Chapter Text
[Brandname]
February 2 - Evan
Evan has a high threshold for pain, no gag reflex, and thinks debasement is nothing. He spent his childhood possessed by demons too terrifying to name. There's no part of him left to take that could come close to that horror.
Once he realized this, a whole new world opened up to him, and with it: money and purpose.
Evan doesn't think of himself as a sexworker or prostitute or even one of the escorts he occasionally crosses paths with in the kind of circles he runs in. He's just a guy with a dark, dangerous vibe that men, women, and the inbetween alike want to crush under their heel.
He keeps his hair long enough to wrap fully around someone's hand. He gets some scary looking tattoos that don't mean anything to him. He keeps his body healthy and in shape out of necessity so that he recovers faster.
He bears scars from the early days, before he knew to make a contract and use a safeword. And before that, when he was so bereft of physical contact he would do anything for anyone if it meant he could feel skin on his own. And earlier than that.
At twenty-six, those memories are locked away and banished. Now he's a plaything for rich people who get their rocks off feeling superior. He has friends--other sexworkers in his circle. They trade notes and referrals and sometimes STDs. They have a central contact. Not a pimp, per se, but someone who gets things done, knows how to write a contract, and makes some money into more money.
He has one other friend, a social worker he met at the gym that calls him Diesel. They get breakfast and play basketball and talk about normal, human things. Jammer's work at the nearby hospital ER is a frequent and delicate topic. Evan's grateful he can be a shoulder to lean on when Jammer needs it.
They talk around the edges of Evan's work. Though Jammer must have some idea. Evan disappears for days at a time and the gym clothes don't hide everything.
When K texts him with a referral for a Sam Butler and tells him she's looking for someone with self-restraint and endurance, he’s willing to entertain it. His current schedule is tight, but Skipper is getting married and wont be around for a while. Pet play. He's been there and done that, but it's not the kind of service that demands someone like him. Violence is more lucrative.
E [6:28 AM]: Thanks for the referral, not sure I'm right for it.
K [6:31 AM]: She's paying top rate. Even yours.
E [6:32 AM]: What are you even doing awake right now?
K [6:32 AM] Sleep is for the weak
E [6:33 AM]: I’m booked out a month
K [6:33 AM]: I know. She’s willing to wait.
E [6:33 AM]: No one else wanted the contract?
K [6:34 AM]: I thought of you first.
Evan stares at his phone, coffee in his hand frozen half way to his mouth. K thought of him for this?
K [6:35 AM]: Don't be a dick. Take the easy job. She's nice
It had taken him four days to recover from the last client, so there's something appealing to 'easy'. Faster recovery, faster the next appointment he can take. K has never described a client as 'nice' before and the mystery of that percolates in a part of his brain he's long ago turned off.
E [6:37 AM]: You vouch for her?
K [6:37 AM]: Yes
E [6:38 AM]: Send it over. I’ll think about it
He pushes into the coffee shop where he's meeting Jammer after his night shift and before they head to the park for a two-on-two game. It's convenient--both work nights. By the time he's ordered coffee for himself and Jammer, the contract is in his email. Everything looks clean.
One night. One woman. The safeword is 'coconut' and the signal a finger to his nose. In the event of restraints and a gag, a third option would be negotiated. The only red flag was the NDA attached. He checks the name again, Sam Butler. No one he recognises-- not in the real world and not among the client circles. He’s been with more than one wealthy asshole with too high an opinion of themselves, but K vouched, so the flag isn’t that red.
She's interested in pet play and Evan doesn't usually do that. Pets adore their masters and he's just not convincing.
He’s about to reject it when Jammer drops into the chair across from him. “Yo, big guy.”
“G’morning,” Evan smiles, wide and genuinely happy to see him. “How was your night?”
“Quiet, honestly.”
“Honestly?”
“It was slightly shy of a madhouse. So yeah, quiet. Thanks for the coffee, that line is nasty.”
Evan gives him a half-smile and nods. Not the kind of night where Jammer needs a friend to unwind it all.
“You were looking pretty focused when I came in. How ya doin’?”
