the elephant is in the pyjamas of the lyrical I (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} battleofhydaspe) wrote,@ 2008-08-25 12:40:00 |
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echo, echo (i know it's a sin to kiss and swallow)
(Tom/Sean, 5600 words, nc-17)
Tom is a fetish photographer. (It’s actually not as hardcore as you might think, I promise.)
I feel like I should stick in a warning for mild bondage, though. Huh.
Dear Tom and Sean, please don't read. Dear Ryan, yes, you too.
Many thanks todarksylvia for looking this over.
Tom’s first encounter with Sean van Vleet is a little unfortunate. Because Tom? He has Sean’s friend, Ryan, hanging three feet over the floor, tied to a beam in Tom’s studio by his wrists.
Well.
Tom isn’t generally too fond of people disturbing him while he works but Ryan gave him a head–ups that his friend was going to pick him up so Tom doesn’t throw a tantrum. Instead he gestures Sean in and finishes the roll of film.
He ignores Sean for the most part, or at least tries to. It’s not like the guy is particularly disturbing in the way he’s standing by the wall – there’s at least ten feet separating them, there’s plenty of space; abandoned magazines are kind of valued for that particular feature – and he’s completely quiet, so.
He focuses his attention on Ryan instead, on the way his muscles strain from the way his wrists basically hold his entire body weight, no support whatsover. He’s been hanging like that for no more than ten minutes but if he says anything – anything – Tom’s getting him down; he’s not too big on actually hurting people, doing damage that might be permanent, no. He just needs a perfect shot out of it, a flicker of pain captured on film; nothing more.
Ryan doesn’t say a word. But then, he rarely does.
Tom takes picture after picture, white skin black rope, until he hears the dry click of a finished roll. Sean is still standing by the wall, leaning against it with one arm, and Tom gestures him over. If he’s here already, he may as well be useful.
Tom unties the knot, trying to do it as fast as possible – which isn’t simple; the rope has been pulled taut and the knot fastened – and they ease Ryan down, holding him at both sides. Now, when the pressure is gone, Ryan probably feels the most annoying kind of pain, and he winces.
“Fuck,” he hisses, letting Sean pull loose the loops and remove them from his wrists. Tom still has his camera hanging from his neck so he takes a shot. Sean frowns up at him.
“He’s done it before, you know.” Tom says, rising an eyebrow at Sean while he fusses over Ryan.
“He has two younger sisters. Let him,” Ryan laughs, rubbing his wrists. He flops down on the floor, flexes his fingers, stretches his arms. “It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow. I hope the shots were worth it, Tommy.”
Tom wants to say Yeah, me too, but he can’t, not after Ryan’s hung there for at least ten minutes, just like that, no. Besides, he’s worked with him before and fuck if the pictures weren’t worth whatever pain Ryan’s had to go through.
So Tom says, “Oh, they were. Don’t worry about it,” and shoots Ryan what could pass as a leer.
Ryan laughs and gets up from the floor to go find his shirt.
“Hey,” he says from the other side of the room, “We were going to go and grab some beer. Wanna come with?”
Sean isn’t exactly glaring at him but he doesn’t look overly friendly either.
“Sure,” Tom shrugs.
They do four rounds of vodka shots, and then wash it down with a few beers. Sean appears to be a lot more friendly when they’re all drunk.
Developing pictures while hungover has its bright sides, turns out. There’s no offensive light, for starters. And even when Tom’s head is pounding like a motherfucker, he doesn’t need to deal with people. It’s just him, the dim, red light and a soft slosh of developers in their containers.
Tom’s used two rolls of film on the yesterday’s shoot; he picks out two pictures. One of them is Ryan with his wrists bound tight over his head, taut line of rope a perfect extension of his body, head bent slightly but eyes sharp and focused and challenging. There’s a sliver of a beam just at the very top of the frame, two ends of rope slung over it, meeting just a few inches above Ryan’s hands. The space behind him is almost empty; just three half–corroded poles, mostly out of focus, and the speckled expanse of the opposite wall.
The other picture is of Ryan and Sean with his fingers over the angry, red lines on Ryan’s wrists. There’s just a glimpse of the side of his head, hair messy and falling into his eyes, and his hands, looped gently over Ryan’s wrists.
Now Tom just needs Sean’s consent. Which, he supposes, might be a bit of a problem.
He has the opportunity a week later when the three of them are at a bar getting drunk, again. How that happened, Tom has no idea. Maybe it’s because Ryan lives two blocks away and has too much free time on his hands, and because Tom is not so much better in this department. Sean either, apparently.
“So,” Tom says, takes a swig of his beer. He means to say, Can I use that photo of you and Ryan, that one, you know, maybe back it up with the most charming smile he can muster – and that’s an effort, okay, because Tom doesn’t smile too often – and. What he says instead is, “How about you model for me?”
“I, uh,” Sean mutters over the mouthpiece of his bottle; the music is so loud Tom needs to lean in a little in order to hear him at all. “You mean, like, a normal photo shoot or one of those photo shoots?”
“One of, as you put it, ‘those’,” Tom says, cringing mentally. The beer is bitter at the back of his tongue.
Sean takes his time to answer. He takes another sip of his beer, nods at someone who says hi as they pass by their table, raising a hand to let Ryan know where they are when he weaves his way through the crowd with another set of bottles.
“Yeah, okay,” he says just before Ryan sets the bottles on the table and slides onto the chair with a grin on his face.
“Guess who I just met,” Ryan says, enthusiastic, and Tom’s a little – surprised, maybe; surprised a lot. He looks over at Sean but he’s leaning over the table to listen to Ryan. They burst out laughing and Tom has no idea what’s going on, but he doesn’t care much, either.
It’s a little awkward at first. It’s nothing Tom couldn’t have anticipated, though.
“How do you want me?” Sean asks, standing a bit awkwardly in the middle of Tom’s studio, hands hanging losely down his sides. “Should I get undressed?”
“Just shirt and shoes is fine. I don’t do nudes,” Tom says absently while adjusting the lights.
Sean looks at him quizically. “Why? I mean, isn’t it what it’s all about?”
“Oh, dude. You’ve been in the dark.”
Sean laughs just as he pops the last button of his shirt free. He has a blue Grey Goose t–shirt under and Tom smirks at him, “Nice shirt.”
“Thanks. Oh, shut up.”
Tom laughs and moves the last halogen where he needs it. “Fetish photography is not necessarily what people think it is,” he says, “I mean, it is, for the most part, so you were probably perfectly legitimate to think that, but, you know, there’s also the less hardcore stuff. Like, say, what I did with Ryan. This goes, too,” he adds, pointing at Sean’s t–shirt.
“Yeah, sure,” Sean agrees and pulls it over his head. “I thought it was maybe, like, a one–time sort of thing.”
