Brandon gently freed the keys from Frank’s hand and unlocked the door. They slipped into the office, and Frank rolled some tension out of his shoulders as Brandon shut the door.
“So.” Brandon tossed the keys onto Frank’s desk, and then faced him. Smirking, he folded his arms across that tight black tee. “You’ve got me for as long as it takes for me to earn two hundred quid.” That eyebrow rose, as did one corner of his mouth. “Question is, are you paying for Brandon or Stefan?”
“That depends.” Frank moistened his lips. “What’s the difference?” He folded his arms too, hoping he didn’t look like he couldn’t form a coherent thought, because he was getting damn close to that point. “Is Stefan what I’ve seen out on the paintball field?”
Brandon shrugged. “A little of both, I guess. Though I tend to think that’s the horny soldier living out some battlefield fantasies.”
Oh. Fuck.
Frank shifted his weight to hide a shiver. “Then I guess I’ve never had Stefan, have I?”
“No. You haven’t.” Brandon’s Cheshire cat grin weakened Frank’s knees. “Think you can handle him?”
Frank licked his lips again. “Lock the door. I want to find out.”
This time, it was Brandon who shivered, and Frank couldn’t help a triumphant little grin of his own as Brandon felt around blindly behind himself for the door lock.
“Do you want me to handle that?”
“Watch it.” Brandon arched that eyebrow once again, and he was instantly one hundred per cent Stefan. The door lock clicked. “Because Stefan doesn’t play quite as nicely as Brandon.”
Frank gulped. “Good. I’m counting on that.”
“Figured as much.” Stefan stepped closer, and all the oxygen between the two of them seemed to scatter, getting as far from Frank as possible and leaving nothing behind for him to breathe. “Get on your knees.”
Without breaking eye contact, Frank knelt, the movement perhaps slower than Stefan would have liked, but he didn’t say anything. Knees a few inches from Stefan’s combat boots, Frank realised how ironic this position was: the employer in his own office kneeling before the employee. Oh, but it made sense to kneel in front of this particular lover, whether the face looking down at him was Brandon’s, Stefan’s, or some spine-tingling mix of the two.
Above all, he didn’t trust anybody else to do this, apart from Geoff or Mike if the mood was right. He’d never done it with a rentboy, least of all one of his own. And besides, of all the rentboys who’d come and gone, only Nick would possibly have been able to handle him, though Nick’s brand of domination was different. Stefan’s seemed more hands-on, using the assets he had: sheer power and size. Geoff, on the other hand, phrased orders as suggestions, never raising his voice, gently coaxing him where he wanted him to go.
“Safeword?”
“Same. From the game.”
Stefan nodded and pushed closer, planting one foot firmly between Frank’s knees. “Taken in battle and now you’re mine.”
Frank shuddered and closed his eyes. He could work with that. Wanted it. From the thought of fucking Stefan to accepting anything the man would give him in maybe three minutes flat.
Stefan slipped something over Frank’s eyes and fastened it at the back of his head. Not a bag like soldiers used in war zones, something less substantial, and Frank was damn glad for it. A bag would have kept him from giving a blowjob, for example.
“Lift your hands.”
The order was spoken with enough force that Frank couldn’t even gather a moment’s resistance. Up his hands went, palms touching, and something hard and narrow whispered around them, then tightened with a characteristic plastic sound. Zip restraints. Not coming off for anything short of a knife or a pair of scissors.
Frank pushed against them, but they only bit into his skin, decidedly uncomfortable, much more so than any bondage restraints Frank had ever used, and definitely tight enough to make this feel real. The restraints kept his focus on his hands, the blindfold isolated him from his surroundings; this was now a no-space, no longer his office. Nothing at all to distract him.
“Prisoner.” Stefan’s cold, decisive tone nearly curled Frank’s toes. How did he sound so businesslike and so goddamned hot? “You’re my prisoner.”
“Yes.” Frank was out of breath suddenly. “Your prisoner.”
A finger trailed up the centre of Frank’s back, the touch warm but dull through his shirt.
“So that means you’re at my mercy.” Stefan’s voice had that combination of amused and cold that added up to the sound of delicious sadism. “Anything I want you to do, you’ll do, won’t you?”
Frank nodded.
Stefan’s hand rested on Frank’s shoulder. He pulled slightly, just enough to scramble Frank’s equilibrium. With his hands bound and eyes covered, any shift in his centre of gravity sent panic through him, but Stefan didn’t pull him so far that he actually lost his balance. He held him right at that edge, teetering between solid ground and the terror of falling.
“Do you trust me?” That voice was less sadistic and more Brandon.