Page 51 of Fire & Ice

“Oof—oh, fuck!” Tripp grunts as Leander’s eyes fly open and he bolts upright, finding his lovely submissive kneeling and naked, save for his collar and thosegorgeouslacy green panties. While welcome, their presence does have Leander beginning to wonder if they’re perhaps some sort of cursed item.

Down on the floor, Tripp is wincing, pressing gingerly with the tips of his fingers at the curve of his cheekbone and around his left eye socket, because apparently, Leander has just cold-clocked him in the face.

“Oh, Tripp,” he sympathizes, reaching out to cup Tripp’s face and tip it towards the dying evening sunlight for better examination. No red or purple is blossoming beneath the skin just yet, so with any luck, Leander didn’t hit him as hard as theimpact felt against his knuckles.Oops.“I am so sorry, darling. Come with me, let’s put some ice on that. Quickly, so that it doesn’t bruise.”

Once he’s up off of the couch, Leander bends down to scoop an arm underneath Tripp’s bicep in order to help him stand. He’s a bit slow to straighten, and his knees both crack in protest, which suggests to Leander that he’s been on the floor for quite some time.

“This was a very considerate and welcome surprise,” he offers, an ironic little smile playing over his lips as Tripp glares up at him, struggling to get vertical.

“I spend over an hour on my knees tryin’ to apologize for my shitty attitude last night and I still get punched in the face,” he grumbles half-heartedly, before gesturing to his own ass. As previously noted, it’s beautifully-encased in lace and silk, and it flexes as Tripp limps ahead of Leander towards the kitchen. “Wrapped up your present all pretty and everything.”

“I adore it,” Leander assures him, pulling a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and wrapping it up in a dishtowel. Instead of placing the bundle in Tripp’s outstretched palm, Leander crowds him up against the counter and steps between his legs. He holds onto the makeshift ice pack himself, pressing the compress gently to the side of Tripp’s face. Difficult as always, Tripp makes a face at the contact and tips his head away, but Leander fusses and insists, squeezing Tripp’s ass cheek in warning with his free hand when he doesn’t immediately comply.

“Alright, alright,” Tripp mutters, settling for covering Leander’s hand with his own until he slips it out and lets the stubborn brat hold the ice himself. “Only because I don’t need to hear the jokes Christian willdefinitelymake if he sees me walking in with a shiner.”

“I will never understand what Beau sees in him,” Leander agrees, still fully invading Tripp’s space, both hands on his ass now and mouth freely trailing over his neck and collarbone with increasing interest. “Speaking of which—if you’d woken me when you arrived, we would have actually had time to give these gorgeous panties the attention they deserve. Unfortunately for you, I had that alarm set for the absolute last minute, which means that we need to be out the door in…”

Leander pauses and pulls back from Tripp’s skin for long enough to glance down at his watch. “Less than half an hour.”

The pout that appears on Tripp’s face is all the confirmation Leander needs to feel like he might be open to another outside-the-playroom scene. They haven’t attempted anything since the tuxedo fittings, even though he’s personally been dying to try. Especially since—as far as Leander’s concerned—that whole situation was fairly mild, and Tripp got off extremely easily. Figurativelyandliterally.

Time to up the ante.

He licks his lips before glancing the scant few inches up at Tripp, unsurprised to find him staring back intently. “Are you up for an uncollared scene tonight?”

The change in Tripp is immediate, and positive—his entire face lights up. “Absolutely, Sir,” he replies. Leander opens his mouth and then closes it again, thoughtful.

“Actually,” he says, tapping a finger against his lips as he steps back and looks Tripp over. “Humor me. Take off your collar for a moment and let me see it.” Tripp complies without hesitation, handing the strip of leather over easily, likely since he knows that it doesn’t genuinely mark an ending to their dynamic. In turn, Leander flips Tripp’s wrist over and wraps the collar around twice, securing it like a bracelet.

“Hmm,” he says, intrigued. “I’m not exactly a font of fashion knowledge, but this seems relatively on trend. And you do wear jewelry, on occasion.”

“I do,” Tripp agrees. “Sir.”

“Thoughts?”

“I like it, Sir. I’m on board. Thank you, Sir.”

“Good,” Leander acknowledges with a smile and another squeeze to Tripp’s ass before he steps away definitively. “Then retrieve your plug from the drawer, go into the bathroom, clean yourself up, and get ready. I expect those panties to be on underneath your jeans when you’re done.”

Watching with poorly-concealed amusement as Tripp scurries away, Leander leans back against the countertop for all of thirty seconds before realizing his error. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself, looking down at his bare chest and the remainder of his duty uniform that hestillhas on from last night. A quick whiff under his arm has him recoiling, and he sent Tripp to the only bathroom his apartment has to offer. With a sigh, he heads into his bedroom and raps on the adjoining door.

“Quickly, Tripp,” he calls out, not sticking around to try and decipher Tripp’s muffled reply.

Oh well,Leander thinks as he rifles through his drawers, trying to find clothing that’s both club-appropriate and also guaranteed to rile Tripp up. Strip joints aren’t really Leander’s thing, but screwing with Tripp all nightdefinitelyis. Beau will forgive them if they’re slightly late, anyway. Lately, whenever he and Tripp turn up together somewhere, Beau reliably gets it into his head that they’re one step closer to declaring their mutual undying love and tying the knot.

Beauclearly doesn’t know his own brother very well.

…Notthat Leander thinks for even one second that Beauwantsto know all of the dirty details he’s tucked away, regarding what makes Tripp tick.

Smiling wickedly, Leander slips the remote for the plug—the one that’s innocuously replaced Tripp’s usual one—into his pocket. Deviously left in the former plug’s place in the armoire drawer, it was positioned for an opportune moment such as this. Leander doubts very much that Tripp even noticed a difference when he picked the imposter up. Without question, the results of this set-up will bewellworth their little delay.

Fifteen toe-tapping minutes later, Tripp emerges from the steamy bathroom flushed and damp, wearing the ripped jeans Leanderloveson him and a plain white Henley that hugs his toned biceps and chest like a beautiful dream. The necklace Beau gifted him when they were kids hangs on a leather cord around his neck, and his emerald green collar looks—as Leander suspected it would—fittingly stylish around his wrist. With his hair spiked up and a fresh, new-looking pair of black combat boots on his feet, the whole package is positively mouth-watering.

Briefly, Leander considers whether Beau would still forgive them if they wereverylate, subsequently forcing himself to dismiss the pantheon of ideas that parade through his mind of all the ways he could ruin Tripp’s outfit before they even step out the front door.

What he’s thinking must show on his face, because Tripp smirks—he knows he looks good. Leander would punish him for the insolence,but theyarerunning behind, and besides, his revenge is already in his hands, in more ways than one. Knowing that, instead of acknowledging the attitude, Leander brushes by Tripp without a single word and shuts himself insidethe bathroom. He showers and shaves in record time before quickly throwing on his own clothes and gelling up his hair.

Checking his look in the mirror, it’s Leander’s turn to smirk. Dark jeans, a charcoal gray collared button-down with the sleeves rolled up, topped off with a solid black waistcoat and a deep red tie tucked smartly behind the buttons.

---