“Fetish photography is thin ice to walk on, you know, it’s a thing that not a lot of people are into, I guess,” Tom says and walks over to the stand where he’s set his camera. He puts new film in the Nikon and continues, “I don’t need my pictures to be bordering on pornography. I mean, a lot of photographers do that but it’s not my thing. I want my pictures to speak for themselves and not get the attention because they’re, like, hardcore or blasphemus or whatever,” he accentuates it with the click of the clasp of the film compartment. “I don’t know if they do, but at least I’m trying.”
“Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from. So –- What now?”
Tom gestures Sean towards the spot in the center of where he’s set the lights. He doesn’t ask why Sean had agreed to model for him even if he thought it’s going to be some hardcore stuff. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe –- Whatever.
“I’m gonna tie you up, okay?” Tom asks as he approaches Sean with a string. It’s thin, not at all like what he had used for Ryan. It’ll sink deep into the flesh. “Sit down.”
Sean does, legs drawn underneath himself, and holds out his hands, wrists clasped together. Tom crouches in front of him, camera banging against his knee in the process.
Tom wraps the string carefully, coil after coil, and ties a knot. He has it perfected by now – a secure knot that looks fancy but is easy to untie at the same time. One of his ex-boy-scout friends taught him all about those.
Tom stands up, takes a few steps back, contemplates.
“Are we gonna do this or what, Conrad?” Sean finally snaps.
“Getting an attitude? Do I need to punish you?” Tom asks, mocking, and Sean cracks up. Tom snaps a picture. It’s not like it goes all that well with the tied up hands or the general concept here but it’s natural and Tom likes it.
The first roll of film is going to be crap, probably, and Tom’s prepared for that; he doesn’t mind. He takes a couple of shots, letting Sean slowly relax into what’s going on. It’s his first time in front of the camera, Tom can tell.
There’s something about Sean that makes Tom think that maybe, maybe he’s made a mistake asking him to do this. It’s not like with Ryan; Ryan is different. Even when he lets Tom tie him up, hurt him in whatever way he pleases at the moment, there’s always that hint of something in him that lets Tom know that no matter what, Ryan does it because he likes it, because this is what he wants. With Sean, Tom’s not so sure.
But then Sean looks up and there’s that something in his eyes that makes Tom think that no, maybe he hasn’t made a mistake, after all.
Tom can tell the exact moment when all this starts to get to Sean. It’s in the line of his shoulders, in his bowed head. The muscles of his back are taut, rippling under the skin with every movement when Tom tells him to get up, kneel, yes, like that, bend over.
He snaps picture after picture, changing angles, height, focus, guiding Sean through it with murmured words.
There’s a line of freckles over Sean’s left shoulder and Tom focuses on that, just a sliver of flesh in the frame, the blur of steel and concrete and dust in the background.
“Hey,” Tom says quietly, “Look at me.”
When Sean does, his eyes are dark, his mouth a little red and swollen from where he’s been subconsciously biting, and it’s only muscle memory that makes Tom actually take the picture.
He’s laughed at people who told him about this happening, of suddenly getting too much, too intense, getting it all. And come on, Tom’s done it before, he knows the mechanics, knows how it works, it shouldn’t happen at all. It’s all in his head, that’s all there is to it. He almost manages to convince himself.
Tom unties Sean, cold fingers over warm skin, but only to tie him up again. He watches as Sean shifts his wrist uncomfortably when Tom binds them together behind a steel pole. He fastens the knot and Sean groans in protest. Tom doesn’t loosen it. Sean doesn’t ask him to.
Sean has his head tilted sideways; he can’t really be watching but Tom knows he can see him move out of the corner of his eye. Tom takes his time, lingering behind Sean’s back, fingers trailing slowly down the loose thread.
“I’ve done this before,” Sean says all of a sudden, chin shifting and sliding down his own shoulder. “I mean, not in front of a camera, but, you know.”
It’s an explanation so Tom just takes it for what it is. “Okay.”
“I was just thinking. If you want to take it further, you can do that.”
There’s a sudden flash in Tom’s head, a string of possibilities that make his fingertips itch and something hot and heavy curl in his belly.
“It’s fine,” he says, taking a step back and wrapping his fingers around the lens.
“Okay,” Sean nods, closes his eyes. His head falls back a little. There’s a splotch of rust a few inches from Sean’s jaw and Tom snaps a picture – the soft curve of Sean’s neck against the steel.
He circles Sean a few time, taking a couple of pictures at different angles. He captures the way Sean’s fingers curl against the metal, the hard line of string cutting the frame in half; the way Sean’s spine arches off from the cold pole, shoulder blades sharp and skin puckering. He wanders off, not saying a word, but Sean doesn’t open his eyes, at least Tom doesn’t think so. He comes back with a folded piece of white silk. When he slides it over Sean’s eyes, Sean just ducks his head, letting Tom do the knot. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t say a word.
The fabric is delicate but it’s not transparent, and the slight line of tension in Sean’s body gives away that he can’t see through it. Tom tries to move as quietly as possible.
Sean twitches when he stands behind him and asks in a low voice, “How do you feel?”
“Cold,” Sean says, laughs a little, “Tight.”
Tom takes a step back and takes a picture half a second after each word. “Anxious.” Click. “Vulnerable.” Click. “Turned on.”
Tom catches the last syllable in the slight quirk of Sean’s lips, snap. Sean laughs, a laugh that just bubbles in his throat and doesn’t really leave it.
“Do you want me to untie you?”
Another almost-laugh, “No, not really.”
“What if I leave you here, like that?”
“Ryan never mentioned you being a crazy psycho murderer guy.”
“Does it mean you trust me?”
“No.”
Tom lets the camera fall down against his chest as he steps closer. Sean hisses when Tom’s cold fingers tug at the top button of his jeans; it gives easily. Then another one, and another. He’s not wearing any underwear.
Tom tugs Sean’s jeans a little, just enough to expose his hip bones, and leaves him like that, goes to change the roll.
Sean can hear him moving around, and Tom knows that. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Sean feels safe, though, and that’s the point. Tom glances at him while placing one end of the film in the clasp, but no, Sean doesn’t move, nothing. He just stands there, hands bound tight behind his back, bare feet on the cold concrete, head bowed and tilted to the side.
Tom snaps the camera shut and takes a picture, Sean just a tiny figure in the middle of the tangle of steel and concrete and flaking paint.
Tom unties his hands, takes his time doing it; he leaves the blindfold on, though. He takes a few shots when Sean works it down himself, silk and skin and hair, head bowed down. He looks up at Tom from under his bangs, and Tom snaps another shot.
“Go ahead.”
