches him with bright amusement in his eyes.

“What?” The older man asks.

“Nothing. You said I could do whatever I want.” Tamlin hums, tracing his finger across Johan’s heart.

“I did.”

“So, I’m doing whatever I want.”

Johan has no complaints, he just tips his head up, watching him. He sticks to his promise of not touching Tamlin. His resolve leaves Tamlin wondering if Johan is even human. The sights of Johan coming undone are minimal. Little exhales here and there, the darkening of his icy blue eyes and the way he tenses when Tamlin touches a particularly sensitive spot. Johan barely writhes beneath him, just a gentle shifting beneath him, as Tamlin runs his palm over the defined musculature of his abs. He works out, Tamlin notes, as if it’s the first time he’s made that quiet remark. 

Fingers wander lower towards Johan’s pants, and Tamlin can’t help the direction of his curiosity.

“Tamlin,” Johan warns, still not moving to touch him.

Right. The show.

Tamlin offers an apologetic smile, sheepish and kisses Johan again. He squirts lube into his hand, arches his back and uses Johan for support by pressing his chest into him. Their faces close, both of them are wonderfully aware of the other’s reactions. Tamlin’s free hand rests on Johan’s shoulder as Tamlin begins penetrating himself properly this time. First, an index, and once his body adapts to the intrusion, his middle finger follows. He makes a show of it, rolling his hips and rubbing the tip of his dribbling cock across those perfect abs, leaving them glistening.

“I thought you didn’t like finger fucking yourself,” Johan says. His pupils have blown with desire, and if he couldn’t take his eyes off Tamlin before, he sure as hell can’t do it now.

“I’m pretending it’s you,” Tamlin answers breathily.

Johan inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. There. I’ve got him.

His hand slips from the back of Johan’s chair to cup his cheek, fingers resting on the curve of his neck as he fucks back into his own touch. Tamlin’s face twists in ecstasy, soft moans slipping from his lips. He can feel himself, tight and warm around his penetrating digits. It’s lewd, perverted and so good.

“You could fuck me if you want. I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me,” Tamlin whispers, low and breathy. “Please, sir.”

Johan’s fingers twitch at his side, nearly moving to touch him, but the gesture is abandoned and Tamlin whimpers.

“No.”

“Please.”

“If you think this is begging, you are sorely mistaken.” Johan flashes Tamlin a private smirk.

His refusal only makes Tamlin want to try everything he can think of—from pouting to trying to get Johan off, but every time he reaches for Johan’s erection, he’s rewarded with an annoyed click of his tongue. He’s so close and yet so far from getting what he wants, which is all of Johan inside of him. Tamlin loses focus, alternating between fingering himself, unable to find that right angle, and jerking himself off. Desperation sets in, and he becomes more frantic.

“Johan. Johan.”

Johan tips his chin up, listening to every plea leaving Tamlin’s lips. The wet sounds of Tamlin working himself open, his muted whimpers and moans fill the room. It’s a damn symphony.

“Help me, master. My master,” Tamlin whines.

The sound that leaves Tamlin’s lips is loud ; he’s caught off guard by the way Johan picks him up, like he weighs nothing despite being bigger than Johan. Tamlin is tossed on the bed, hard enough to bounce. He blinks, looking up at Johan as he unbuttons his pants and pulls his cock out. God, oh, gods, the sight of it makes Tamlin groan. It’s happening, finally happening. Tamlin can’t help himself, pulling his knees to his chest and spreading his cheeks for Johan to see what he has to offer.

“No.” Johan clips, serious as ever. His eyes blaze bright with determination. He grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes a generous amount on his cock and Tamlin’s. “Squeeze your thighs together.”

‘What the fuck’ is the only thought Tamlin can manage as Johan helps him along, squeezing Tamlin’s muscular thighs around his erection. Johan kneels on the bed so that his cock rests above Tamlin’s.

 Just the feel of him—Johan’s touch on his knee, the heat of him squeezed between his legs and the weight of his cock on his own—is enough to make Tamlin writhe with anticipation. And then, Johan moves. Tamlin thought he wanted Johan inside him. He thought he wanted to get fucked hard and proper, but this is unlike anything he’s ever imagined. It’s so—it’s so improper. Johan withdraws and Tamlin’s fingers curl into the sheet.

“Jerk us off,” Johan orders. 

“Wh.. Wh— ah! ”

Smack. His hand collides with Tamlin’s ass when Tamlin takes a little too long. Tamlin wraps both hands around their cocks, squeezing them together and crying out. The intimacy gets to him, driving arousal into madness. He wants, wants, wants John and anything he deems Tamlin worthy of. Tamlin moves his hips, trying to find more friction while keeping his legs together and giving Johan the pleasure he deserves.

“Does—Do I feel good, sir? Do you like fucking me?”

“My pretty baby is talkative, isn’t he? This isn’t fucking, darling. I’m just sampling the offer,” Johan grins wolfishly and starts fucking Tamlin harder. He fucks as roughly, or as slowly, as he needs to to draw out Tamlin’s orgasm, but he won’t give it to him unless Tamlin starts begging properly.

“I need—I need —please, ah, Johan.”

“What do you need?”

“Y-You!”

“You have me. What exactly do you want?”

“C-Cum.”

“What about it?” Johan flashes a brief, mischievous smile. He’s already told Tamlin that he can get himself off however he wants. What is the problem?

“P-Permission. Please, I n-need—”

There it is. The moment where it all clicks. No thoughts clutter Tamlin’s mind anymore; all he wants is to give himself completely to Johan. Tamlin entrusts his mind, his body and his pleasure to this man to do with it as he pleases. Johan has been so good to him, and even here, he goes at Tamlin’s speed. 

“Do you deserve it? Teasing me all day? Making it hard for me to focus? I should make you wait until our next date.”

“No, no, no!”

Johan touches Tamlin’s cheek, his chin and his lip. “Shhh, shh, you’ll take what I give you.” He slips his thumb into Tamlin’s mouth and puts more weight onto the younger man. Johan pounds into the tight fit of his thighs until Tamlin is whimpering and sobbing his name. “ Good boy. Come. Now.”

Tamlin’s orgasm hits him so hard, he sees stars in the back of his eyes. It’s a pleasure unlike anything he’s ever felt before—limp, wet and boneless.