Page 108 of Fire & Ice

Affronted, Tripp frowns, but Leander just continues to smile. He shakes his head, and pulls his own little box from his pocket, tossing it through the air for Tripp to catch. When Tripp flips it open, he understands very quickly what was so damn funny.

“Fuckin’ Beau,” Tripp curses, taking in the sight of an identical band to Leander’s nestled in velvet, this one with an emerald inset instead of sapphire. Itisreally nice, though. Well, of course it is—Tripp has damn good taste.

“Briana, actually,” Leander corrects. “Two weeks ago, and this ring justhappenedto be available in your size to take homethat day. At the time, I thought it was some sort of cosmic sign. Turns out, we are merely victims of cosmic-level meddling from our well-meaning siblings.”

That,of all things, brings Tripp up short, leaving him speechless, a little breathless, and feeling weirdly emotional. Lee casually referring to Beau as his brother? Tripp didn’t think this moment had any possibility of becoming sappier inside his own head, but here he is. It makes Tripp determined to make more of an effort with Lawrence—hell, to makeanyeffort with the elusiveLoki—if it’ll make Lee any kind of happy. They’re going to befamily,something Tripp’s always wanted and never really thought he’d have.

Oblivious, Leander’s busy trying on his ring. He stretches his hand out and admires the way the metal glints in the light, the way Tripp’s usually seen girls do, which is stupidly adorable. Clutching his own ring in his fist, Tripp’s unable to stop staring, unable to stopthinkingabout how goddamn lucky he is.

“Would you—” he starts, and then his voice cracks and he has to do a very un-manly throat-clearing cover-up. Leander doesn’t say anything about it, though, just takes Tripp’s hand and unfurls his fingers, plucking the ring out of his palm and sliding it easily onto Tripp’s left ring finger.

Perfect fit.

“I love you,” Tripp blurts out, and Leander beams, smiling that really wide, beaming smile he saves for special occasions—for when he’s either sloppy drunk orsounbelievably happy the joy seems to bubble out of him. He leans in and kisses Tripp softly, still smiling when they pull away.

“I told you,” he says simply. “My whole life, I’ve never loved anything else.”

***

The BDSM club downtown is ultimately one big, converted warehouse. Inside, it’s split into three different rooms: one for socializing where absolutely no play is allowed, one mixed space for light playandsnacking (mostly naked people and sex swing antics, from Tripp’s observations), and a third room, which Tripp has taken to calling “the Dungeon.”

It’s not an inaccurate description: some of the things he’s seen go down in there make his own pain kink look almost laughably amateur. Nearly anything flies in that room, and almost everythingdoes.As Tripp has learned from experience, the big-ass shower with a drain in the center? Not actually for getting clean.

The conclusion? These people are on another level, one that initially, Tripp wasn’t sure he was interested in living up to.

Thankfully, though, that seems to be just fine with everyone that Tripp’s met and interacted with from the membership. There’s very little judgement here, and the more he’s socialized, the more he’s found plenty of people who seem to be more likehimthan the chick he saw wrapped in barbed wire with an entire fist up her ass.

Once he got over the initial shock, Trippdidthink it was pretty cool that all levels of kink are welcome and defended in the place, and the more comfortable he’s become, the more anxious he’s gotten to really join in. After all, it’s onlyLeethat Tripp really needs to trust—and that is a done deal.

Still, things at the club can be…intense. Considering that anything does go—within the confines of the rules—inside the Dungeon, Tripp’s learned that if he’s uncomfortable, well, there’s always the finger sandwiches and music one room over. It’s each attendee’s own responsibility to know their boundaries and limits and to remove themselves from situations they aren’t enjoying.

Between the two of them, Lee is all about Tripp taking the reins and setting both of their limits for his comfort, because not much bothers Lee at all. If the BDSM community had research nerds, Lee would have joined up immediately, sitting on the sidelines in the Dungeon with glasses and a clipboard, taking clinically impartial notes. The way he watches nearlyanyscene,anykink playing out live with barely a twitch of a facial muscle—it’s almost supernatural. It’s like he’s already seen the entirety of humanity blossom, grow, and die in cyclical fashion and nothing can faze him.

