Page 102 of Fire & Ice

Two fingers deep in his ass, Leander’s mind drifts easily into another world. His damp forehead presses against the arm he has braced against the tile wall, and he sighs. Imagining Tripp’s fingers in place of his own helps move things along more quickly, though Leander resists touching his cock, insistent as it might be between his legs. Once he’s deemed himself relaxed and ready, he lets his fingers slip free, finishing his shower routine before stepping out and toweling off.

From the drawer below the sink, Leander extracts a clean plug, lubing and inserting the metal piece before stepping into a fresh pair of cotton pajama pants. No need to ruin the surprise. Or, the mystique, anyway—with Tripp’s current condition, there’s pretty much only one reasonable way to go about honoring his request, and Leander is positive Tripp already knows that.

He still does the work of transforming their bedroom into something reminiscent of the playroom, but softer. There is absolutely no doubt in Leander’s mind that if Tripp didn’twant to get laid so badly, these efforts would result in relentless teasing, and not the sexy kind. The lighting of candles (scented—summer campfire), the mood music, the general outing of himself as a huge sap who has never done this before—Tripp is absolutely going to be dying internally over his inability to crack jokes.

But fuck Tripp, Leander’s got a stake in this, too. He’sneverdone a scene with someone for whom he has feelings,andwho openly admits to loving him back. He’s been in a variety of convolutedalternateversions of that scenario, but not this one in particular, and it has him fighting off a certain amount of anxiety.

Should he act differently? Will hewantto act differently, once they’re physically together? Will Tripp welcome those changes in Leander’s approach, or red-light them out of hand?

Only when Leander finds himself standing at the foot of his bed, staring blankly into the middle distance while clutching a handful of quiltsotightly his knuckles have turned white, does it occur to him that he may be overthinking things.

With a deep breath, Leander forces his brain to turn off, strolling—in what he hopes reads as a confident manner—out of the bedroom and across the apartment. As he passes behind the couch where Tripp is lying, Leander doesn’t so much as glance down at the man. Nonetheless, he can feel Tripp’s eyes following his movements with poorly-disguised interest.

After retrieving the item he set out to get from the foyer, Leander returns to Tripp’s side and presents the small box with all of the gravity it deserves. He lifts the hinged lid so that Tripp doesn’t have to struggle, and drops down to one knee. “Would you like to put this on? No pressure.”

The way Tripp’s face lights up, one would have thought Leander had announced he’d gained magical powers with which to heal Tripp’s injuries instantly. “Yes, Sir,” Tripp replies softly, reaching out to run the fingers of his good hand along the pliable green leather in an almost reverent manner. “Damn, I missed this,” he remarks, almost to himself.

It’s the first time in recent memory that Tripp has voluntarily dropped the sassy, bratty front he’s been putting on, and Leander is relieved to see it. He’s also still annoyed that Tripp has been acting like such a punk to begin with, but now is not the time.Or is it the perfect time?

“Would you two like a moment alone?” he asks, unable to resist.

The glare he receives in return is worth it, but Leander holds up a hand and swallows his smile, plucking the collar from its case and holding it out so that their evening doesn’t careen wildly off the rails by his hand. As peaceful as the apartment’s balcony is, hanging out there alone isn’t on Leander’s agenda for tonight.

“May I?” he asks.

“I dunno, are you gonna keep being a dick about it?Sir?” Tripp pouts.

“No. I want you in it as much as you want to be in it. Lean forward.”

Fitting the collar around Tripp’s neck feels like a nearly-religious experience, but Leander isnota sap, isnotgoing to ruin this moment by becoming emotional and accidentally flashing back on everything they’ve been through and all of the times he thought they might not ever make it back here. He’snot.

Fuck.

The fact that Tripp is sitting here in front of him, perfectly alive and mostly-well, hair all disheveled and wearing Leander’s rattiest white t-shirt and a pair of loose Batman boxers—it does nothing to take away from the gravity of the moment.

Tripp looks as if he’s experiencing some of the same struggles inside his own head, his eyes turning glassy and red, so Leander does the mature thing and leans in to kiss him,hard. The intimate contact gives them both something to pour the confusing tension and energy into like a spillway, and it helps.

With his good hand, Tripp reaches up to cup Leander’s face, holding him close and kissing back with everything he’s worth. Still kneeling on the floor, Leander just wiggles his way in between Tripp’s legs, gathers him close and holds on, letting his mouth convey what he absolutely can’t bring himself to say out loud.

When the two of them finally part, they’re both short of breath, lips swollen and shiny. Seeing Tripp like that is enough to bring Leander’s mind roaring swiftly back to his original plans for the evening. Tripp seems to agree, his shorts tenting and his hands starting to wander of their own accord.

Briefly, though, Leander does catch him glancing over at his wheelchair with a scowl on his face—one that suggests he’d rather take a baseball bat to the thing à laOffice Spacethan ever sit in it again. And Leander can understand that. Being wheeled into the sex dungeon is nothing to be ashamed of outright, but that’s not for him to decide. These are Tripp’s feelings to have, and clearly, the chair feels like something negative right now. That’s fair, considering that the whole scene is going to be different by nature to their usual, full of similar-types of reminders, and it’s apparent Tripp finds this one particularly humiliating.

Thankfully, Leander has an alternate idea.

One thing that he’s been doing consistently ever since Tripp’s release from the hospital is taking advantage of his building’s gym. Running, lifting, working out with various weights—all of it, and he’s been doing so daily without fail. It’s been a useful form of stress relief,anda path to keeping up his physique now that Tripp is relying on him so much, physically speaking. The results are some seriously-toned muscles Leander didn’t even know he could have. He’s pretty sure they’re up to the task he has in mind for tonight.

“Forget the chair and lean forward,” Leander demands. “Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on.” However skeptical he might be, Tripp complies without question. When he’s situated at the edge of the couch, Leander grabs underneath Tripp’s thighs, tightens his core muscles, and stands. As Tripp yelps and clings like a spider monkey, Leander chuckles and adjusts his grip so that he’s cradling his ass.

Pressed flush against his chest, Tripp’s breath is hot on Leander’s neck, the air moving sharp and fast over his skin. Contrary to how it might seem at first glance, Leander is fairly certain he isn’t scared or upset, considering Tripp’s crotch is pressed directly against his stomach.

“I do enjoy your response to being manhandled,” he says quietly into Tripp’s ear as they walk. “I enjoy everything about you, regardless of your limitations, whether perceived or actual.”

“And I enjoy these fuckin’ biceps, holy shit, Lee,” Tripp exclaims. “I gotta get back to the gym, can’t have you showing me up like this. Hey, would you break up with me if I worked out my right side ‘til I had a Popeye arm? Could be sexy,” Tripp suggests. In response, Leander dumps him unceremoniously onto the bed, perhaps a bit more roughly than he might have otherwise.

“Oh,yes. Hell, yes. I fuckin’ missed this,” Tripp declares happily, spreading his legs as much as he’s able with the cast in the way, restricting his movement. “Come on, Sir, make me beg for it.”

“First of all,” Leander remarks, stepping closer to Tripp’s side and slipping fingers underneath the band of elastic around his waist. “It seems you’ve forgottenwhois in charge here, andwhosejob it is tolistenandobey.”With deft hands, Leander works the boxers down over Tripp’s hips and cast until they’re off. By the time he’s done, Tripp’s gotten himself stuck in his shirt, grumbling from somewhere inside it about forgetting to untie the sling. Feeling merciful, Leander pulls the tie and releases his arm before moving to help tug the offending shirt the rest of the way gone.

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