He takes a picture for every button Sean does up, seven steps away from him; a picture for every step he takes on his way to where he’s left his shirt and shoes, ten steps behind. One, for when Sean puts his shirt on, one shoulder covered, the other bare and twisted back. Then, the roll ends with a snap.
The spell breaks, they’re back to reality.
When Sean buttons up his shirt, it’s just an everyday activity, nothing more, even though there are still red marks on his wrists.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Sean nods, puts on his shoes, “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t seem too comfortable. It’s not particularly weird, though, not after something like that. It’s like coming down from some sort of a high, when you’re not sure whether what you did during was okay or not. When you’re not even sure what the other person saw in the first place,
“Drop by next week and I’ll show you the pictures,” Tom says, putting the shield on the lens and clicking it closed. He pushes the camera back to hang along his hip, puts his hands in his pockets.
“I work second shift next week but I’ll try. Or, you know, send Ryan or something. If it’s okay, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure. He knows his way around, I don’t mind.”
“Okay then, see you next week, I guess.”
Tom gives a small wave when Sean slides the bars of the elevator down and it slowly comes to life. Sean waves back with a small smile as the elevator goes down.
Sean does end up sending Ryan and Tom is torn between being grateful and a little uneasy.
Ryan hovers when Tom eases the pictures down from their clips and makes a few comments but Tom ignores him for the most part. He’s done more extreme stuff, even with Ryan himself; this is not such a big deal.
“You know what they say about photographs projecting the photographer’s feelings?” Ryan says, waggling his eyebrows. Tom snorts a laugh. Ryan is kind of like a younger brother in the annoying department – if he’s not hanging down from the ceiling half naked, that is.
“Here,” Tom hands him a thick brown envelope. And Ryan is apparently done with stupid comments because he just accepts it and slips it into his bag.
“I have all the evenings free next week so call me if you need me again,” he offers and Tom’s already thinking about what he could do to him this time, what to hang him from, maybe.
“Yeah, I will.”
Sean calls him in the same evening. There’s something odd in his voice when he says he likes the pictures and Tom feels a little awkward until Sean offers to model for him again. Then, he feels – He, well. He feels a little turned on. Which is kind of stupid, right, it’s just.
Well.
Tom calls Sean a few days later to ask if he’s okay with a double shoot and Sean says yeah, why not. Tom brings and old friend of his, Anna, and they do a dominant/submissive shoot that Tom uses three rolls of film on. Anna’s lips are bright red and the heel of her boot digs into the flesh of Sean abdomen in a way that must feel a little scary. Sean doesn’t even flinch, though. Paradoxically, it’s something that tells Tom he’s not nearly as submissive as he lets Tom make him appear.
It takes them an hour and a half to finish those three rolls and Tom can see how it increasingly gets to the both of them. He doesn’t remain unaffected himself, either, but it’s easy to hide behind the camera, behind the words and commands and all the professional aura that comes with it.
He knows that Anna will go home and let her girlfriend fuck her with a strap–on. He knows how strongly all this affects her; he knows because of the way she keeps on biting her lips, eyes glazed and dark. He knows because he’s fucked her a couple of times right there on the cold concrete with the lamps still on, hot and scorching on their skin.
Tom watches them and wonders about Sean. Wonders if there’s someone Sean will go home to and let them fuck him until he shakes and screams and begs.
Tom picks five pictures out of the seventy two he took. The two he likes the most are both with a low focus depth, one of them with Sean on his back, tongue flat against the black leather of Anna’s boot. In the other, they’re both on their knees, Anna behind Sean, both her knees framing his thighs, palm across his chest, nails the same color as her lips. There’s a red, slightly swollen thread that her nails have left on Sean’s skin and Sean’s eyes are closed, teeth bared slightly.
There’s intensity there that evokes something that most definitely isn’t just a professional aestethic appreciation, not just.
Tom needs a few moments to take care of that.
Sean picks up the pictures himself this time. He sits on a rickety chair in Tom’s kitchen and leafs through them wordlessly. Tom’s favorite two are at the very bottom, and he lets Sean take his time before he gets to them. He wanders off to the studio. There’s just a screen separating them and he still can hear Sean if he focuses hard enough. He doesn’t, though, or tries not to. He busies himself with moving the screens and doesn’t hear Sean when he appears in the studio.
He startles when Sean speaks up.
“Do you get off on this?” he asks, fingers trailing down one of the poles. His eyes are trained on Tom, though, but they’re not accusing. It’s just a question and Tom doesn’t think he needs to lie.
“Sometimes,” he says, pushing one of the screen against the wall, “It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it boils down to whether I find the person attractive or not. But mostly it’s about the way they act in front of the camera. You know,” he adds, leaning against the wall near the set of screens, fingers wrapped around the top of one of them. There’s at least ten feet separating him and Sean. “Sometimes I don’t even find someone hot until I’ve developed the pictures. There’s something –-” he trails off, gestures vaguely around. It’s not like no one’s ever asked him before but it’s definitely the most honest he’s been about this. It feels a little weird.
“What about these?” Sean lifts the file of photos. He still has a scratch mark high over his forearm.
“Oh, I didn’t have to wait to develop them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a smile creeping its way slowly into the stretch of Sean’s lips. Tom smiles back.
“You can keep them,” he says after a while, pushing off the wall and walking towards the darkroom, “I made copies for both of you.”
“Oh, thanks. I, um. Am I interrupting or something?”
“I need to develop three sets of pictures but I don’t mind if you come in. If you’re not afraid of the dark, I mean.”
“Ha fucking ha.”
“Come in.”
Tom holds the door when Sean slips into the darkroom after him.
They grab a few beers that are left in Tom’s fridge after Tom’s done with the pictures. They’re all clipped in neat rows across the room, drying slowly. They’re mostly some vanilla shots people paid Tom to take, so there’s not much entertainment with them. Not by Tom’s standards, at least. Sean finds them pretty awesome.
“I’ve never seen this inside out, you know,” he explains as he walks along one of the strings with a beer in his hand. Tom watches him from where he’s perched on a table, bottle between his thighs.
“It gets kind of boring after a while. But it’s better than therapy if you need someplace quiet and calm.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
Tom tells him about how he started with photography, shows him some of his most recent work. Sean talks about his band, about how annoying people at Starbucks can be, and they drink some more beer.
When Sean leaves, Tom is positively drunk enough to walk into one of the poles on his way to bed.
Tom has this old brass bed that he sometimes sleeps in when the mood strikes him, but mostly uses to chain people to and fuck them with his camera. Or at least that’s what one of his models told him once. It made Tom a little uneasy but all in all, it’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?
What he hasn’t expected, is to have the roles reversed.
“You’ve never had this done to you, have you?” Sean asks a few weeks after the drinking incident, circling around said bed. He feels pretty at home here by now and as much it should shake Tom’s my–home–is–my–castle thing, it doesn’t.
