Caging Nick (NSFW)

This Control the Smutwriter missing scene takes place between The Boyfriends Tie the Knot and The New Born Year.

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The first cage pinched. Bernie didn’t know it until 24 hours had passed, and the second he realized what he was looking at—the dry, angry red marks, the swelling—he almost lost his temper.

“I’m sorry,” Nick whispered.

So, at least he knew he’d done wrong. At least he understood his transgression in not mentioning that the damn thing didn’t fit.

Bernie closed his eyes and breathed, fingers still soothing over Nick’s skin, still trying to soothe away the terrible wrongness. “We will try a different cage,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could manage.

“I’m—”

“Stop.”

They’d played with cages in the past, for a scene or a few hours, but this was something else, and both of them knew it. The cage was still “Bernie’s thing” in Nick’s head. It was still a concession being made. He didn’t mind it, but he wasn’t allowing himself to be inspired by it yet, which was what Bernie required. And because it was still “Bernie’s thing”, Nick feared disappointing him more than he feared pain or discomfort, no matter how intense.

He would expect a physical punishment. He would expect a lecture. But since both of them knew his transgression, both of them already knew what Bernie would say about it.

Bernie pulled out his phone and dialed Leo, whose cautious voice switched to barely-veiled relief when he asked to speak to Eddie.

A very slight shift of tension in Nick’s legs, where Bernie still knelt. Yes. Confess to the little slave, who would do literally anything for this bondage, for this symbol of ownership. Confess to him how you betrayed your body and my trust. Let his disappointment guide us both.

“Hello, puppy. I need your assistance. Do you have a few minutes for a phone call?”

Permission requested and granted. Leo would be curious now. Bernie wondered if he’d demand the story later. Better if he did. Actually, better if Nick thought he might but didn’t know for sure; the unanswered question was always so much more torturous than the answered question.

Bernie stood and looked into Nick’s eyes. Blue, not teary, still defiant even if the rest of his body apologized. “Stay standing. Speak to Eddie.”

“Okay.”

Punishment accepted.

Bernie found a cooling salve and massaged it lightly into Nick’s skin. The cage had seemed fine when he put it on, but had over the course of the day managed to pinch his foreskin and rub him oddly in a few other places. They’d measured carefully, but perhaps it was too small. Or perhaps Nick’s delicious foreskin was a bit too much for this cage. Berne would research more.

He stood far too close and watched Nick’s confession, listened to his “yes, I know” and “yes, I apologized”. The slave got under Nick’s skin, so bravely demanding the things Nick couldn’t admit to himself he needed. To hear Eddie gently admonish him—sweet little puppy, who spent every moment of his day wishing Leo was ready to enforce chastity—would be far more effective than a spanking.

“I don’t know,” Nick said finally. He couldn’t turn away, but he shifted a little, attempting to cover himself, attempting to evade Bernie’s gaze.

“Look at me.”

Nick looked. A flash of anger melted away and he made his face still. “I know, Eddie. But I’m not good at this like you are. I don’t know how to say shit like that without being a jerk about it.” Nick paused, exhaled, a brief smile not quite daring to grace his face. “Yes, I’m very lucky, I know. Are you allowed to talk like that, boy?”

Bernie smiled, imagining Eddie’s mild rebuke and the blush that would heat his face at being called on it.

“I know,” Nick said, still staring back at him. “I know, but— Yes. I know he will. I can—”

Take care of myself was the end of that sentence. Nick said it all the damn time.

“I will disappoint him, Eddie. Just wait. I’ll disappoint him so badly you’ll hear about it and cry.” This was not precisely a warning, though Nick clearly wanted both Bernie and Eddie to take it that way. It was also the heart of his fear.

Bernie put both hands around his neck, still smelling of calendula, and Nick’s eyelashes fluttered.