“Mmm, just reviewing a contract. Not sure it’s right.”
“Oh?” Jammer’s interest isn’t disguised. “Something you can negotiate?”
“It’s complicated. I can provide what they’re asking for at the price they’re asking for it, but I know it’s not the right product for them. Know what I mean?”
“They came looking for a soccer van and you’re selling them a Maserati?” Jammer leans back. “You’re concerned you’re taking advantage of your customer? This is America, man. Take the money.”
Evan gives him a look, “Since when are you so down with capitalism?”
“Since the world started flying backwards. Fight money with money.”
“My customer is just looking for the right kind of tool. Sure, I’ll get the job done, but someone else could do it better and for less money.”
“Maybe it’s the brandname,” Jammer drinks his coffee, eyes expectantly on Evan.
“There is no--” He has to cut himself off. He’d never call it a brand, but his name has been going around. Lately there’s been times he’s fielding more requests than he has time for. “Okay, sure. A reputation.”
“Then they’re paying for more than just the product and what it promises to do.” He shrugs and taps the lid of his coffee. “They get the whatchamicalit experience.”
“Your analogy is falling apart.”
He shrugs and grins, “That’s all I know about cars.”
Evan unlocks his phone and accepts the contract from K. Easy. This one would be so easy.
[Bear - Scene #1]
March 4 - Evan
It is not easy.
He knows it the moment the door of the top floor suite at the Ophelia Hotel opens and registers rising star Sam Britain standing in front of him with a wide smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
“Tad? Come in! Thanks for agreeing to—uh, meet me? Fuck me? What's the protocol here?”
She's confident and at ease in high-end, mismatched loungewear that contrasts pleasantly against her dark skin. Her hair is styled in fine, elegant braids with gold strands woven into the ends. She looks ready for a movie night. Not a hardcore sexcapade.
Evan is a stark contrast. His uniform--and he thinks of it like that-- is simple, dark, and tactical: black on black on black. His long hair is pulled back fiercely into a tight bun at the nape of his neck, making anyone wanting it down have to work for it. The entire look culminates in a pair of black combat boots—heavy, sturdy, and a reminder to them that he can walk away at any moment.
He finds himself smiling, “There’s no protocol for hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she doesn’t stop smiling and takes his hand to pull him inside.
He knows who Sam Britain is and he doesn’t understand what he’s doing here. He doesn’t follow a lot of social media or other media for that matter, but he’s seen her face. More than once. He remembers thinking she’s funny.
There’s a whole army of people who’d be willing to submit to Sam Britain.
“We can begin when you give the word,” he offers the last and only instruction he’ll be giving for the night.
“Oh, we’re not ready for that yet,” she squeezes his hand and leads him to the couch. “I’ve got wine. I want to talk a bit more.”
Evan blinks as he follows. Sometimes it happened. People were often lonely. A star maybe more so.
She drops onto the couch and pours the wine. Evan sits on the floor at her feet. She pats the couch and hands him a glass. “Not yet.”
He arches an eyebrow and waits a beat before obeying. He knows a command when he hears one.
“I’ve never had to ask ‘Do you know who I am’ before,” she muses. “My life is so fucking weird.”
“Yes, I know who you are. I’ve signed the NDA. Nothing to worry about.” He takes a slow sip of the wine. He wouldn’t know if it was expensive or a bottle of gas station $5.99 special, but he doesn’t think Sam Britain does anything without going big.
“Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool,” she nods to herself and takes another drink. “What should I call you? Do you like Tad?”
Evan’s eyes widen a bit and he bites back a smirk. “Pretty sure you pick the name when you let in a stray.”
There’s a glitter in her eye, “Mmm. I’ll think on it.”
He takes a small sip of wine in the ensuing silence.
“So, do you want to know how I heard about you?” He does actually. “I know someone who knows K. Oh, maybe you don’t know her as K? Petite, Asian descent, shaved head and wild fashion sense? You probably all have code names right? Tad isn’t your real name.”
“We’re not a mafia. Just a loosely knit group of people with a clever accountant.” What was K thinking? Was Sam less experienced than K had implied? They hadn’t actually implied anything though, when he thinks back. “Can I ask you some questions? Just so I don’t have to guess. How intensely do you want me to play dog?”
