Two years ago, right after Michael got out of the Army, he’d saved Andy’s life. Devon Soto had come to Syracuse for one glorious month, and for one magical weekend Andy thought he’d finally found the armor clad knight of his shiny gay-boy dreams. Andy bit the inside of his cheek hard. Devon had rolled out of his bed on the evening of the third day, smacked Andy lightly on the ass and grinned easily.
“I’ll miss this sweet ass. Maybe we can hook up again next time I’m in town.”
Andy had frozen. By the time his brain and tongue thawed enough to form words and sentences, Devon was half-way back to Germany. Then Andy had found FetLife and a man who called himself a Dom. His name was Patrick Schwartz, and he promised to take away all of the tiring decisions. Andy knew what he liked. Sometimes, though, being in charge of everything was exhausting. He just wanted someone else to decide. He wanted to be free to feel.
Patrick wanted to be free to do whatever he wanted. He told Andy that was how it worked. Nobody said any different, not that Andy knew of anyone he would have told about his latest crackbrained idea. Well, except Michael. He left Michael a message, knowing he wouldn’t pick it up until sometime late the next day. Michael worked a double, came home, slept, rolled out of bed, went back to work, and listened to the message two days later.
When he got to Patrick’s house, Andy was locked in a cage in the basement. Naked except for a butt plug designed to look like a dog’s tail in his ass and a ball gag in his mouth. The plug was held in place by a padlocked harness around Andy’s waist and the ball gag likewise secured with the tiniest padlock Michael had ever seen. Even if Andy’s hand’s had been free—which they weren’t—Michael didn’t see how he’d have been able to get out of the bondage gear without the keys to those locks.
Patrick had already fucked his “new puppy” twice, with enthusiastic co-operation from Andy the first time, and slightly irritated permission the second, before Andy realized Patrick played this game by rules Andy didn’t understand enough to agree to when he was signing up to play. The ball gag happened after the first time they fucked, when Andy thought the tail was a bit much and complained. Patrick said puppies couldn’t speak without permission, not to say no, and they didn’t have safe words. That would just be stupid, because, of course a dog wouldn’t be able to say no. They wouldn’t want to, because puppies loved their masters. They only wanted to please them.
Andy thought saying yes to being a puppy meant that later, when they knew each other better, they’d fuck doggie style exclusively, and he’d always catch. He usually preferred to bottom anyway, so that part was no hardship. He certainly didn’t understand that to Patrick that meant he’d given away all rights, effective immediately.
Okay, so Michael didn’t literally save his life—but he saved Andy none-the-less. Michael had kicked in the thick wooden door to Patrick Schwartz’s house a few hours after he got off work that night, almost immediately after he got the message. He’d been like an avenging angel; his eyes alight with green and amber sparks of rage burning in their dark blue depths. Andy had almost expected Michael to whip a sword out of some imaginary sheath and proclaim in a thunderous voice that he was there to judge Patrick for the sins he’d committed against Andy. He may have attended one too many church services with an overzealous minister.
At any rate, the two things Andy remembered most clearly from that day were the sound the door made as the wood around the lock splintered, and how gently Michael had carried him. He’d had to carry Andy out, because by then walking wasn’t an option. In between the door breaking and the carrying Andy could only recall a series of wet thudding sounds, and Michael saying—no, shouting—about how Patrick was a fucking idiot and how any Dom worth the title would never let a sub sign a contract until the sub understood precisely what they were signing up for. Michael unlocked the cage, but before he could pull Andy out Patrick got back up, and tried to stop him. Michael turned around and started beating the holy hell out of Patrick. Andy had tried to crawl out of the cage and stand up at that point. He’d wanted to reassure Michael, but his legs hadn’t worked well enough to hold him up. Then they’d been out of the house, and Andy hadn’t cared anymore as long as he never had to see Patrick or his damned basement/kennel again.
The Nova swerved into the oncoming lane. Andy reached up to touch his scarred cheek, a bittersweet smile curving his full mouth as he corrected the car’s trajectory with his free hand. Michael started to rumble something at him. Andy cut him off. His words ricocheted around the inside of the inside of the car like tiny bits of emotional shrapnel.
“Patrick hurt me on purpose you know. But Adrien did more damage in one moment than that bastard did in two whole days. Sometimes I wish I could hate him, almost as much as I wish I could hate you.”
Michael’s big hand covered Andy’s leg from just above his knee to mid-thigh. He squeezed once, the pressure hard enough to almost hurt. Andy took his eyes from the road for a split second, just long enough to give Michael as acid filled look. Michael laughed at him, his hand flexing one more time before he lifted it to set it harmlessly back in his own lap. Without taking his eyes from the road this time, Andy reached across the seat between them to smack his hand into Michael as hard as he could. He got a cheap thrill from the pained grunt the big guy gave.
“Geez, Andy, I might want the equipment in working order later, did you ever think of that?”