“Done what?” Tom asks absently from where he’s coiling up the rope he used for the latest photo shoot. Mark and Amanda and Jill. He can’t wait to get in the darkroom already.
“No one has tied you up and done whatever they pleased to you, have they?”
“What makes you think so?” Tom asks to buy some time. He sets the rope in its place and leans against the headboard of the bed.
“You don’t seem like the type.”
“Yeah, well,” It’s true. Tom’s done a lot of freaky shit to people and then captured it on film, but no one has ever done the same to him. He might’ve thought about it but no one’s ever offered and he didn’t feel like asking. “I mean – ”
He doesn’t finish because there’s a metal ring clasping over his wrist all of a sudden.
“What the – ”
Another click and Tom’s handcuffed to the headboard, just like that. Sean moves to stand in front of him.
“How does it feel?”
“Sean, what the hell are you doing?” Tom struggles, but just a little. He can’t bring himself to fight for real, not with the way the metal digs into his skin. It’s –
“What do you think?” Sean asks after a few seconds of watching Tom, “Move.”
He guides Tom over the headboard, down on the mattress, with a hand to his elbow. Tom follows; he’s not sure why he does.
“Can I?” Sean lifts one of Tom’s cameras up, an old Leica. Tom nods without a word, a little stunned. He slides down the mattress, as far as the handcuffs will let him.
He watches Sean as he studies the camera for a while, trying to figure it out, and then lifts it up to his eye. The shutter goes off and Tom tries to raise his hand, ineffectually.
“Hey, easy,” Sean smiles and snaps another picture. He comes closer, taking a photo every two steps until he kneels on the mattress, both knees at Tom’s sides.
“I’m actually pretty shitty at this,” he admits and sets the camera down on the floor beside the bed.
There’s a moment when Tom’s afraid to take a breath, and then Sean’s fingers tug at the zipper of Tom’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Tom blurts out, which, admittedly, is pretty stupid.
“You’re kind of slow on the uptake,” Sean laughs.
When he tugs at Tom’s pants, Tom doesn’t ask any more questions, just obediently lifts his hips up.
“Good boy,” Sean rewards him with a smile and slides down his body in a motion that might not be entirely smooth but Tom’s not going to complain. Not when Sean’s fingers close around his dick, no way.
Sean strokes him a few times and then leans down, after quickly glancing up. The chain of the handcuffs clinks againt the metal bars when Tom shifts restlessly. Sean laughs around his dick and that’s –
“Fuck.”
“Maybe later,” Sean says and bites Tom’s hipbone. And that’s really. Fuck.
Tom wraps his fingers over the bars, tight. Sean swirls his tongue and Tom bites into his arm.
It’s a little embarrassing, how quick this is. Sean holds his hips when Tom comes and he doesn’t pull back. He slides up and then suddenly his mouth is on Tom’s. He nudges it open with his tongue and there’s a trickle of come sliding onto Tom’s tongue. He follows Sean when he tries to pull back, holds him with his free hand, licks into his mouth. It’s maybe kind of gross but fuck if Tom cares. Sean hums over his tongue and lets himself be held in place. Not for long, though.
“Can I?” he asks and Tom nods, licking his lips. The bed creaks a little when Sean moves upwards until both his knees are at the sides of Tom’s head. Tom tries to reach for him when he unzips his pants and pushes down the underwear, just a little, but Sean won’t let him. “No hands,” he says and Tom obediently wraps his free hand over the wrist of the other one.
Sean’s knuckles brush against Tom’s lips when his dick pushes past them and Tom gags a little even though Sean takes it slow. He relaxes his throat and it’s fine, the heavy weight on his tongue and then further, further.
“Okay?” Sean asks and looks down at Tom. Tom hums something in response.
He lets Sean fuck his mouth even though he’s a little freaked out. He can’t put his hands on Sean’s hips, can’t control him in any way. But Sean takes it slow and easy, doesn’t thrust too deep. He’s got more self–control that Tom would give him credit for.
So Tom lets him.
Sean has his fingers wrapped around the top of the headboard, just a few inches above Tom’s. But Tom’s been told not to move his hands, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t make a move to push Sean away when he thrusts deeper, either, just takes it. He doesn’t push him away when there’s a warm streak trickling straight down his throat, just works his throat over it, and Sean makes a noise, low in his throat, teeth sinking into his lower lip, hard.
He leans back after a while, sits on Tom’s hips. The fabric of his jeans is rough against the sliver of exposed skin between Tom’s shirt and his dick.
Sean looks wrecked, wrecked in the best way possible. His hair is messy, his lips red and swollen, eyes hazed. There’s a slight flush creeping up his neck and Tom thinks, he thinks Fuck it and fumbles around until he reaches the camera. Sean looks straight at him when he takes the picture.
When Sean finally unchains Tom he himself is fully clothed already.
“I’m really tempted to leave you like that, you have no idea,” he says but slips the key into the lock. One of the rings unlocks and slides down the headboard with a loud clink. Sean sit on the edge of the mattress and Tom holds out his still handcuffed hand for him to undo it. “Really, really tempted.”
“You could,” Tom says and stands up to pull up his pants, “But someone needs to develop the pictures.” It’s strange how it doesn’t feel weird at all. Tom is honestly surprised.
“Point,” Sean agrees, but adds after a second, “Or I could take them to a photo lab, you know.”
Tom must look utterly horified because Sean laughs and says, “Or not. Hey, come here,” he adds, tugging on Tom’s wrist.
Tom obediently follows and stands in between Sean’s legs. He watches as Sean rubs his wrist. It’s bruising already but Tom couldn’t really care less.
“How did it feel?” Sean asks, serious now.
Tom takes a moment to answer. “Good. Really fucking good,” he admits with a slow smile.
“I’m free on Wednesday if you want to try out something else,” Sean winks up at Tom and Tom laughs, pretends to ponder.
“Well – ”
When Tom develops the pictures the next day, the last comes out a little out of focus. No wonder, given how he didn’t have a way to set it, not with one hand handcuffed to the bed. It still makes the heat pool in his stomach.
He comes by Sean’s work in the afternoon with a small brown envelope.
“Not work–safe,” he says, sliding it over the counter toward Sean.
Sean takes it, turns it over a few times, puts it back. “Way to make a guy hate his job,” he says.
Sean shows up at Tom’s place at ten past midnight that day, with a pack of beer and a blinding grin.
“I was thinking,” he says, putting the beer into Tom’s fridge as Tom hovers in the doorway. The envelope with Tom’s picture is in Sean’s back pocket and Tom takes a moment to appreciate the view. “You could totally make these into business cards.”
“I need my business cards to be varied, you know,” Tom says when Seans turns around to face him again, one eyebrow lifted.