“Oh, absolutely. Let’s hash this out,” she turns on the couch with legs crossed. “We’re not doing the on-all-fours-water-bowl thing.” There’s something about the ‘we’ that sets him off rhythm. “I’ve tried it and it kinda gives me the ick,” she leans in conspiratorily. “I like to keep it simple: Just obey.”
“To obedience,” he tips his wine glass to hers. “Do I talk? Or should I limit myself to yips and whines?”
“That’s an option?”
“Everything is an option.”
“Wow. Okay,” she winds a braid through her fingers. “Yips and whines sound nice. But you should talk too.”
“Noted,” he says. “On a scale of good dog-to-bad dog?”
“You have scales for that?”
“You hired a professional.”
“I’ve hired one before.”
“Not like this.”
She thinks about it for a moment, appraising him. “A good boy. The best boy.”
“Last question from me: what should I call you?” He takes another drink of wine.
“Sam,” she gives him her real name without a second thought.
“Not mistress or owner or miss something?”
“Nope.” She shrugs and smiles brightly. “Just Sam.”
She names him Bear.
Sam’s thing is edging and she gives a masterclass.
His head is spinning and every muscle is strung taut as he holds himself utterly still. He’s braced over her, her leg slung over his arm and just the tip of his cock inside of her. He’s panting and sweating under the strain. She let him come once and it was an hour ago.
“Good boy,” she rolls her hips just the smallest amount and he whimpers. “Ohh, that’s a good boy.“
His eyes have been squeezed closed for nearly twenty minutes, blocking the visual of her body beneath his and the tease in her eyes. Her nails score down his back and he gulps for air. His arms are shaking and there’s a single word left in his head. A constant buzz that blocks out everything but the sensation of her body. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.
“Stay,” her voice is tight and breathless. A bead of his sweat drips to fall on her breast.
Her hips roll again and he loses contact with her completely. He lets out a dismayed cry and his hips jerk desperately forward. “Bad boy. Stay, Bear,” she punctuates the command with his new name and Evan truly might lose it. She angles herself to rub her clit along his cock, depriving him of the dripping heat he’d so recently been buried in.
He trembles as she bites her nails into his back and shoulders, “Good boy. Don’t move,” she gasps, and grinds herself against the ridge of his cock.
Pleasepleasepleaseplease.
A sharp cry breaks from Sam’s throat, familiar now, that echoes in his head. Her hips buck over and over again, uneven and uncontrolled against his cock, her orgasm dragging out for what feels like eternity. His heart is ripping out his chest.
She’s hot, wet, soft and spread open for him and he just pleasepleasepleaseplease.
“Okay, Bear,” her voice is raw, but he can hear the smile in it. “Your turn.”
Released, he drives into her with more desperation than he’s ever felt. The orgasm hits and he blacks out for a few seconds.
He comes back into his body with his head pillowed on her breast and one manicured hand combing through his damp hair. His lungs still burn and every muscle in his body is still fighting itself to release the tension.
“We’re done for the night,” she promises when his whole body shivers again. “Are you okay?”
“I think,” he pants, “I died for a minute.”
Sam’s laugh is breathless and full-throated. “Would you have died happy?”
Evan’s not prepared for the question and his brain is mush, so he doesn’t give the right answer. “Happy’s dumb.” Sam giggles again and Evan’s body responds with another earthquake through his bones. “Fuuuck.”
“Hey,” Her voice is softer and she tips his head up and gives him the sweetest kiss. She tastes of wine and sweat and warmth. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She wriggles out from under him and Evan rolls onto his back, trying to catch a hold of his breath and his thoughts. The breath came easier and Evan decides he doesn’t need thoughts. Not when he feels this good.
When she comes back, she’s mercifully wrapped in a hotel robe with a couple water bottles and that damned gorgeous smile. “You, sir, are impressive.” She sits beside him and hands him one.
Some of his muscles cooperate and he sits up enough to down half the bottle in one go. “Fuck.”
