Work Text:
There is no neon sign, no line of already-drunk partiers, no bass thumping through the walls.
No, on the outside, Paratise is completely inconspicuous. Hidden, even.
Till is a bit surprised—he even thought he was in the wrong place at first. Some big, dark building downtown on a not-so-busy street is not exactly the prime time location for a club, but he’d heard good things. And it’s a weekend, and he was itching to go out, so he decided to check it out. See what the hype was about.
He finds a door with a bouncer-looking dude who asks for his ID and, after a once-over, lets him in.
The inside is very, very different from the outside. It feels heavier: thick air, subtle lighting, soft murmuring. But the most significant thing Till notices is the lack of clothing. Now, he himself is not conservatively dressed—after all, he was going clubbing. But some of these people were wearing nothing. Most others had strips of latex or leather covering their bodies, but leaving nothing to the imagination.
It took Till less than a second to realize that Luka recommended him a sex club. Seems like Luka was tired of just telling him to get laid. (Not everyone can have a partner like Hyuna, and even then, Till does not understand what she sees in Luka.)
Fuck it. Till wanders aimlessly. He discovers that the club is not just this main area; there is a selection of rooms (open and closed) with people doing things: moaning, slapping, watching. Lots of people watching.
Till ends up in a room, watching. There is a woman seemingly decorated with rope, suspended from the ceiling. She looks peaceful. The scene feels almost beautiful, like a work of art. He could be in a museum, if the musk of sex was not permeating his senses.
“You look new.” The voice startles him out of his trance. He looks over his shoulder and sees a man—a tall, elegant, very attractive man, dressed in all black from head to toe. He’s wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, crisply pressed pants, and leather shoes, making him one of the most clothed people Till has seen here. The man has pale skin, black hair, and dark eyes that are staring into Till’s soul.
Till blinks.
“What makes you say that?” he finally answers.
“The wide eyes,” the man responds. “And I would’ve noticed you.”
There is a beat of silence. Once Till registers exactly what the stranger said, he manages to say, “Well, yes, I am new.”
“New to Paratise, or to kink in general?”
Till thinks back to the select few sexual experiences he’s had. There was nothing particularly crazy about any of them. “Both, I guess.”
“Hmm.” The stranger unabashedly eyes Till up and down. “Well, if you want someone to… show you the ropes, I have a private room.”
“…How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“Because you go through a background check to get your own room here. But even if I was, you’re much too pretty to kill.” The stranger smiles slightly. He pauses. “For reference, I was her rigger.” He nods to the woman Till had been looking at.
“Rigger,” Till repeats.
“I tied her up,” the stranger explains. “The more standard kink terminology is ‘rigging’.”
Till doesn’t say anything, glancing between the stranger and the woman.
The stranger turns to leave. “Go to the second floor and ask for Navi, if you decide you want to try.”
Till nods mutely.
The stranger walks away, footsteps silent in the sparse crowd, and Till returns his gaze to the woman. Distantly, he wonders how it would feel to be suspended like that for minutes, hours. Does it hurt? Would it feel like floating?
He eventually refocuses.
And then he heads towards the stairs.
—
The guide on the second floor shows him to one of the doors toward the end of the hall. Till takes a deep breath and knocks.
The door opens in seconds, and Till is met with that same dark stare. The stranger smiles.
“Glad you came. Please come in.”
The room is dimly lit, like the rest of the club, and filled with contraptions. There is an array of intimidating tools—are those whips?—on the walls, and a collection of what look to be various oddly shaped furniture around the room.
The stranger closes the door behind Till before walking towards the center of the room. He looks at Till.
“What’s your name? If you’re comfortable sharing.”
“Till. What’s yours?”
“Ivan.”
“Isn’t it kind of weird that you asked me here before you knew my name?”
If Ivan was at all deterred by Till’s bluntness, he doesn’t show it. “Many people here are very cautious about their anonymity. It’s not a scene where people like to be recognized, necessarily.”
Till supposes that makes sense.
“Now, Till, I’d like to discuss a few things with you before we begin. Do you know what limits are?”
—
With Till’s mind still reeling from the newfound vocabulary—hard limits, soft limits, cum control, rope jargon he can’t remember, safe words—he is knocked from his thoughts by blunt orders:
“Alright, Till, take off your clothes and stand below the hook.” Ivan gestures to the circle of metal attached to the ceiling.
Till hesitates. He can feel the flush starting to creep up his neck.
Ivan raises an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
Till pouts. “No.”