Sean closes the fridge with his hip, takes a few steps towards Tom, smirks suggestively.
“We can totally work on that.”
(Tom/Sean, 5600 words, nc-17)
Tom is a fetish photographer. (It’s actually not as hardcore as you might think, I promise.)
I feel like I should stick in a warning for mild bondage, though. Huh.
Dear Tom and Sean, please don't read. Dear Ryan, yes, you too.
Many thanks to
darksylvia for looking this over. Tom’s first encounter with Sean van Vleet is a little unfortunate. Because Tom? He has Sean’s friend, Ryan, hanging three feet over the floor, tied to a beam in Tom’s studio by his wrists.
Well.
Tom isn’t generally too fond of people disturbing him while he works but Ryan gave him a head–ups that his friend was going to pick him up so Tom doesn’t throw a tantrum. Instead he gestures Sean in and finishes the roll of film.
He ignores Sean for the most part, or at least tries to. It’s not like the guy is particularly disturbing in the way he’s standing by the wall – there’s at least ten feet separating them, there’s plenty of space; abandoned magazines are kind of valued for that particular feature – and he’s completely quiet, so.
He focuses his attention on Ryan instead, on the way his muscles strain from the way his wrists basically hold his entire body weight, no support whatsover. He’s been hanging like that for no more than ten minutes but if he says anything – anything – Tom’s getting him down; he’s not too big on actually hurting people, doing damage that might be permanent, no. He just needs a perfect shot out of it, a flicker of pain captured on film; nothing more.
Ryan doesn’t say a word. But then, he rarely does.
Tom takes picture after picture, white skin black rope, until he hears the dry click of a finished roll. Sean is still standing by the wall, leaning against it with one arm, and Tom gestures him over. If he’s here already, he may as well be useful.
Tom unties the knot, trying to do it as fast as possible – which isn’t simple; the rope has been pulled taut and the knot fastened – and they ease Ryan down, holding him at both sides. Now, when the pressure is gone, Ryan probably feels the most annoying kind of pain, and he winces.
“Fuck,” he hisses, letting Sean pull loose the loops and remove them from his wrists. Tom still has his camera hanging from his neck so he takes a shot. Sean frowns up at him.
“He’s done it before, you know.” Tom says, rising an eyebrow at Sean while he fusses over Ryan.
“He has two younger sisters. Let him,” Ryan laughs, rubbing his wrists. He flops down on the floor, flexes his fingers, stretches his arms. “It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow. I hope the shots were worth it, Tommy.”
Tom wants to say Yeah, me too, but he can’t, not after Ryan’s hung there for at least ten minutes, just like that, no. Besides, he’s worked with him before and fuck if the pictures weren’t worth whatever pain Ryan’s had to go through.
So Tom says, “Oh, they were. Don’t worry about it,” and shoots Ryan what could pass as a leer.
Ryan laughs and gets up from the floor to go find his shirt.
“Hey,” he says from the other side of the room, “We were going to go and grab some beer. Wanna come with?”
Sean isn’t exactly glaring at him but he doesn’t look overly friendly either.
“Sure,” Tom shrugs.
They do four rounds of vodka shots, and then wash it down with a few beers. Sean appears to be a lot more friendly when they’re all drunk.
Developing pictures while hungover has its bright sides, turns out. There’s no offensive light, for starters. And even when Tom’s head is pounding like a motherfucker, he doesn’t need to deal with people. It’s just him, the dim, red light and a soft slosh of developers in their containers.
Tom’s used two rolls of film on the yesterday’s shoot; he picks out two pictures. One of them is Ryan with his wrists bound tight over his head, taut line of rope a perfect extension of his body, head bent slightly but eyes sharp and focused and challenging. There’s a sliver of a beam just at the very top of the frame, two ends of rope slung over it, meeting just a few inches above Ryan’s hands. The space behind him is almost empty; just three half–corroded poles, mostly out of focus, and the speckled expanse of the opposite wall.
The other picture is of Ryan and Sean with his fingers over the angry, red lines on Ryan’s wrists. There’s just a glimpse of the side of his head, hair messy and falling into his eyes, and his hands, looped gently over Ryan’s wrists.
Now Tom just needs Sean’s consent. Which, he supposes, might be a bit of a problem.
He has the opportunity a week later when the three of them are at a bar getting drunk, again. How that happened, Tom has no idea. Maybe it’s because Ryan lives two blocks away and has too much free time on his hands, and because Tom is not so much better in this department. Sean either, apparently.
“So,” Tom says, takes a swig of his beer. He means to say, Can I use that photo of you and Ryan, that one, you know, maybe back it up with the most charming smile he can muster – and that’s an effort, okay, because Tom doesn’t smile too often – and. What he says instead is, “How about you model for me?”
“I, uh,” Sean mutters over the mouthpiece of his bottle; the music is so loud Tom needs to lean in a little in order to hear him at all. “You mean, like, a normal photo shoot or one of those photo shoots?”
“One of, as you put it, ‘those’,” Tom says, cringing mentally. The beer is bitter at the back of his tongue.
Sean takes his time to answer. He takes another sip of his beer, nods at someone who says hi as they pass by their table, raising a hand to let Ryan know where they are when he weaves his way through the crowd with another set of bottles.
“Yeah, okay,” he says just before Ryan sets the bottles on the table and slides onto the chair with a grin on his face.
“Guess who I just met,” Ryan says, enthusiastic, and Tom’s a little – surprised, maybe; surprised a lot. He looks over at Sean but he’s leaning over the table to listen to Ryan. They burst out laughing and Tom has no idea what’s going on, but he doesn’t care much, either.
It’s a little awkward at first. It’s nothing Tom couldn’t have anticipated, though.
“How do you want me?” Sean asks, standing a bit awkwardly in the middle of Tom’s studio, hands hanging losely down his sides. “Should I get undressed?”
“Just shirt and shoes is fine. I don’t do nudes,” Tom says absently while adjusting the lights.
Sean looks at him quizically. “Why? I mean, isn’t it what it’s all about?”
“Oh, dude. You’ve been in the dark.”
Sean laughs just as he pops the last button of his shirt free. He has a blue Grey Goose t–shirt under and Tom smirks at him, “Nice shirt.”
“Thanks. Oh, shut up.”
Tom laughs and moves the last halogen where he needs it. “Fetish photography is not necessarily what people think it is,” he says, “I mean, it is, for the most part, so you were probably perfectly legitimate to think that, but, you know, there’s also the less hardcore stuff. Like, say, what I did with Ryan. This goes, too,” he adds, pointing at Sean’s t–shirt.
“Yeah, sure,” Sean agrees and pulls it over his head. “I thought it was maybe, like, a one–time sort of thing.”