The smile grew until it felt as though it would take over the whole lower half of his face. Michael grunted, and then that big hand fell on Andy’s leg again. This time Michael didn’t squeeze. Instead he simply rested his hand there, letting the warmth seep through Andy’s charcoal grey pants. Without conscious thought, Andy’s hand released the still cold plastic of the steering wheel. He didn’t manage to connect with any piece of Michael though. His hand was captured in the same gentle, inexorable hold Michael always used with him. Andy wrinkled his nose. Then he pulled his hand to his own mouth and nipped the edge of one of Michael’s fingers.
“You don’t want to start that so far from home, Andy. I have no problem paddling your ass right here on the side of the road and then fucking you until you can’t walk straight for a week.”
As Michael spoke this time, his voice dropping into a gritty, whiskey-tinged growl, Andy could almost feel a slow burn starting in his ass and spreading out to linger low in his gut. He squirmed a little, pressing his lips together in a thoughtful line before he replied.
“Ha. As if you would. I know you’d never take it that far Michael. You know I like getting spanked. I know you like to have sex with girls. I don’t know why you say such outrageous things. You don’t mean them.”
Michael didn’t answer.
Andy ground his teeth together. He would give almost anything to push the Dumkopf to the place where he lost control. However, he really would prefer to do so in close range of his big comfy king-sized bed. Also, he wanted to make sure, like he always did now, that the person he was contemplating playing with was on the same page as him. No could mean yes… but Teapot meant stop everything right now… Andy had learned his lesson. He didn’t play unless everyone agreed to the same rules beforehand.
Michael watched as Andy withdrew without moving a single inch from where he was sitting. The snow that had been falling earlier turned to a cold rain, and the windows of the old Nova began to steam up. Andy’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel again, and Michael cast about in his mind for something to say that would take away the tight set at the corner of Andy’s mouth, and erase the droopiness of his shoulders. His internal screen stayed blindingly white however. After several minutes of stealing glances at Andy only served to make his gut clench with the desire to muss Andy’s chic perfection up a bit, Michael settled for grunting and reaching over to turn on the radio. He’d put a new one in last week, but he wasn’t sure if Andy even realized that there was now the possibility of music when he was commuting. Grasping the ridged outer surface of the volume knob gently, Michael pressed down to turn the radio on. If he remembered correctly he’d left the tuner on—ah, yes. The funky strains of one of his favorite songs by Patrick Fiori came over the speakers. Andy’s head turned quickly to the side and he stared at Michael for long enough that Michael reached out to grasp the steering wheel. He turned to watch the road. Trying to steer from this side of the car was certainly a new one. For the love of—even Adrien never put him in this position.
“Andy? Listen, I know I call you Angel sometimes, but seriously I don’t want you heading in that direction anytime soon, ya know?”
Andy simultaneously smacked his hand away and turned back to look at the road again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like there was anyone coming. Geez, Michael, you are the biggest drama queen of the bunch.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Andy laughed. His whole face lit up from within as the sounds rippled forth from his chest. The light tenor of his voice filled the space between them with some glittering thing that Michael was hard pressed to find a name for. Instead, he watched with wonder flowering in his belly like the slow blooming warmth of a good brandy. The scent of Andy’s cologne increased, and sure enough a few seconds afterwards his face flushed brightly red. Michael reached back across the space between them to trace the edge of Andy’s new haircut.
“Never mind. Just tell me why you cut it?”
Andy somehow managed an even brighter shade of red, and ducked his chin toward his chest. “I—it was getting stuck to the stitches. I worried that it would get infected, and I thought—”
Understanding hit Michael like a fist to the gut. Somewhere along the line, Andy had gotten the notion that his only contribution to any relationship lay in either his looks or in his ability to take a beating without complaint. His stomach roiled, and bile rose up his throat in a hot and sour tide. For fuck’s sake, he bet Andy had been religious about keeping the cut clean. It wasn’t long, maybe an inch and a half to two inches from one end to the other. Though the thin pink line meandered a bit, there was no puckering… the overall effect was to make Andy appear a little rakish, and only enhanced his stunning good looks. But Andy worried. The blush and downturned head told that story loud and clear.
“Oh. If the cut got infected, you’d have a really bad scar there, huh?”
Andy flicked a quick glance over toward Michael, his eyes turning away from the road for the barest moment before he looked ahead again. His mouth tightened back down into the same unhappy line as before, and Michael’s lungs suddenly felt empty of air. He pasted a sickly feeling grin across his mouth and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at the injustice of what had happened. A strained silence fell between them, with Andy focusing with patently false intensity on the road, and Michael clandestinely watching Andy. The one thought that kept echoing around in his mind was this simple and profound. Would his timing with Andy always suck this badly?