“No, …?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
Till does as he’s told. He’s half hard and very flushed by the time Ivan approaches him with a coil of rope. He spreads Till’s legs apart and ties each ankle to a hook in the ground. (Where did those come from? Till hadn’t noticed them when he walked in.) Then Ivan guides Till’s hands behind his back, arranging his forearms atop one another. He binds them together and then to Till’s torso in a complex web of rope weaving around his chest, arms, and shoulders. Ivan attaches the harness to the metal on the ceiling, and Till is lifted up, stretched, pulled tight between his spread legs and upper body. Till feels almost weightless.
After checking that nothing is uncomfortable and that Till can still feel all his limbs, Ivan disappears behind him and comes back with a blindfold.
He puts it on Till, and Till is plunged into darkness. He is keenly aware of his own breathing, now. He listens as Ivan moves around the room.
He jolts when Ivan attaches something to his nipple. And then again to the other. Till’s breath catches in his throat when the things start vibrating. His cock stirs with interest, and he tugs at his binds. They don’t budge.
It doesn’t take long for him to get hard.
“You look so pretty like this.”
Ah.
“I could leave you here all night, you know,” Ivan says.
Till inhales as panic—adrenaline? arousal?—spikes through him; his dick twitches. Ivan seems to notice.
“Aw, you like that? Being left here, aching to be touched? To cum?”
A shiver runs through Till’s body, and he bites back a moan.
“I think if I left you here you’d realize exactly how helpless you are. Powerless. Because here, right now, I own you.”
Till feels like his senses are heightened. The vibration on his nipples is making him twitch. The unfamiliar, constricting pressure of the ropes is intense like nothing he’s ever felt before.
“You are mine to play with, to tease, to torture,” Ivan continues, moving behind him. “My perfect little slut,” he murmurs into Till’s ear.
At that, a whimper slips out of Till, and he flushes even darker in embarrassment.
“There you go, don’t be afraid to make noise. I didn’t gag you precisely so I could hear that lovely voice.”
Till nods shakily. “Yes, sir.” He swallows.
Then he jumps, startled, when he feels cool hands sliding down his sides, tracing down from his rib cage to his hips, skimming across the ropes.
“Remember to breathe, darling,” Ivan says gently.
Till didn’t realize he was holding his breath, and he quickly inhales.
He can feel his dick twitch, as if willing that the barely-there contact of Ivan’s hands would shift forward and touch him.
What he gets instead is the heat from Ivan leaning down to brush his lips against Till’s neck. Marks hadn’t been a concern for Till during their discussion of limits—maybe if he leaves with some, Luka will stop pestering him. Ivan’s hands settle around Till’s waist, his grip featherlight.
Till goes rigid when Ivan starts to kiss and suck at the back of his neck, and Ivan brings up one hand to press one of the vibrators more firmly into Till’s nipple. Till keens, arching in Ivan’s hold, finally letting a moan escape. It tapers off into a whine when Ivan doesn’t let up.
“Ahhh, please—” Till gasps. “Fuck, sir, I can’t—”
Thankfully, Ivan relents. “Oh but we haven’t even started.”
Till whimpers.
Then the warmth behind him is gone. Ivan walks away, and Till hears the click of a lube bottle cap.
“Color?” It sounds like Ivan is kneeling in front of him, now.
The question takes Till a second to process. Then, “Green. Sir.”
“Good boy. I’m going to open you up now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lube is warm when the first finger touches him along his taint. With his legs spread out, it’s fairly easy access.
The touch trails back to his hole, circling gently, coating the area with lube. Ivan presses in, and the stretch isn’t too bad at first. Ivan moves slowly, easing in and out, going a bit deeper with each push. He begins to curl his fingers every thrust, and it drags moan after moan from Till. He’s shaking slightly, probably dripping pre into the floor.
“You’re doing so well, Till. I’m going to add another finger.”
The second finger makes Till wince, but Ivan uses his other hand to slide up and down the back of Till’s thigh reassuringly. It’s grounding. As Till relaxes, Ivan’s fingers move deeper and deeper, and it’s starting to feel good. Really good. Ivan kisses along Till’s pelvis, and Till cries out. Ivan is so close to his painfully hard cock, and yet Till remains completely untouched.
Adding the third finger goes the same way, and soon, Ivan is fucking Till with his hand, nudging Till’s prostate repeatedly, sucking marks into the skin of Till’s stomach and thighs.
By this point, Till doesn’t even think about the sounds he’s making. He’s past embarrassment—every thought is narrowed down to sensation. Pleasure.
Ivan removes his hand. Till groans, clenching around nothing.