“All right, all right. Thank you, Eddie. I will. Hey, you can look at it, boy, the second we get it working. You ever blow a guy through a cage? It’s brutal… I’m sure he’d love it, but you’d have to ask your master. And Lucy would probably want to watch.” Nick grinned. “Aw, it’s cute you’re still bashful, Eddie. Yeah, all right. Take care.”

Nick took a breath before lowering the phone and handing it back. When Bernie didn’t take a hand off his throat to grab it, he held onto it instead. “I thought it might go away if I didn’t do anything.”

“Did you really think that? Or did you know it felt wrong and simply not tell me?”

“It’s a fucking steel cage around my penis, locked into a cock ring, Bern. Of course it felt wrong.”

Bernie’s thumbs traced parallel lines up and down his trachea until he relented.

“I didn’t think it felt right. I should have mentioned it.”

“How quickly did you know?”

He considered lying. Bernie watched it cross his face. He could lie, since it would be unprovable, but lately Nick had been doing that less. He always confessed at the end. Even if it took Bernie hours of cutting him down, by the end, when Bernie asked for the truth, Nick always, always told him.

“The whole time,” he murmured. “It felt wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you would think I was complaining for the sake of complaining.”

“It hurt and you needed me to take care of you, Nick. I held the key.”

He flinched, biting off a very ill-intentioned fuck you. Bernie knew every flavor of fuck you Nick was capable of feeling, and how each looked on his face.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“You should have asked me to take care of you.”

“Bernie—”

He wasn’t ready. It would do no good to push him on it. Not yet.

“I will take care of you now, my boy.” Nick’s entire body reacted to my boy as if it was a lash, tensing and guarding and waiting for the next strike.

There was no next strike. Bernie tightened his hands until Nick’s breaths rasped, kissing him deeply, making it even harder to inhale. When he released, Nick leaned into him, burying damp eyes in his shoulder.

“When can you get a new one?” he whispered.

“Soon, Nicky. Soon. I’m not giving up.”

“Good.”

Bernie took both of them to bed. He blew Nick for ages, forcing him to come even though he tried valiantly to resist, then continuing to blow him until he got himself off as well. Nick writhed, making incredible sounds, hands bound above his head, unable to escape.

Orgasms were the best punishment for a man who deeply desired to serve through chastity. It was delightfully sadistic. And Nick knew every nuance.

“You’re kind of a bastard, Bern,” he panted when Bernie finally released him.

“Goodnight.”

Nick sighed. “Goodnight.”

They slept the same way they always slept when Nick was in his bed: with Bernie’s arms and legs locked around him, tightly, both of them breathing in time.

* * *

The second cage fit better than the first.

“Look at you, all crammed in there,” Bernie said, teasing the flesh that pressed through the bars. Nick grit his teeth. “Whose prick is this, boy?”

“Yours,” Nick spat.

Bernie looked up at him, letting him know the aggression was permitted. “Mine, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad we agree. I have a lot to do with this thing tonight, Nicky. So many plans.”

Anticipation was the key to torturing a caged cock. Bernie was unprepared for the difference between caged and bound; certainly he’d done a lot to Nick’s prick in the past, and he’d tied it up even less comfortably than this, but the permanence of steel, the knowledge that this wasn’t just a knot Nick could untie, it was a lock. To which Bernie held the key.

He rubbed his own cock over the cage, careful, still not quite sure how to navigate or whether there were hidden snags. It was high quality to be certain, and he’d been over every millimeter of it with his fingertips, but still.

Nick moaned at the teasing contact.

“God. Nick.” Bernie held the cage in one hand and his cock in the other, pressing it to Nick’s strained skin, painting him with precome.

A shudder passed through Nick’s body as he tried not to give in, tried not to allow his arousal to spike.

“Does it hurt?” Bernie asked.

“It’s so fucking intense I’m going to explode if you keep doing that.”

“Exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

Bernie kept going until he finally came all over Nick’s cage. The shower after that was also fun.