Tripp on the other hand—Tripp’s got limits, and he knows when to see himself out.

All-inclusive kink aside, what is absolutelynotallowed or even tolerated inanyroom of the club is non-consensual touching. Clear, verbal consent must be both asked for and received, especially between members who aren’t already paired off and didn’t arrive together. Thanks to that rule, Tripp is pretty okay with being paraded through the space nearly naked, feels relatively safe in allowing himself to lean into the arousal that thrums through his system over the excitement of being watched.

Not that anyone is very likely to even speak to him, anyway—not with the leash trailing from the front of his collar to Leander’s hand and the sharp, threatening smile anyone who evenskirtsthe question of sharing Tripp gets from him in return. No, Tripp thinks the possibility of having to address that question himself is pretty damn unlikely, but he’s well-prepared with a polite “no thank you,” resting on the tip of his tongue, just in case.

This evening, as they walk through the windowless front doors to the club’s lobby, Tripp feelsmorethan ready for whatever they might encounter, but that doesn’t mean he’sanxiety-free. In front of him, Leander nods greetings to the two (giant)bouncers as they pass, both of whom smile back amiably and don’t so much as move to check their IDs. Tripp might be offended about that if he wasn’t so damn nervous, but his head is busy enough at the moment that he barely notes it happening.

Leander, on the other hand, is in his element. Tripp’s leashandhand held firmly in his own, the Dom books it over immediately to sign-in and report to one of the hosts, as the two of them have reserved space in the Dungeon tonight. A demonstration on the schedule guarantees them not only time and apparatus, but an audience, though as Leander reminded Tripp earlier, it’s just a plan—there’s no hard obligation to follow through.

Tripp barely listens to Lee hashing out details with the club managers, leaning into the ‘quiet submissive’ role so that he doesn’t have to answer friendly but ridiculous questions about how he’s feeling, or whatever. Being a sub is definitely convenient that way, sometimes—here, more than anywhere. No one’s going to think twice about a collared Tripp standing docilely behind his Dom, looking down at his feet and using his free hand to fiddle with the buttons on Lee's trench coat, the one he’s currently wrapped in.

There’s another thing Tripp secretly adores but will never admit to aloud.

In fact, when Lee suggested wearing it (for ease of covering up Tripp’s skimpy outfit during the brief time they’d be outside), Tripp had resisted, declaring loudly and adamantly that ifLeewanted to go out in public looking like a flasher, that was fine for him, but he wasn’t going to be “caught dead in that beat-ass thing.”

Lee, naturally, had helpfully pointed out that Tripp was literally planning to get naked and perved on in a public place,which Tripp strongly resented being used so logically against him.

Anyway, he’s wearing the damn coat. Not that Lee willeverenjoy the satisfaction of finding out, but Tripp has absolutely accepted that having Lee's clothes and smell all around him is comforting as hell, especially when things start to go haywire in his brain.

Discreetly, he dips his nose into the collar for a quick sniff, which is of course when Leander decides to turn back around, eyes alighting immediately on Tripp and his buried nose. The knowing grin that spreads across Lee's face upon catching him in the act pisses Tripp off something fierce, but he just rolls his eyes and straightens up. Here’s to hoping that the low lighting in the entryway is enough to mask any redness tipping his ears.

Clearly letting Tripp off the hook, Leander doesn’t say anything, just leads him over to the lockers lining the right wall. He opens one up, tapping Tripp’s ankle with the toe of his boot, a signal for him to remove his shoes. Nerves returning in full force, Tripp complies and then moves on to unbuttoning the trench as slowly as humanly possible. As in, if he went any slower, the buttons would be doing themselves back up.

After patiently waiting for longer than Tripp would have guessed, Leander steps into his space and presses their foreheads together. “This is not something youhaveto do,” he reminds Tripp, for probably the twentieth time today. “This is supposed to befun. Sexy. Nerves are normal. Honestly, I believe embracing the fear and anticipation only makes it more exciting. But Tripp—the only person you need to impress here is me. The only person you have to begoodfor is me.”

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