Page 12 of Filtration Play
“Business,” Fin shot back.
“Wow, that’s the clearest response in the history of mankind,” Micah drawled. “I’m pretty sure I have a Dom when I want to be edged.”
A bark of a laugh escaped them. “We’ll see how this meeting goes, and then I’ll debate if I want to tell you or not.” Truth be told, if thismeeting went well, they’d be telling everyone and their mother because they were finally putting their shit out there. The idea terrified them.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” Micah said with a sniff. He sipped his chai, looking minxish and coy, which was a default setting.
“I will, thanks.” They swept past him with the latte and tea, the mugs warm against their callused and beat-the-fuck-up hands. Temperature play did nothing to them after years of working as a barista.
They found a spot as far away from Micah’s nosy, well, everything, and set the mugs down. The folder tucked under their arm threatened to burn a hole through it, and the temptation to skim over their portfolio rose in a big way. Except if they started flipping through the photos ahead of time, they’d be obsessing over all the flaws and would toss the set into the garbage before Hera even arrived.
Dreams were for losers anyway.
Or at least people who weren’t them.
Recently, an itch had risen to photograph more subs in bondage tape, but they wanted someone with a big frame. Someone broad and muscular and…fuck, Ollie would be the perfect model.
Except he wasn’t kinky or a sub, and they’d never see him again anyway.
They scratched at their chest, annoyed at the slight squeeze at the thought.
The door to Whipped swung open, and Hera strolled in. She was the sort of femme babe that had turned heads left and right at whatever club she went to, and she’d been attracting admirers for years. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a charming-as-fuck smile. She wasn’t an artist, but she’d been born into money and just so happened to like the arts. Hera also looked fantastic on her knees and gave great head, but outside of play, they were incompatible.
Fin beckoned her over with the curl of their finger, and Hera smirked as she sauntered over.
“Hey, sweetness.” Fin pushed up to a stand and gave her a hug. She was all delicateness, so vastly different from Fin, who’d been rough and tumble since they’d leaped out of the womb.
“So, you’ve been keeping me in suspense,” she said. “I’m aware you’re asking for a favor about the warehouse, but I’m dying to know what this is about.”
A cold sweat broke on Fin’s temple.
Fucking waste of sperm.
Their father’s words smacked in at the worst times. Just a reminder that their parents hadn’t even wanted them to be born, so striving for more was a fool’s errand. They sat back down and stared at their folder, willing it to burst into flame. This whole idea had been fucking stupid in the first place.
“Let’s catch up. Forget the favor,” Fin said, the prickle of anxiety growing stronger by the second.
Hera arched a brow. “Nuh-uh. I want to know what secret you’re keeping.”
Before they could fight themselves any further, they pushed the folder forward. “That. I wanted to know if we could do an exhibition at your warehouse.”
Hera plunked into the opposite seat and opened the folder. Fin’s breath snagged in their throat. Artists put themselves out there all the time, but how the fuck did they navigate this on a regular basis? It was hell.
Hera flipped through some of the images, mostly of Pixie and Sloan, who they’d gotten consent from to be featured in their photography. Fuck, Fin didn’t even have a following. Why the fuck were they asking about an exhibition? A droplet of sweat trickled downtheir neck, and they wrinkled their nose. The temptation to snatch the photos and bolt rose in a real way.
Hera let out a low whistle. “These are gorgeous. There’s not enough kink photography out there. Think I can convince you to take some shots of me?”
Fin blinked, a flush of relief traveling through them so fast it was dizzying. Hera didn’t hate the photos. Pixie, who they trusted with anything art-related, had already given her seal of approval, but Pixie was a close friend. Whereas Hera had a reputation to uphold. She wouldn’t let just any trash go on display, even if they’d been play partners.
“Yeah, I could be persuaded,” Fin said, flirting as if their pulse wasn’t racing. They had no problem saying whatever came to mind, making what they wanted clear when it came to kink. However, this peeled away at their skin and revealed a vulnerability that made them want to scream. “So, a warehouse show’s in the realm of possibility?”
“Absolutely.” Hera traced a finger along the lines of Pixie’s creamy, bound thighs in one of the shots. “What do you say about next month?”
Oh shit.
Fin’s mouth dried. That was far faster than expected, but they didn’t want to turn down the offer.
“I see the deer in the headlights look,” Hera teased. “Most of what you’ll need to set up is there. You just need to bring the photography and the people. What sort of following do you have?”