Half an hour later the same faintly bitter silence still filled the car. Michael was fairly certain there must be an elephant sitting on his chest. He couldn’t get a full breath, and every time he thought about the stupid thing he’d said, he wanted to kick his own ass. If he’d been this stupid in the desert none of them would have come back, not even with the amazing shit Sergeant Soto had pulled out of nowhere more than once to save them all. Michael would swear that more than once there’d been no warning, no way of knowing that shit was about to go sideways and still the Sergeant had kept everyone in the squad alive long enough to make it back. Well, at least to make it back in body. Michael wasn’t sure that Dieterman had actually made it all the way back from the sands. They’d kept him from being blown to hell and gone the day he probably was supposed to die, but something had broken in Raymond Dieterman that day. Michael was glad he was finally going to be getting some help, even if it meant coming here to Syracuse to go into a treatment program.
Andy turned the Nova into his driveway, and started to reach for the ignition to shut the car off. Michael caught his wrist in a loose grip. Crap, he’d forgotten to tell Andy about the garage door opener.
“I put an automatic opener in for you. So you wouldn’t have to leave your car out in the snow all the time.”
Andy’s mouth pinched into an even thinner line, but then he just shook his head, a reluctant seeming smile finally curving the sulky corners of his mouth upward. He turned and leaned back against the driver’s side door.
“And just when did you break and enter my home to put this automatic garage door opener in?”
Michael just laughed.
“Are you gonna press charges, babe?”
Andy snorted.
“What the hell would I say, Michael? Help, my stalker is fixing up my house and rebuilding my car from the ground up?”
Michael shook his head. “Stalker? Really, Andy?”
Andy arched a sleek blond eyebrow at him, and Michael’s pulse took up a ragged rhythm. He gave a close-lipped smile and waited. Sure enough, within seconds, Andy cracked. His sapphire blue eyes grew brighter, their color morphing from sapphire in the sun to the blue heart of an acetylene torch’s flame. He snorted, and then lifted the hand he still had resting on the steering wheel and raked it through the longer hair at the top of his head.
“Right. And that would fly so well in the ever progressive courts of greater Syracuse… I’d be lucky if they didn’t arrest me for wasting their time.”
Michael’s mind jumped to a vision of Andy in a pair of shining silver colored handcuffs and nothing else. Higher thought became a distant memory as blood pooled in his groin.
“Andy?”
Andy’s eyes opened wider than Michael had ever seen them before. What in the—okay, maybe the low growl in his voice warranted a bit of wide-eyed wonder. He lifted his hand, cupping Andy’s cheek. The palm of his hand tingled as he touched still raw skin outlined in smooth pinpoints where the stitches had been.
“Unless you want me to give your neighbors one hell of a display, reach into your center console and get the remote I put there last week along with the note explaining what I did to the garage. Then open the door, drive your car in and shut it off. Get out of the car, and get your beautiful ass into the house just as fast as you can. Do not stop in the kitchen for a snack. Do not sit down on your lovely blue leather sofa. Go straight to your bedroom. Take your clothes off, kneel on the bed and start stretching that tight little pucker for me. Remember to get the lube and condoms out before you get on the bed. Once you’re on the bed I want your head down, your ass up, and by the time I make it to the bedroom, you’d better have at least three of those skinny fingers in your ass to the first knuckle. Am I clear?”
Andy’s mouth dropped open in a perfect circle of astonishment. He blinked at Michael for four or five long seconds. He slid back into position to drive without saying a word. Reaching for the latch of the center console without looking, he fumbled once before managing to open the compartment. Andy’s hand shook slightly as he extracted the promised remote. The lid of the console fell slowly downward, shutting with a crisp clicking noise. Andy made a little breathy noise at the back of his throat, pointing the remote toward his garage and depressing the light grey button on the surface. The door rumbled upward with a smooth motion, which Michael noted absently. A small furl of pride uncoiled in his chest.
Andy made that little noise again, and Michael fought back a wash of lust burning through his veins like rivers of lava. He wanted Andy to make that sound when he was naked and wanting. Michael’s nostrils flared as he struggled for breath in the suddenly humid seeming interior of the vehicle. The Nova eased forward, and then rolled to a whispering stop. Andy turned to him.
“Where do I point –”
He held the remote up, lifting his eyebrows up and wrinkling his forehead. Michael plucked the device from his hands pointing it back and up as he did so. He unbuckled his safety belt, leaning forward and taking hold of the handle of the driver’s side door. Andy’s pupils dilated until there was only a thin ring of blue showing in his eyes, and the sound of his breath grew loud and choppy. Michael grinned.
“Get out of that seat, Andy, and do what I told you to do. Now.”
Andy made the tiny breath catching sound again, and Michael leaned a fraction farther to taste his favorite flavor again. He palmed Andy’s jaw, applying gentle downward pressure with his thumbs before sliding one hand around to grasp the back of Andy’s neck. Again and again his fingers stroked over the close cropped hair he found there. The combination of almost prickly and silky soft was addicting. Michael wanted to put his mouth there, but held back. Once he put his mouth on that spot nothing would stop his taking Andy right where they were. He needed to wait until they had supplies on hand, and give Andy the time to prepare himself. Growling again, he tore his mouth away from Andy’s jaw.
“Now. Get inside now, Andy.”
Andy whimpered, but obeyed.