“Mmm, we did that. Yes.” She tips her head, reaching out to casually rub his stomach. “Are you speechless right now?”
“Fuck,” he says on an exhale and drinks the rest of the water.
“Guess I’m impressive too.”
He laughs.
[Breakfast]
March 5 - Evan
Evan is such a mess when he leaves the hotel that it doesn’t even occur to him that he can simply cancel on Jammer. Instead, he walks into the gym on autopilot and stops dead in front of the weights. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since he’d left Sam six hours ago and his thoughts chase each other in circles.
Bear.
She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with.
Bad. Bad. Bad. This is bad.
Birthmark. She has a birthmark.
She’s so funny.
Stop. Thinking. You motherfucker.
The way her tongue…
Has he ever come so hard before?
She kisses like she means it.
Idiot. Fool. You’re a fucking fool.
She hadn’t needed anything to hold him in check. Just her voice.
Her skin is so soft.
Bad. This is bad.
She’s not like the others.
Bear.
“Diesel,” Jammer greets him boisterously with a slap on the back. “‘Morning, man--what the fuck happened to you?”
“Hey. Hi.” Evan blinks hard to catch up to the last three seconds. “Happened?”
“Yeah, you’re just standing there looking like you’ve never seen a weight before.”
Evan is grateful Jammer is there. The noises in his head fade to the background. “Um. Uh. Weird night.”
“Yeah?”
Evan is an expert at schooling his facial expressions, but Sam Butler has stolen his professionalism and he fears Jammer can see the chaos written in his eyes.
“We are not working out today. C’mon. Let’s get breakfast.”
“But,” Evan gestures at the weights. “It’s Tuesday. We work out on Tuesday.”
“You’re either high, concussed, or in shock.”
It shakes a fully formed thought from Evan’s head. “And your solution to all of those is breakfast?”
Jammer is one of the kindest people Evan has ever met, and he shows it by letting Evan take exactly one bite of his omelet before starting what is sure to be a painful interrogation.
“I love you, big guy. I say that first because I don’t think I ever have and it’s true. Are you on drugs right now?”
Evan coughs around the eggs, “No, and I love you too.”
Jammer’s eyes narrow slightly. “Do you have a head injury?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Jammer takes a sip of coffee and waits.
“Something happened last night,” he realizes the trap he just laid for himself and considers lying but he can’t make it believable. “I was-- I just had the best sex of my life.”
Jammer looks taken aback and Evan gets it. He feels like he’s looking down at himself and maybe he did die last night.
“All of this,” he gestures at Evan and makes figure eights with his fork. “Is because you got laid?”
Evan can only marvel at the understatement. He opens his mouth before he’s formed a response and just kinda gapes at Jammer for a few moments.. “She-- I--I wasn’t expecting it.”
There’s an expression on Jammer’s face that Evan can’t read in his state. “She’s not your usual type?”
“No. She’s not,” his voice cracks and now he can add humiliated to the list of emotions he’d rather not name. “Fuck.”
“Can we cut the crap?”
Startled, Evan nods.
“You’re a sex worker. You fell in love with your client. Go.”
“I only met her eight hours ago.”
“Oh.” Jammer takes a few bites of his breakfast and Evan’s able to get his thoughts to line up for a few precious moments. “The sex was that good?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.”
Evan looks down at his plate and twists the fork in his hand. “I--I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop-- fuck. That’s it, that’s all that’s wrong. I had really intense, really good sex and I can’t stop thinking about how it’s going to ruin my entire life.”
“How bad is the sex you’ve been having?”
Evan wont look at him.
“For what it’s worth I kinda already know. I’m trained to look for marks, dumbass.”
“It’s not that it’s good or bad,” Evan tries to find a middling truth. “It’s just what I was built for.”
“Built for by who?”
Evan’s jaw tightens, “I donno. A higher power than me.”
“Right.”
Jammer takes a deep breath and then a few bites of food. “Was this the Maserati?”
In the pit of his soul, he wants to spill his guts and lay them across the table for Jammer to tell him what to do.
