Page 23 of Filtration Play
“Whoa, there, buddy.” Fin clutched tight to him. “Almost took a dive.”
Apparently, he had less control than he thought. He focused on their cars, right by each other in the near distance. He closed his eyes for a moment, even though he still strode forward on pure will alone.
“I’m taking you back to my place,” Fin said. “Whether the shakiness is sub drop or blood sugar drop or whatever, you shouldn’t be driving anywhere for a while.”
Had they reached the cars? He forced his eyes open, and they were standing in front of his car. He reached into his pocket and unlocked it.
“Stay here,” Fin said, letting go of him. He sank against the side of his car.
They tugged open his glove compartment and pulled out his protein bar. Then they looped back around and slipped an arm around him.
“To my car, you go,” they said. He opened his mouth to try to respond, but the words drifted away like wisps on the breeze.
They approached what could be classified as a rust bucket Chevy, so different from their smooth, sleek Ducati.
“Into the passenger’s seat with you,” they said.
He managed to pull away from them to get the door, and he sank into the seat. His vision flickered as his eyes threatened to close.
“Nuh-uh. Get the damn bar in you,” they said.
The crinkle of foil sounded, and a second later, the bar pressed up against his lips. He opened and chewed on automatic, the taste of vanilla and chalk greeting his tongue. He reached up to grab the bar and do it on his own, his fingers trembling, but Fin let him.
He’d resisted people taking care of him his whole life, but Fin didn’t try to overdo it. They just gave him the boost he needed and let him handle the rest. And that was a rarity that circled through his brain as the sugar from the bar hit his system.
The engine roared to life, and off they went.
Chapter Eight
No fucking way would Fin let Ollie drive.
They were glad he’d disclosed his diabetes, as he seemed to be experiencing a drop on that front, but they had a suspicion it combined with sub drop. And he was a baby kinkster, fresh into the scene, so of course they wouldn’t be able to discern the signs.
Except they faced one major problem. They didn’t bring people to their home.
The reality prickled under their skin, but anytime they glanced over and saw the steady rise and fall of Ollie’s shoulders, those pretty eyes closed in slumber—yeah, fuck. They needed to take care of him, even if they exposed a little of themself in the process.
They zipped down the streets toward their place on the outskirts of the city. The one-bedroom they rented was a shoebox, but it was theirs,and it was close enough for them to take public to work. They only kept their car around for sentimental reasons more than anything, since they usually drove their Ducati.
God, the visuals of how good Ollie had looked in the abandoned building, his pants around his thighs, blindfolded. Yeah, permanent spank bank fodder. He had the potential to be the perfect sub.
Which was why they should keep their distance. He was a little too perfect for them, matched their energy a little too well. They clutched the steering wheel tighter as they drove up the street, slowing as they neared their apartment.
They reached over and pinched him in the thigh. “Babe, I’m going to need you to start collecting yourself. I’m on the third floor, so there are steps.” They parked in the back in the small row of spaces that residents squeezed into. The street parking up front almost always bustled with folks dropping by for pizza pickup from Pizza Heaven, which was situated on the first floor. The urge to buy pizza hit at least a dozen times a week when the smell of melted cheese and tangy sauce wafted in.
Ollie stirred. “Mmm?” He blinked, looking groggy as fuck. His hair was a complete mess, and his lips looked far too pink and kissable for comfort. And they didn’t kiss. That wasn’t a thing for them, not with play partners or random hookups, and they didn’t date. Except an urge prickled to the surface, one they shoved away.
“Come on.” They squeezed his thigh again, hard enough to jar him further awake. “We’ll get up to my place and order pizza.”
“Fuck, that sounds amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick from crashing out. “I’m still shaky, so that and some fluids would help.”
“I’ve got you covered,” they said, their heart thumping harder as he stared at them with puppy dog eyes. “Though if you have anyone who could come get your car, it’d be a good idea. I’ll happily offer youa ride home, but given the whole parked in front of an abandoned warehouse sitch, well, it’d be better to get the car in a different spot.”
“I’ll text Jules. I think he or Izzy should be around.”
They licked their lips. The idea of having someone they felt so assured in reaching out to was foreign. Even with the crew at Whipped, they struggled to ask for help, even though any of those fuckers would. The idea of relying on others made their skin prickle, made them riot, as if this temporary comfortability they’d found could get ripped away from them at any moment.
Thanks, Pops.
