Page 122 of The Associate
“I’m here.” his voice was a low rumble against Samuel’s ear. “You’re here with me.”
Samuel clutched at him, his fingers digging into the fabric, anchoring himself in the present, in the warmth, in the solid reality of the man holding him.
“It’s over,” Gael murmured, his lips brushing Samuel’s hairline. “It’s over. You are safe.”
He said it again. And again.
Slowly, the violent tremors began to subside. The sobs quieted into hitching breaths, then into shuddery sighs. The awful, gripping terror of the memory loosened its claws, fading from the present back into a ghost. Samuel’s death-grip on Gael’s shirt relaxed. He lay boneless in his lap, spent, his face still hidden in the curve of Gael’s neck, breathing in the clean, living scent of his skin. It erased the phantom smell of burning paper.
After a long time, when the room was silent again save for their breathing, Samuel stirred. He lifted his head from Gael’s shoulder. His eyes were swollen, his face streaked and blotchy. Gael looked back at him, his own face softened in the dark, the usual sharp angles blurred by concern and the dim light.
Samuel leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Gael’s. The contact was grounding. He closed his eyes, breathing him in, seeking the closeness like a lifeline. He felt safe.Cherished.
But beneath the safety, a restless, churning energy still buzzed in his veins. His skin felt too sensitive, his mind too raw. He needed to fill the void with something else. Something that would push the last of the ghosts out.
“I need…” he whispered, the words barely audible against Gael’s lips. He paused, unsure how to articulate the desperate, formless craving.
Gael’s hands moved on his back, a slow, soothing caress. “What, baby?” he asked, his voice a soft prompt. “What do you need?”
Samuel took a shaky breath. “To not think,” he confessed, the words a ragged plea. “I need to get lost. Please…”
He felt Gael’s chest expand in a deep, understanding breath against his own. He nodded, the movement a slight brush of his forehead against Samuel’s.
“Alright. I got you.”
Gael gently pushed Sam off him and stood up. Samuel stayed where he was, perched on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his breathing still uneven from the aftershocks of tears. In the quiet, he heard the whisper of Gael’s footsteps crossing to the dresser, the muted sound of a drawer opening.
“Stand up.” Gael’s said, softly.
Samuel obeyed. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs feeling watery, unmoored. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, illuminated only by the ambient city glow that painted the room in shades of deep indigo and charcoal.
“Eyes closed.”
Samuel shut his eyes. The world vanished, intensifying every other sense. He heard the soft pad of Gael’s return. Then he felt hands at his waist, fingers hooking into the soft band of his sweatpants. The fabric was drawn down, slowly, over his hips, the cool air of the room a shock against his newly bared skin as the pants pooled at his ankles. Next, his t-shirt was gathered from the hem, lifted up and over his head, the brush of cotton against his arms, his face, before it was gone. He was left completely exposed, the night air a cool kiss everywhere.
Gael’s hands settled on his shoulders, turning him with a gentle pressure. Then a palm pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward. Samuel took the steps until the edge of the mattress met his thighs. He bent at the waist, lowering his torso until his stomach pressed into the cool, smooth duvet.
He heard Gael move away, then return. Something slid around his crossed wrists at the small of his back, a tie, silk, he realized, looping and pulling taut. The knot was secure, firm, but not cruel. The restraint was an immediate, profound relief. It bound the frantic pieces of him together. It meant he didn’t have to hold on anymore.
Footsteps again. The slide of the bedside drawer. A faint click. Then Gael returned, stopping behind him. Samuel held his breath.
He heard the soft, swift whisper of something cutting the air.
CRACK.
The impact was a lightning strike of pure, bright sensation across the crest of his ass. It stole his breath, a sharp, searing bloom of pain. He gasped, his fingers curling into fists behindhis back. The sting was intense, immediate, a brand that seared through the lingering fog of the nightmare.
Gael waited. The silence was thick, punctuated only by Samuel’s ragged inhalation. He could feel the heat spreading, a localized fire under his skin.
CRACK.
The second stroke landed lower, a twin burst of flame. Samuel grunted, pushing his face into the duvet.
CRACK.
CRACK.
A rhythm began. Deliberate. Measured. The world narrowed to the aching anticipation, the sharp report of impact from the paddle, and the deep, throbbing heat that followed. His mind, a chaotic whirlwind of memory and fear, began to quiet. There was no room for anything else. There was only the wait, the sound, the blooming burn.