But nothing doesn’t stay for long, because Till hears a clunk behind him and then feels a cold mass against his ass. He grinds back against it, seeking friction, something, anything. Then Ivan presses the dildo into Till, slowly, gently. Till moans at the fullness. It’s not deep, but it’s a satisfying girth after being stretched by Ivan’s fingers. Ivan then takes off the nipple vibrators, leaving Till with a strange pins-and-needles sensitivity that makes him shiver.
Then something whirs to life, and the dildo starts moving. It’s frustratingly slow—a teasing, leisurely up and down. Up and down. Till can’t even try to ride it because the ropes keep him suspended exactly in place.
And then, mercifully, Ivan’s hand wraps around the base of his cock. It seems Ivan has returned to being in front of Till, and Till tries to thrust forward into Ivan’s hand, but the angle of the fuck machine stops him.
He is immobilized. Helpless. It really hits him and he starts half-sobbing, begging Ivan to do anything. “Please, please, I want to come, please—”
Ivan moves his hand, but just barely, stroking only the bottom half of his shaft.
“Fuck, yes—” After however long it’s been, Till barely needs any stimulation to be dragged close to the edge. “Ah, I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna cum—”
The hand lets go, and the dildo stops moving. Till whines, body coiled and tense. It takes him a second to come down.
“I want you to count your edges,” Ivan says. “That was one. Say it after each. We’ll go to ten, since it’s your first time. If you lose track, we start over.”
The words pass blearily through Till’s ears. He nods.
“What was that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s a good slut. Now let’s continue.”
The hands return to his dick, stroking just the bottom half, leaving his sensitive tip to just leak precum. It takes seconds before Till is close again, with Ivan’s tight grip on his cock and the fuck machine in his ass.
“Ahh, sir, I’m close—please—”
The hands stop. The machine stops.
Till gasps. “Two.”
“Good boy. Only three more to go.”
The next edge comes just from Ivan massaging Till’s balls and flicking his nipples. Till really has to fight his orgasm before managing to count his edge.
The fuck machine suddenly starts going faster, and Till’s moaning gets louder along with it. His legs are twitching, thighs trying to clench together but unable to. His body spasms, and the tightness around the dildo nearly sends him over the edge, but the machine stops.
Till is left gasping, shivering. “Four.”
“So close, Till.”
“Sir, I—please…”
“One more.”
Till sobs. The machine resumes, and so do Ivan’s hands. It’s so much, Till feels it everywhere. He feels the orgasm build, and he’s almost—
Everything stops, and it makes Till collapse in his binds. “Five.”
“Good boy. Does my pretty little whore want to cum?” Ivan stands up, caressing Till’s face, touching along the damp tear tracks running down his cheeks.
“Yes, yes, sir, please—”
Ivan moves behind Till again, but this time, presses up against him. One hand is holding Till’s waist, hugging him to Ivan. Till feels so small.
And then he notices that Ivan is hard. The realization makes him moan, and he tries to grind back against Ivan. But Ivan raises his other hand to Till’s neck, and that catches his attention.
“You’ve been so good, Till. You can cum.”
The machine whirs back into motion. The hand around his waist moves to his dick, and the hand around his neck squeezes, cutting off circulation and blood flow to his brain. Till’s vision goes from fuzzy to nonexistent as his eyes roll back in his head, his orgasm finally cresting through him.
He’s cumming, and then he can suddenly breathe again. But everything stops. Ivan lets go. He cries out, overwhelmed as his cock kicks in empty air, shooting cum, and his hole spasms around the motionless dildo. It takes a bit for his cock to stop dripping cum, but he’s still shivering with aftershocks when Ivan’s hand returns.
“Wait I just c—”
Ivan firmly strokes from the base of Till’s cock to the tip, and Till screams at the stimulation. His dick is so sensitive it hurts. He needs it to stop, he needs Ivan to let go, but all he can do is moan and sob. It’s so much. He can’t breathe, and every stroke is a cry ripped from his throat. And then he cums again into Ivan’s hand, gasping, shaking.
Ivan eventually lets go, and Till is fading blissfully, but then the machine starts again.
“I—ngh, wait—I can’t—”
“Yes you can, Till,” Ivan says. He leans over to trace the back of Till’s ear with the tip of his tongue. “I know you can.”
Till cries, “Noo—I, I already came—”
“Color?”
“Ahhh—fuck, green, green, Ivan please—”
Till hears a soft “Fuck” from behind him, or he might be making that up, but then the dildo is abruptly taken out, there is shuffle of fabric and a rip of foil behind him, and then Ivan—his hands wrap almost entirely around Till’s waist—Ivan is fucking him.
That fact alone gives Till a high like nothing else, that he turned on Ivan enough to be used like this.