* * *

From 24 hours, which was good, to an entire weekend. The weekend pushed both of them; Bernie came up with creative new ways to torture Nick, and all the old toys were new. The vibrator reached Nick in new ways, when held against the cage.  Even flogging was new when each time Bernie stopped he sucked Nick’s balls, making him harder and harder until the cage felt like a true prison. Whatever the psychology of the cage, it was intense as hell, and Bernie could see more than anything how Nick resisted it.

He wanted this. He wanted to give himself completely over. He wanted all levels of submission as symbolized by Bernie caging his cock. But he couldn’t let himself go.

The weekend was the longest they’d spent inside a power exchange without a break since their younger misadventure. It was heady, like being high for two straight days, but Bernie unlocked the cage in the late afternoon Sunday, exactly 48 hours after locking it.

He was not prepared for Nick to break down.

Not quite crying, but shaking, shuddering, out of control. Arms wrapped around himself, huddled on the floor of the bedroom, head tucked against knees.

I wish you would let me hold you Bernie thought at him, and waited.

“I’m sorry.” The words were muffled.

Bernie waited.

“I—I’m not sure—” Nick took a huge, shaking breath. “I don’t know how to—”

Two more minutes passed before Nick lifted his head.

“I don’t know why I freaked out like that.”

Because you miss the cage, love. “Will you spend the night tonight?” Bernie asked, acknowledging that their 48 hours of dominance and submission were up. He could have, of course, ordered this ten minutes ago. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Nick would have to find his own way of accepting Bernie’s presence.

“So you can take care of me?”

Bernie didn’t move. A shrug would make Nick think he was pretending. Raised eyebrows would be taken as a challenge. A smile, mockery. He asked, again, “Will you spend the night tonight?”

Three shaky breaths later, Nick nodded. Just that. A nod.

Thank you. Oh, thank you, Nick, you have no idea how long I’ve waited. “Chef’s salad sound good?”

“Yeah. I’ll see to the girls and Dos.”

“Thank you,” Bernie said. The most heartfelt “thanks for feeding the dogs” ever uttered.

Nick quirked a smile. “Welcome.” When he stood, he pulled on pants. It was always so strange to see Nick in clothes when their time was up.

48 hours had worked. The cage was doing everything Bernie had hoped it would do. Now to strategize the next step.

* * *

The first time he suggested Nick wear the cage at work, he balked.

“What’s the fucking rule, Bern? We don’t play at the gym. Period. End of fucking story.”

Since the response was entirely predictable, Bernie had his own reply prepared.

“You’ve worn a plug at work.”

“I’ve plugged myself before work. Big fucking difference.”

“At my request.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed across the couch. They’d been drinking their morning coffee, another lazy Sunday. The cage occasionally caught the lamp light and gleamed between Nick’s legs.

“Plugging myself because you send me a text message is a totally different thing than you leaving the cage on me, me driving home, me going to bed, me going to work. Totally fucking different, Bern.”

“And better.”

Give me the twitch, damn you. Let me know I’m winning with that twitch on your jaw.

“I said we don’t play at the gym.”

“I won’t be anywhere near the gym.”

“You know what I’m saying, Bernie! Jesus.”

“One day,” Bernie said. “I’ll take you out to dinner after. We’ll go back to your apartment and I’ll release you.”

“Why the apartment? What the fuck is your game?”

“I’m open. We could come here. We could find an expensive hotel. I could unlock you in the truck, Nicky, but I’d rather it be somewhere I can see better.”

“I don’t want this—this shit—to get all over my work. It’s work. It’s not an extension of your creepy little control fetish.”

The word “creepy” was a warning. It was always a warning. It meant Bernie was coming too close to something Nick hated himself for wanting.

“Come here.”

Still inside the duration of Nick’s consent. Technically Bernie supposed he could enforce agreement right now for nearly anything, but that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He didn’t mind Nick’s resentment as a general rule, but if he only did something because Bernie happened to time his demand correctly, that kind of resentment would chafe far more than the cage.