“Fetish photography is thin ice to walk on, you know, it’s a thing that not a lot of people are into, I guess,” Tom says and walks over to the stand where he’s set his camera. He puts new film in the Nikon and continues, “I don’t need my pictures to be bordering on pornography. I mean, a lot of photographers do that but it’s not my thing. I want my pictures to speak for themselves and not get the attention because they’re, like, hardcore or blasphemus or whatever,” he accentuates it with the click of the clasp of the film compartment. “I don’t know if they do, but at least I’m trying.”
“Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from. So –- What now?”
Tom gestures Sean towards the spot in the center of where he’s set the lights. He doesn’t ask why Sean had agreed to model for him even if he thought it’s going to be some hardcore stuff. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe –- Whatever.
“I’m gonna tie you up, okay?” Tom asks as he approaches Sean with a string. It’s thin, not at all like what he had used for Ryan. It’ll sink deep into the flesh. “Sit down.”
Sean does, legs drawn underneath himself, and holds out his hands, wrists clasped together. Tom crouches in front of him, camera banging against his knee in the process.
Tom wraps the string carefully, coil after coil, and ties a knot. He has it perfected by now – a secure knot that looks fancy but is easy to untie at the same time. One of his ex-boy-scout friends taught him all about those.
Tom stands up, takes a few steps back, contemplates.
“Are we gonna do this or what, Conrad?” Sean finally snaps.
“Getting an attitude? Do I need to punish you?” Tom asks, mocking, and Sean cracks up. Tom snaps a picture. It’s not like it goes all that well with the tied up hands or the general concept here but it’s natural and Tom likes it.
The first roll of film is going to be crap, probably, and Tom’s prepared for that; he doesn’t mind. He takes a couple of shots, letting Sean slowly relax into what’s going on. It’s his first time in front of the camera, Tom can tell.
There’s something about Sean that makes Tom think that maybe, maybe he’s made a mistake asking him to do this. It’s not like with Ryan; Ryan is different. Even when he lets Tom tie him up, hurt him in whatever way he pleases at the moment, there’s always that hint of something in him that lets Tom know that no matter what, Ryan does it because he likes it, because this is what he wants. With Sean, Tom’s not so sure.
But then Sean looks up and there’s that something in his eyes that makes Tom think that no, maybe he hasn’t made a mistake, after all.
Tom can tell the exact moment when all this starts to get to Sean. It’s in the line of his shoulders, in his bowed head. The muscles of his back are taut, rippling under the skin with every movement when Tom tells him to get up, kneel, yes, like that, bend over.
He snaps picture after picture, changing angles, height, focus, guiding Sean through it with murmured words.
There’s a line of freckles over Sean’s left shoulder and Tom focuses on that, just a sliver of flesh in the frame, the blur of steel and concrete and dust in the background.
“Hey,” Tom says quietly, “Look at me.”
When Sean does, his eyes are dark, his mouth a little red and swollen from where he’s been subconsciously biting, and it’s only muscle memory that makes Tom actually take the picture.
He’s laughed at people who told him about this happening, of suddenly getting too much, too intense, getting it all. And come on, Tom’s done it before, he knows the mechanics, knows how it works, it shouldn’t happen at all. It’s all in his head, that’s all there is to it. He almost manages to convince himself.
Tom unties Sean, cold fingers over warm skin, but only to tie him up again. He watches as Sean shifts his wrist uncomfortably when Tom binds them together behind a steel pole. He fastens the knot and Sean groans in protest. Tom doesn’t loosen it. Sean doesn’t ask him to.
Sean has his head tilted sideways; he can’t really be watching but Tom knows he can see him move out of the corner of his eye. Tom takes his time, lingering behind Sean’s back, fingers trailing slowly down the loose thread.
“I’ve done this before,” Sean says all of a sudden, chin shifting and sliding down his own shoulder. “I mean, not in front of a camera, but, you know.”
It’s an explanation so Tom just takes it for what it is. “Okay.”
“I was just thinking. If you want to take it further, you can do that.”
There’s a sudden flash in Tom’s head, a string of possibilities that make his fingertips itch and something hot and heavy curl in his belly.
“It’s fine,” he says, taking a step back and wrapping his fingers around the lens.
“Okay,” Sean nods, closes his eyes. His head falls back a little. There’s a splotch of rust a few inches from Sean’s jaw and Tom snaps a picture – the soft curve of Sean’s neck against the steel.
He circles Sean a few time, taking a couple of pictures at different angles. He captures the way Sean’s fingers curl against the metal, the hard line of string cutting the frame in half; the way Sean’s spine arches off from the cold pole, shoulder blades sharp and skin puckering. He wanders off, not saying a word, but Sean doesn’t open his eyes, at least Tom doesn’t think so. He comes back with a folded piece of white silk. When he slides it over Sean’s eyes, Sean just ducks his head, letting Tom do the knot. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t say a word.
The fabric is delicate but it’s not transparent, and the slight line of tension in Sean’s body gives away that he can’t see through it. Tom tries to move as quietly as possible.
Sean twitches when he stands behind him and asks in a low voice, “How do you feel?”
“Cold,” Sean says, laughs a little, “Tight.”
Tom takes a step back and takes a picture half a second after each word. “Anxious.” Click. “Vulnerable.” Click. “Turned on.”
Tom catches the last syllable in the slight quirk of Sean’s lips, snap. Sean laughs, a laugh that just bubbles in his throat and doesn’t really leave it.
“Do you want me to untie you?”
Another almost-laugh, “No, not really.”
“What if I leave you here, like that?”
“Ryan never mentioned you being a crazy psycho murderer guy.”
“Does it mean you trust me?”
“No.”
Tom lets the camera fall down against his chest as he steps closer. Sean hisses when Tom’s cold fingers tug at the top button of his jeans; it gives easily. Then another one, and another. He’s not wearing any underwear.
Tom tugs Sean’s jeans a little, just enough to expose his hip bones, and leaves him like that, goes to change the roll.
Sean can hear him moving around, and Tom knows that. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Sean feels safe, though, and that’s the point. Tom glances at him while placing one end of the film in the clasp, but no, Sean doesn’t move, nothing. He just stands there, hands bound tight behind his back, bare feet on the cold concrete, head bowed and tilted to the side.
Tom snaps the camera shut and takes a picture, Sean just a tiny figure in the middle of the tangle of steel and concrete and flaking paint.
Tom unties his hands, takes his time doing it; he leaves the blindfold on, though. He takes a few shots when Sean works it down himself, silk and skin and hair, head bowed down. He looks up at Tom from under his bangs, and Tom snaps another shot.
“Go ahead.”
He takes a picture for every button Sean does up, seven steps away from him; a picture for every step he takes on his way to where he’s left his shirt and shoes, ten steps behind. One, for when Sean puts his shirt on, one shoulder covered, the other bare and twisted back. Then, the roll ends with a snap.