“You have no idea how fucking delicious you are, Till,” Ivan groans. Till clenches and they both moan in unison.
“Ah, yess, fuck me—”
“Yeah? Pretty little fucktoy wants to get filled?”
Till can feel his third orgasm rising, dick untouched. “Oh, fuck—Ivan, I’m close—”
“Cum for me, Till.”
Ivan’s cock presses into Till’s prostate, and his hand wraps around Till’s dick, and that’s it. Till flies over the edge, clamping down around Ivan’s cock as his own painfully leaks a few drops of cum. The spasms last for what feels like forever, and somewhere in the back of his mind he hears and feels Ivan cum too. But everything is fuzzy. He feels so light.
He’s floating.
—
Somewhere in the haze, Ivan unties Till, guides him to sit on a chaise along one of the walls (Tills legs have forgotten their function), and wipes him down with a damp cloth. Ivan holds a water bottle to Till’s mouth, and he drinks. The coolness is refreshing, soothing his throat that is hoarse from all the noises and begging.
After tidying things up, Ivan joins him on the chaise, wrapping an arm around Till, who nestles deeper into his embrace, eyes closed. Till is cold, for some reason, and Ivan is warm. Comforting.
Ivan cards his hand through Till’s hair. He says, lowly, “How do you feel?”
Till mumbles incoherently and nods.
Ivan huffs a laugh. “I should’ve expected that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
Till floats for a while, soothed by the rhythm of Ivan’s hand through his hair. He might be drifting in and out of sleep, he can’t really tell. Time is a blur.
Eventually, Till settles back into his body and starts waking up. He sits up a bit, looking around for the bottle of water from earlier. Ivan notices, reaching over and grabbing it from the table. He hands it to Till.
“…Thanks.” His voice is rough.
“Of course, Till. Do you need anything else?”
Till considers the question. “Probably to go home and sleep for a week.”
Ivan laughs. “Rest is good after playing. How did you get here? Should I call you an uber?”
Till hesitates before nodding. His phone is so far away, and the idea of looking at a bright screen is not appealing.
”Where to?”
Till lists off his address. He figures that Ivan had had plenty of opportunities to kill him, so the chances of him being jumped in his own home are probably low.
Ivan gets up to find his own phone, leaving Till to slouch back on the chaise. He’s looking at his clothes with disdain. The last thing he wants to do is put his tight leather pants back on.
Ivan returns, and he must be telepathic because he offers Till a black t-shirt and grey sweats. Till is so grateful it takes everything in him to not blurt out something like “Holy shit, I love you.” Instead, he accepts the clothes with a nod of thanks.
He gets dressed slowly. Standing is easier, now. The shirt is large on him—almost hanging off his shoulders, exposing his collarbones, sleeves reaching his forearms—but the pants fit decently enough to not fall down. By the time he’s done, Ivan has put Till’s phone and clubbing clothes in a bag and is standing by the door (watching Till, as always).
“Your Uber is two minutes away,” Ivan says. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
Till follows Ivan out the door and down the stairs. They walk in comfortable silence. Ivan holds the exit door open for him, and the cool outside air wafts over Till as he steps out.
It’s less than a minute before the car pulls up.
Ivan turns to Till, handing him the bag with his belongings. Then he takes Till’s face in his hands, tenderly, looking at him as if memorizing his face. Till stares back. Ivan’s eyes are the slightest bit red, Till notices under the street lights.
Ivan leans in and presses a soft kiss to Till’s forehead.
“You did so well tonight, Till,” he says quietly. “If you ever want to play again, you know where to find me.”
Till nods, averting his eyes as he blushes. Ivan might’ve had his dick in Till’s ass earlier that night, but the implications still send Till’s heart beating faster.
Ivan removes his hands (much to Till’s dismay) and takes something out of his pocket. A small piece of paper.
“But if you feel yourself dropping, like we talked about before, don’t hesitate to contact me.” He drops it into the bag. “Or if you aren’t dropping and just want to.”
Then Ivan opens the door, and Till steps inside. Ivan smiles at him and Till stares back.
“Good night, Till.”
“G’night, Ivan.”
Ivan shuts the door, and Till watches through the window as the car drives away. A few minutes in, he digs through the bag for his phone and the paper.
It’s a Paratise business card, with Ivan’s name—his real name—and number. The fuck it mentality has gotten him this far tonight, so he decides to go for it one more time, and sends a text.
thx for the clothes
and everything else tonight
when do u want them back?
Hi, Till. I am glad you enjoyed yourself. You can keep the clothes.
r u sure??
Yes. You look good in my clothes.
Till throws his phone back into the bag and spends the rest of the drive flustered, staring out the window into the night.