Nick settled between his legs, bare back pressed to Bernie’s chest, Bernie’s legs locking around his and pulling them apart. Bernie wrapped his arms around Nick, pinning his at his sides until they breathed together, until Nick was calm.

“I like that every time you look down, you see me. I like that every time you go to take a piss, you feel me around your dick. I like thinking about still holding you just like that all day long, even when you’re doing paperwork. Even when you’re smiling and saying hello to people. Even when you’re crossing the street or driving.”

“I don’t have sex at work, Bern.”

“This has nothing to do with sex, Nick.”

“The hell it has nothing to do with sex. You think I’d let someone I wasn’t fucking lock my dick in a cage?”

“I don’t think you’d let someone who wasn’t me lock your dick in a cage, whether you were fucking them or not.”

Nick tensed again, and Bernie tightened his arms in response.

“Why?” Nick asked finally, muscles releasing, leaning back into Bernie just enough. “Why? If I say no now, you’ll bring it up next week, and the week after, and over and over again until I say yes. Why this?”

Bernie paused, not giving the response he’d already rehearsed. That was true. That was how they worked; Bernie came up with something Nick wanted and couldn’t admit to wanting, he pushed gently, he pushed harder, he demanded, and by then Nick was relieved to give in, relieved it was no longer his choice. Knowing Nick would eventually say yes gave him the confidence to continue. Sure, he could safeword out. (They’d agreed that his safeword was still in use. For now.) But was that the only thing he could do?

Shit. They couldn’t have this conversation right now. He’d fucked up.

He kept one arm securely around Nick’s torso and used the other to card through his hair. “I apologize. We should discuss this later, when you’re more free to—tell me to fuck off.”

“I wouldn’t. I’m not. I’m asking why this?”

He’d planned to describe it in more detail, turn Nick on. That was usually the key. But this wasn’t a new toy, or a more extreme scene. If it wasn’t really about sex—it wasn’t—and it wasn’t really about kink, then Nick was right, they should spell out what it was.

“I want you to understand just how much I care for you. There’s no better reminder than this.”

“This is your way of saying ‘I love you’, Bern? You might be more twisted than I am.”

“It’s my way of saying ‘I approve of you’. It’s my way of letting you know, every second, that you are good, that I see your goodness.”

Nick’s breathing ramped up. He didn’t speak.

“This—yes. This part of it has nothing to do with sex. This part of it is that you leave here and sometimes I think you don’t take another deep breath until you show up on Friday and take off your clothes, Nicky. Just because you aren’t in this house doesn’t mean you don’t have—” My love, my commitment. “I consider you mine, even when we are not doing this. I consider myself yours, Nicholas, even when we are not doing this, in this house. There are no boundaries around that feeling for me. I wish like hell there weren’t boundaries around that feeling for you.”

Someday. Someday you will know this so deeply you will never question it.

Nick’s heart beat fast and hard against Bernie’s forearm.

“I need to think about it.”

“I won’t bring it up again today.”

“All right. Thank you.”

He didn’t bring it up again. He hoped, for a moment, as he was kneeling to unlock the cage, that Nick might say something. But he didn’t, and the cage came off, got cleaned, got put away for next weekend.

* * *

It took two months. Bernie did not ask every weekend. That’s what Nick was waiting for, so it’s not what he did. If Nick knew the question would come every weekend, he’d brace for it. He’d anticipate it. He wouldn’t think deeply about it because he knew Bernie would make it a point. So Bernie didn’t accept that responsibility.

This would be something they shared, or they wouldn’t do it. More specifically, they wouldn’t do it until it was something they shared.

In the meantime, the weekends were incredible. Nick walked in on Friday evening, took his clothes off, and put on the cage. He handed the key to Bernie then bent over for his unpredictable paddling. Some nights, it was one. Some nights Bernie didn’t stop until Nick’s legs were shaking with the effort of staying upright.

