Page 126 of For Real

I rested my head against my upper arm, waiting.

10

Toby

Laurie’s ex looks like I wish—and sometimes imagine—I look. Tall and strong and stern and Daniel Craigy, all jaw and cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

I think maybe Laurie has an unacknowledged thing for blue eyes.

Mine aren’t as good as Robert’s.

Nothing about me is as good as Robert.

I probably ought to be a puddle of insecurity and despair…except I’m just not. For once in my life I’m okay. And this is a fucking weird time for it because I think we’re kind of in a pickle.

I don’t know how I got us into it, and I definitely don’t know how to get us out of it.

I’ve been practicing with the flogger Laurie gave me and daydreaming about what it’ll be like when I hit him with it, the sounds he’ll make, and how much it’s going to totally get me off. But I’m pretty sure none of those daydreams—and there’s been a lot—included an audience and Laurie’s ex telling me all about what Laurie likes.

Because fuck it—I know what Laurie likes too, and I wasn’t the one who ran away like a coward because I fucked up. I want to tell him: you don’t get to say this shit anymore. But he’s tall and hot and invincible and really amazing with those two floggers, so I don’t have the balls.

Which I guess makes me a coward too.

Besides, I don’t want to embarrass Laurie in front of all these people. I know they probably just think I’m a clueless kid—and let’s face it, I am a clueless kid. But not when it comes to Laurie, because I love him and I trust him and I know him. I do. I know him.

But if I don’t do this—and I have to do it without fucking up—then nobody will believe I’m right for him. They’ll feel sorry for him. Or like he said to me all those weeks ago: like he’s indulging me. I think he’d hate that. He’s proud, is Laurie.

And the way he gives that up for me—the way he lets me take it from him—is private. In public, it’s my business. I have to look after him.1

The good thing is, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to fuck this up. The flogger I’m holding is heavier than the one I’m used to, but it’s nowhere near as bad as the one Robert gave me, and I just kind of like it. It’s thrilling and humbling at the same time, and above all deeply sensuous. The handle tucks into my hand really neatly, and the chevron pattern is comforting under my thumb, like the creases in someone’s palm. When I stroke my fingers through the tails—there must be like forty of them—I can feel the grain in the leather, tiny dents and bubbles, also oddly personal, warming from my touch.

I really, really want to make them dance against Laurie’s skin. Two beautiful, powerful things I’m going to bring into conjunction, pain and pleasure, skin and leather, and ohmyfuckingGod. Ngh. I’d be hard, except my cock is a bit scared because a bunch of people are ogling it.

I glance at Laurie. His gorgeous back, all strong and markable, goldenish in the dim light. I love him so much, and I’m so fucking desperate to hurt him.

Except…this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t for other people; it’s for us. And I think Laurie’s shaking. Not like he usually does, but in this tight, frantic way, as if he’s trying to control it but he can’t.

I head over to him. I guess everyone thinks I’ve lost my nerve, but I don’t care. I put my hand flat between his shoulders, and he jerks like I’ve stuck him full of needles. He’s clammy with cold sweat.

“You know what.” I turn to the crowd. “Fuck this.”

“Toby…” A tiny whisper from Laurie.

“No, seriously. This is…like…important. It’s ours. And I’m going to do it my way, nobody else’s. So…show’s over. Sorry.”

I give the flogger back to the guy who gave it to me. He gives me this weird little nod, like he’s saluting me. I guess he gets it.

Everybody else is still sort of staring. What part of “show’s over” don’t they fucking understand?

Well. Tough. I ignore them. Go back to Laurie and try to get him off the cross, but his hands are clinging to the wood, and embarrassingly, I can’t reach, and I can’t get him to let go.

I tug pathetically at his shoulder. “Come on, love. I want to go home.”

And that gets through to him. He unlocks his death grip and turns round. He kind of doesn’t quite look like my Laurie. He’s trembling all over now, eyes like a wild horse.

Jesus. I’m fucking glad I didn’t hit him. But in a weird way, I also know I didn’t even come close. But I guess Laurie didn’t know… Fuck, I’ve fucked this up. I was just confused and trying to do the right thing. And fuck.

I back off a little bit, trying to entice him after me, like he’s some shy, feral creature and I’m a totally inept trapper. But he does follow, step by step, and then—suddenly—he just crumples to his knees at my feet. It’s awful and graceless and kind of helpless, and I hear him hit the floor, and I can’t imagine how much that must have fucking hurt. Then he kind of pitches forward onto his elbows, hands outstretched towards me, and I think what he’s saying is “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

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