August was barely paying attention to the teasing. His eyes were glued to the bulge in Quinn’s black jeans and the strip of stomach visible beneath the black lace of his shirt. Quinn dressed differently when he was at school; August didn’t know what the style was called, but it looked mouthwatering on the pretty man.
A long-sleeved black shirt made of soft lace, a corset-looking thing the same colour that emphasized his slim waist, and black jeans that were the only surviving thing from his emo days. Quinn wore a lot of rings, and he had several piercings, and August had admired his tattoos every time he took his clothes off. This style felt like an adult version of what Quinn used to wear; more refined and with less eyeliner.
Beautiful. He was fucking beautiful.
“You’re the only person I would ever do this for,” said August, and he meant it.
Quinn’s smile grew wider, hand gripping August’s chin to keep their gazes locked. “I’m almost finished with my sketch, but I still have to draw your face. I want to add another element, but it’s up to you if we use it.”
August said nothing as Quinn let go of him and walked over to the briefcase. He removed a long strip of red silk from inside, wrapping it around his slim fingers and presenting it to August like a gift.
“How are you feeling?”
August’s skin was tingling, and his aches were nothing more than a distant memory.
“Green light.”
He had officially lost his mind. That was the single thought that kept repeating in August’s head as the silk blindfold was tightened around his eyes, and his world was plunged into darkness.
It was just a piece of fabric, but having one of his senses cut off when he was in such a vulnerable state amplified every sound in the room. He could hear the rustle of Quinn’s clothes and the hitch in his breath as he stepped away to look at him. The creak of the floorboards, the click of a pen as it was lifted from the easel.
“Green light,” August said without having to be asked.
“Good boy.”
August’s arms twitched, but it was a split-second reaction that stopped just as abruptly as it began. He was left feeling tingly and dazed, with muscles so relaxed that they might as well have been made of putty.
The scratch of pencil on paper had a hypnotizing effect, and August began to lose time, caught in a strange, euphoric bliss that he couldn’t describe or understand.
A warm trickle of something wet on his chin made him jump again, but he knew where it was coming from and chose to ignore it.
“August?”
“It will stop bleeding in a minute. Green light.”
It took a second for the scratching to start up again, lulling August into a state of calm. He felt guilty for getting Quinn’s fancy ropes dirty, but he wasn’t ready to end whatever was happening over a stupid nosebleed.
“I have what I need. Do you want me to play with you like this, or have you had enough of the ropes?”
Quinn could stab him in the fucking throat right now, and he would thank him for it.
“Green light.”
Anticipation built, and August began shivering in his restraints. He was hyper-aware of Quinn fiddling with his art case and the sound of his footsteps approaching.
Something touched his face, and August jerked, but it was only a piece of tissue to clean up the blood that was dribbling from his nose.
“Tilt your head back.”
It was difficult in this position, but August did as he was told. Quinn wiped away the blood one more time, and then the tissue was gone.
Another moment of anticipation built when Quinn went motionless again, sending August’s racing pulse into overdrive, leaving him dizzy.
And then—the faintest touch, so soft that he didn’t know if it actually happened, or if he was imagining things.
Until it happened again.
And again.