The spell breaks, they’re back to reality.
When Sean buttons up his shirt, it’s just an everyday activity, nothing more, even though there are still red marks on his wrists.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Sean nods, puts on his shoes, “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t seem too comfortable. It’s not particularly weird, though, not after something like that. It’s like coming down from some sort of a high, when you’re not sure whether what you did during was okay or not. When you’re not even sure what the other person saw in the first place,
“Drop by next week and I’ll show you the pictures,” Tom says, putting the shield on the lens and clicking it closed. He pushes the camera back to hang along his hip, puts his hands in his pockets.
“I work second shift next week but I’ll try. Or, you know, send Ryan or something. If it’s okay, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure. He knows his way around, I don’t mind.”
“Okay then, see you next week, I guess.”
Tom gives a small wave when Sean slides the bars of the elevator down and it slowly comes to life. Sean waves back with a small smile as the elevator goes down.
Sean does end up sending Ryan and Tom is torn between being grateful and a little uneasy.
Ryan hovers when Tom eases the pictures down from their clips and makes a few comments but Tom ignores him for the most part. He’s done more extreme stuff, even with Ryan himself; this is not such a big deal.
“You know what they say about photographs projecting the photographer’s feelings?” Ryan says, waggling his eyebrows. Tom snorts a laugh. Ryan is kind of like a younger brother in the annoying department – if he’s not hanging down from the ceiling half naked, that is.
“Here,” Tom hands him a thick brown envelope. And Ryan is apparently done with stupid comments because he just accepts it and slips it into his bag.
“I have all the evenings free next week so call me if you need me again,” he offers and Tom’s already thinking about what he could do to him this time, what to hang him from, maybe.
“Yeah, I will.”
Sean calls him in the same evening. There’s something odd in his voice when he says he likes the pictures and Tom feels a little awkward until Sean offers to model for him again. Then, he feels – He, well. He feels a little turned on. Which is kind of stupid, right, it’s just.
Well.
Tom calls Sean a few days later to ask if he’s okay with a double shoot and Sean says yeah, why not. Tom brings and old friend of his, Anna, and they do a dominant/submissive shoot that Tom uses three rolls of film on. Anna’s lips are bright red and the heel of her boot digs into the flesh of Sean abdomen in a way that must feel a little scary. Sean doesn’t even flinch, though. Paradoxically, it’s something that tells Tom he’s not nearly as submissive as he lets Tom make him appear.
It takes them an hour and a half to finish those three rolls and Tom can see how it increasingly gets to the both of them. He doesn’t remain unaffected himself, either, but it’s easy to hide behind the camera, behind the words and commands and all the professional aura that comes with it.
He knows that Anna will go home and let her girlfriend fuck her with a strap–on. He knows how strongly all this affects her; he knows because of the way she keeps on biting her lips, eyes glazed and dark. He knows because he’s fucked her a couple of times right there on the cold concrete with the lamps still on, hot and scorching on their skin.
Tom watches them and wonders about Sean. Wonders if there’s someone Sean will go home to and let them fuck him until he shakes and screams and begs.
Tom picks five pictures out of the seventy two he took. The two he likes the most are both with a low focus depth, one of them with Sean on his back, tongue flat against the black leather of Anna’s boot. In the other, they’re both on their knees, Anna behind Sean, both her knees framing his thighs, palm across his chest, nails the same color as her lips. There’s a red, slightly swollen thread that her nails have left on Sean’s skin and Sean’s eyes are closed, teeth bared slightly.
There’s intensity there that evokes something that most definitely isn’t just a professional aestethic appreciation, not just.
Tom needs a few moments to take care of that.
Sean picks up the pictures himself this time. He sits on a rickety chair in Tom’s kitchen and leafs through them wordlessly. Tom’s favorite two are at the very bottom, and he lets Sean take his time before he gets to them. He wanders off to the studio. There’s just a screen separating them and he still can hear Sean if he focuses hard enough. He doesn’t, though, or tries not to. He busies himself with moving the screens and doesn’t hear Sean when he appears in the studio.
He startles when Sean speaks up.
“Do you get off on this?” he asks, fingers trailing down one of the poles. His eyes are trained on Tom, though, but they’re not accusing. It’s just a question and Tom doesn’t think he needs to lie.
“Sometimes,” he says, pushing one of the screen against the wall, “It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it boils down to whether I find the person attractive or not. But mostly it’s about the way they act in front of the camera. You know,” he adds, leaning against the wall near the set of screens, fingers wrapped around the top of one of them. There’s at least ten feet separating him and Sean. “Sometimes I don’t even find someone hot until I’ve developed the pictures. There’s something –-” he trails off, gestures vaguely around. It’s not like no one’s ever asked him before but it’s definitely the most honest he’s been about this. It feels a little weird.
“What about these?” Sean lifts the file of photos. He still has a scratch mark high over his forearm.
“Oh, I didn’t have to wait to develop them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a smile creeping its way slowly into the stretch of Sean’s lips. Tom smiles back.
“You can keep them,” he says after a while, pushing off the wall and walking towards the darkroom, “I made copies for both of you.”
“Oh, thanks. I, um. Am I interrupting or something?”
“I need to develop three sets of pictures but I don’t mind if you come in. If you’re not afraid of the dark, I mean.”
“Ha fucking ha.”
“Come in.”
Tom holds the door when Sean slips into the darkroom after him.
They grab a few beers that are left in Tom’s fridge after Tom’s done with the pictures. They’re all clipped in neat rows across the room, drying slowly. They’re mostly some vanilla shots people paid Tom to take, so there’s not much entertainment with them. Not by Tom’s standards, at least. Sean finds them pretty awesome.
“I’ve never seen this inside out, you know,” he explains as he walks along one of the strings with a beer in his hand. Tom watches him from where he’s perched on a table, bottle between his thighs.
“It gets kind of boring after a while. But it’s better than therapy if you need someplace quiet and calm.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
Tom tells him about how he started with photography, shows him some of his most recent work. Sean talks about his band, about how annoying people at Starbucks can be, and they drink some more beer.
When Sean leaves, Tom is positively drunk enough to walk into one of the poles on his way to bed.
Tom has this old brass bed that he sometimes sleeps in when the mood strikes him, but mostly uses to chain people to and fuck them with his camera. Or at least that’s what one of his models told him once. It made Tom a little uneasy but all in all, it’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?
What he hasn’t expected, is to have the roles reversed.
“You’ve never had this done to you, have you?” Sean asks a few weeks after the drinking incident, circling around said bed. He feels pretty at home here by now and as much it should shake Tom’s my–home–is–my–castle thing, it doesn’t.