Bernie lived for the weekend. Every weekend. Sometimes they wound up at Hugh’s or Lucy’s for dinner, and they suspended certain rules until they got home, but most of the time he stocked the house and made sure they had no reason to leave at all.

Two entire weekends passed during which Bernie did not ask. He always asked on Saturday or Sunday. He always asked when they were otherwise relaxed and enjoying each other.

Two weekends passed without even bringing it up. Then, Friday night, Nick heaving from an intense paddling, Bernie pressed up behind him and said, “I think on Monday morning you’ll wake up with my cage still on your cock, Nicky.”

That was it. Not a question. Not a demand. A suggestion.

“Come help me with dinner.” But when Nick shook so hard Bernie thought his bones rattled, he didn’t speak. No one spoke. They stayed standing until he stopped.

This part he’d been unable to predict. Nick would act bratty if he wanted to discuss it more, he’d act gruff if he was willing but reluctant. Instead, Nick was ashamed. It was the only word Bernie could think of. Eyes were down, not from submission, not from the gift that was his submission, but from something a hell of a lot darker.

It was a good sign, in terms of their progress, but it cut Bernie to do it for this. Tweaking Nick’s shame in other ways was fun. But tweaking it when it came down to this fundamental thing between them—acknowledging physically that Nick belonged, that Bernie could hold him—only reminded Bernie that it had taken years for Nick’s family to grind him down so smoothly that he hardly recognized himself without a mask.

If it took years to build him back up, so be it.

On Sunday, he released Nick’s obedience but not the cage. He stared right into Nick’s eyes, caressing him through steel. “Do I need to check on you during the day?”

“No.”

“I put the key in your wallet. Pretend you don’t know that unless it’s an emergency.”

Nick swallowed. “Yeah, okay, Bern.”

Hard not to demand Nick stay the night. “I have pasta and pesto if you’d like to stay.”

“I need to not be here for a little while. Will you make dinner while I take a run?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Nick sighed when Bernie released the cage back against him. “We have rules about who knows we’re doing this?”

Interesting question.

“None that I can think of,” Bernie said.

“Okay.”

When he came back after getting dressed, he was on the phone. With Lucy, by the tone in his voice.

“You can ask him but I’m pretty sure he considers it as good as a brand— Oh, I’d love to see that. You want me to hand him the phone, Luce?” Nick laughed. “I’ll be there in ten. If you’re outside, you can come with. Well, if he wants, but I’m not slowing down for his ass, so—” More laughter. Nick pulled out his keys, flicked the lock on the front door, and kissed Bernie casually as he left, still on the phone.

Bernie listened to him laugh again as he got in his car. That kiss was a promise. In the language of kisses, that kiss meant see you in a bit.

Taking a run with Mistress Lucy. Possibly Leo, but if Nick didn’t plan to slow down, only Lucy would be able to keep up with him.

He realized he was actually touching the place on his lips that had felt Nick’s lips and shook himself awake. Time to feed the dogs. And see about dinner.

* * *

One day at the gym was good. They’d gone to dinner, an only vaguely acknowledged celebration, and gone back to Bernie’s. Nick’s first orgasm in four days was intense, and Bernie rode him through it as long as he could, testing both of them.

He waited until Nick fell asleep to clean, dry, and put away the cage for next weekend.

* * *

He made the phone call after the second time Nick had spent a Monday caged. This time he’d allowed them to go back to the apartment, where Bernie once again brought him as high as he could, building Nick’s orgasm up as a monument to his devotion, to his faith. It was a much harder night. Nick didn’t relax in his apartment the way he did at the house, but that was a problem for another time.

Bernie had found this particular artist in his first round of research, and kept returning to it. He’d gone so far as to post in a few likely places to solicit first hand experiences about the comfort of the designer’s cages, the durability, any thoughts on long-term wear. Not a single person had responded negatively. The few who’d had complaints only reported that the designer had been entirely professional and made sure they ended up satisfied.

He was shocked beyond measure to discover the designer was female. He literally stuttered. Bernie LaCroix, whose voice talent graced many a narration, stuttered.