“I just-- she’s--”
“You don’t have to talk to me about this, Ev. It’s your business--quite literally. Just know that I can stand to hear anything if you can stand to say it.”
Evan blinks at him and the sudden rush of affection makes him blurt out: “She made me laugh.”
“Oh.” His eyes widen and then Jammer’s mouth splits into a grin. “Ohhhh?”
“That’s-- don’t. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know! That’s why I look like this,” he gestures to himself up and down.
“Are you going to see her again? If she asks?”
She will ask. Evan’s confident of that. “Yes.”
“Not even gonna try and lie on that one, huh?”
He twists the fork again, avoiding Jammer's eyes. “I keep a wall up. A massive one. It’s how I’m able to do what I do. There’s only ever been one gate. To you. I--I’m not sure it’ll withstand her.”
“Any chance we can build another gate?”
Evan meets his eyes then and shakes his head. “Not possible.”
“Then, radical idea: Don’t say yes. Turn her down.”
A huffed, bitter laugh escapes him. “I’ll try.”
A message comes through K two days later. Without hesitation he says yes.
[Great Dane - Scene #3]
April 10 - Evan
The TV is on and it could have been static for all he notices. Sam is leaning into the pet of pet play and has him arranged on the couch so that he’s reclined against her and her hand is in full reach of his cock. It’s been at least a full episode of whatever is on and she hasn’t gotten him undressed yet. Instead, she pets him. She pulls loose the bun of his hair and strokes through it, she squeezes the back of his neck, teases across his collarbones and down his chest.
He hates it for the first ten minutes. Every caress causes his muscles to coil, eager to pull away from her casual, affectionate touch. It doesn’t belong.
But Evan doesn’t flinch from a client and not over something so stupid as tenderness.
He’s repeatedly telling himself that it’s just a job when her thumb finds a soft spot behind his ear and his breath catches in his lungs. A knot in his chest suddenly comes undone and the tension bleeds away. She senses when he relaxes and begins her true assault shortly after.
Her hand snakes into his too tight jeans and works him until he’s impossibly hard and whining. Then she goes back to tracing madness into his skin. A repeating pattern with no predictability, so he’s always in a state of anticipation.
Evan feels like he’s been drugged. It’s the closest approximation to his current physical and mental state that he’s ever known. He’s not playing at submission, he’s genuinely ready to beg her and he’s not sure it’s for an orgasm.
It takes him a minute to surface from the flood of neurochemicals surging through his veins to register she’s asked a question.
“If you were a dog what kind would you be?” She tugs lightly on the hair below his belly button and he gasps into alertness.
“I--” he gulps. “What?”
“You give strong Doberman, but maybe that’s too obvious,” she’s conversational, but she squeezes his cock through the rough material of his jeans and his hips jerk upward. “Dick out, please.”
Fumbling, he unzips and shoves his pants down while she completely ignores his erection to instead lightly caresses the same weak spot behind his ear. He trembles just the same.
“So?”
“Uhhhhh.”
“Breed?”
Mutt, he thinks sluggishly. What was Bear, though? “Um, Great Dane. Those are--” he squirms when her nail starts to trace letters he can’t read into his neck. “They’re the big ones, right?”
“Yeah,” her voice is like honey. “Big slobbery guys. Clumsy. Prone to separation-anxiety.”
Her hand isn’t on his cock or near his ear, so he manages a full sentence. “Please tell me there’s more than that to them.”
She smiles in that way that sets him off balance. “They’re gentle giants who love a good cuddle. Is that who you want Bear to be?”
It takes him a panicked moment to deflect. “I could do without the slobber part.”
“Oh?” She presses a finger against his lower lip until it parts and she slides it past his lips. “I think it’s pretty useful.”
He rumbles low in his chest and sucks lasciviously at the single digit. She introduces a second and he instinctively rolls his tongue between the two. She takes her time, plunging the fingers past his lips and then slowly withdrawing them, letting his desperate suction coat them completely. When she finally pulls them free they’re slick and gleaming. “That’s my boy.”
She paints his cock with his saliva and Evan slides back into the blissful haze of being her good boy.
He leaves in the early morning with the next appointment on his calendar.