“Done what?” Tom asks absently from where he’s coiling up the rope he used for the latest photo shoot. Mark and Amanda and Jill. He can’t wait to get in the darkroom already.
“No one has tied you up and done whatever they pleased to you, have they?”
“What makes you think so?” Tom asks to buy some time. He sets the rope in its place and leans against the headboard of the bed.
“You don’t seem like the type.”
“Yeah, well,” It’s true. Tom’s done a lot of freaky shit to people and then captured it on film, but no one has ever done the same to him. He might’ve thought about it but no one’s ever offered and he didn’t feel like asking. “I mean – ”
He doesn’t finish because there’s a metal ring clasping over his wrist all of a sudden.
“What the – ”
Another click and Tom’s handcuffed to the headboard, just like that. Sean moves to stand in front of him.
“How does it feel?”
“Sean, what the hell are you doing?” Tom struggles, but just a little. He can’t bring himself to fight for real, not with the way the metal digs into his skin. It’s –
“What do you think?” Sean asks after a few seconds of watching Tom, “Move.”
He guides Tom over the headboard, down on the mattress, with a hand to his elbow. Tom follows; he’s not sure why he does.
“Can I?” Sean lifts one of Tom’s cameras up, an old Leica. Tom nods without a word, a little stunned. He slides down the mattress, as far as the handcuffs will let him.
He watches Sean as he studies the camera for a while, trying to figure it out, and then lifts it up to his eye. The shutter goes off and Tom tries to raise his hand, ineffectually.
“Hey, easy,” Sean smiles and snaps another picture. He comes closer, taking a photo every two steps until he kneels on the mattress, both knees at Tom’s sides.
“I’m actually pretty shitty at this,” he admits and sets the camera down on the floor beside the bed.
There’s a moment when Tom’s afraid to take a breath, and then Sean’s fingers tug at the zipper of Tom’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Tom blurts out, which, admittedly, is pretty stupid.
“You’re kind of slow on the uptake,” Sean laughs.
When he tugs at Tom’s pants, Tom doesn’t ask any more questions, just obediently lifts his hips up.
“Good boy,” Sean rewards him with a smile and slides down his body in a motion that might not be entirely smooth but Tom’s not going to complain. Not when Sean’s fingers close around his dick, no way.
Sean strokes him a few times and then leans down, after quickly glancing up. The chain of the handcuffs clinks againt the metal bars when Tom shifts restlessly. Sean laughs around his dick and that’s –
“Fuck.”
“Maybe later,” Sean says and bites Tom’s hipbone. And that’s really. Fuck.
Tom wraps his fingers over the bars, tight. Sean swirls his tongue and Tom bites into his arm.
It’s a little embarrassing, how quick this is. Sean holds his hips when Tom comes and he doesn’t pull back. He slides up and then suddenly his mouth is on Tom’s. He nudges it open with his tongue and there’s a trickle of come sliding onto Tom’s tongue. He follows Sean when he tries to pull back, holds him with his free hand, licks into his mouth. It’s maybe kind of gross but fuck if Tom cares. Sean hums over his tongue and lets himself be held in place. Not for long, though.
“Can I?” he asks and Tom nods, licking his lips. The bed creaks a little when Sean moves upwards until both his knees are at the sides of Tom’s head. Tom tries to reach for him when he unzips his pants and pushes down the underwear, just a little, but Sean won’t let him. “No hands,” he says and Tom obediently wraps his free hand over the wrist of the other one.
Sean’s knuckles brush against Tom’s lips when his dick pushes past them and Tom gags a little even though Sean takes it slow. He relaxes his throat and it’s fine, the heavy weight on his tongue and then further, further.
“Okay?” Sean asks and looks down at Tom. Tom hums something in response.
He lets Sean fuck his mouth even though he’s a little freaked out. He can’t put his hands on Sean’s hips, can’t control him in any way. But Sean takes it slow and easy, doesn’t thrust too deep. He’s got more self–control that Tom would give him credit for.
So Tom lets him.
Sean has his fingers wrapped around the top of the headboard, just a few inches above Tom’s. But Tom’s been told not to move his hands, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t make a move to push Sean away when he thrusts deeper, either, just takes it. He doesn’t push him away when there’s a warm streak trickling straight down his throat, just works his throat over it, and Sean makes a noise, low in his throat, teeth sinking into his lower lip, hard.
He leans back after a while, sits on Tom’s hips. The fabric of his jeans is rough against the sliver of exposed skin between Tom’s shirt and his dick.
Sean looks wrecked, wrecked in the best way possible. His hair is messy, his lips red and swollen, eyes hazed. There’s a slight flush creeping up his neck and Tom thinks, he thinks Fuck it and fumbles around until he reaches the camera. Sean looks straight at him when he takes the picture.
When Sean finally unchains Tom he himself is fully clothed already.
“I’m really tempted to leave you like that, you have no idea,” he says but slips the key into the lock. One of the rings unlocks and slides down the headboard with a loud clink. Sean sit on the edge of the mattress and Tom holds out his still handcuffed hand for him to undo it. “Really, really tempted.”
“You could,” Tom says and stands up to pull up his pants, “But someone needs to develop the pictures.” It’s strange how it doesn’t feel weird at all. Tom is honestly surprised.
“Point,” Sean agrees, but adds after a second, “Or I could take them to a photo lab, you know.”
Tom must look utterly horified because Sean laughs and says, “Or not. Hey, come here,” he adds, tugging on Tom’s wrist.
Tom obediently follows and stands in between Sean’s legs. He watches as Sean rubs his wrist. It’s bruising already but Tom couldn’t really care less.
“How did it feel?” Sean asks, serious now.
Tom takes a moment to answer. “Good. Really fucking good,” he admits with a slow smile.
“I’m free on Wednesday if you want to try out something else,” Sean winks up at Tom and Tom laughs, pretends to ponder.
“Well – ”
When Tom develops the pictures the next day, the last comes out a little out of focus. No wonder, given how he didn’t have a way to set it, not with one hand handcuffed to the bed. It still makes the heat pool in his stomach.
He comes by Sean’s work in the afternoon with a small brown envelope.
“Not work–safe,” he says, sliding it over the counter toward Sean.
Sean takes it, turns it over a few times, puts it back. “Way to make a guy hate his job,” he says.
Sean shows up at Tom’s place at ten past midnight that day, with a pack of beer and a blinding grin.
“I was thinking,” he says, putting the beer into Tom’s fridge as Tom hovers in the doorway. The envelope with Tom’s picture is in Sean’s back pocket and Tom takes a moment to appreciate the view. “You could totally make these into business cards.”
“I need my business cards to be varied, you know,” Tom says when Seans turns around to face him again, one eyebrow lifted.
Sean closes the fridge with his hip, takes a few steps towards Tom, smirks suggestively.
“We can totally work on that.”