“Forgive me,” he managed, after a moment.

“Don’t bother getting awkward. I have big tits and I was a cheerleader in high school, one of the slutty ones. Tell me about your penis.” Then she laughed. “I work steel, always, since I was a teenager. But my sweet hubs introduced me to cages and I’ve never looked back. This is my medium now, Mr LaCroix. Have you looked at our sizing page?”

“I—yes.” A husband. She caged her husband. Bernie flushed. “I believe I have all the appropriate measurements. I have a few questions about my—” Play it like he was ordering for himself? Why was he thinking about lying to her? He cleared his throat. “My boyfriend has a beautiful foreskin. The first cage we tried rubbed badly. He’s in one now that seems all right, but the solid walls of the design I like worry me.”

“I prefer the solid designs as well. Something pretty hot about not even letting your man see his penis. Let’s talk about this foreskin, Mr LaCroix. I might need another measurement or two, depending.”

“Please call me Bernie.”

She laughed. “Okay, Bernie.”

The conversation lasted an hour. She couldn’t possibly take this long for all of her clients, but then again, perhaps she did. She explained a few details about foreskins and caging, asked a few questions about the nature of their demands for the cage, and suggested a few alternatives if the cage Bernie had his eye on didn’t work. When she quoted a price at the end, Bernie didn’t hesitate.

Four to six weeks until delivery. She sent him a work order with a link so he could track the progress.

* * *

Bernie did not waste time. Nick could go for longer than four days in the cage, but he started getting restless and jumpy by the end of four days in obedience. He’d surrendered his cock confidently (oh, but once it was all settled Bernie looked forward to testing that confidence), but had a harder time surrendering his will.

Could he have one without the other? They’d done it a little; Nick was never under obedience at the gym, except as related exclusively to the cage. Bernie had specifically drawn the lines there, not insisting on anything at dinner, only playing with those orgasms afterward.

And yet—no. No, Bernie needed his obedience. Nick needed to give it over. If that meant putting off the more serious cage, that’s what they’d do.

Nick had no idea there was a serious cage. He’d grown used to the one they were using, though Bernie knew he had minor issues with it from time to time. It was serviceable, that was all. A Toyota Corolla, good for two hundred thousand miles.

The new cage was a Porsche.

He did not bring out the cage the following Friday. He forced Nick to ask for it.

“You sick of seeing my dick through bars, Bern?”

“How could I be?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “We playing some kind of game you didn’t let me in on?”

“No.”

He wanted it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to beg. He wanted to know what Bernie was up to, but he’d beg for the cage before he’d demand those answers.

Bernie held up the paddle.

“So we’re not doing the cage this weekend?” Disappointment masked as irritation.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Bernie swallowed Did you not receive a schedule of events, complete with wardrobe suggestions and directions to parking?

Nick ground his back teeth together and braced against the wall, his obedience barely holding.

One hard hit, and Bernie slid the paddle back into the umbrella stand beside the door. He walked away, calling, “Come help with dinner!”

Engage Nick’s curiosity, his hunger, his loathing for the unpredictable. Tip him over the edge into anger, which is when he’d show Bernie his fear.

He held out until Bernie had almost given up. He held out through dinner, through dishes, through a round of the property and saying goodnight to the dogs. He didn’t say a single word about the cage, not even when Bernie offered him openings. He didn’t say a word when Bernie tied him down to the bench and spanked him until he could no longer feel anything in his palm and his wrists were tingling.

“More,” Nick whispered.

So Bernie took up another paddle, and kept at him. When they were younger, Bernie hadn’t understood Nick’s demand for more. He’d thought it was a power move, a way to wrestle back control. Nick the power bottom, the man who never gave in. But when it came to deep thud, Nick’s murmured requests for more were as close as he’d ever come to telling Bernie where his limits were. Or rather, where they weren’t.

He used the paddle as long as he could, on Nick’s raw, blistered skin. When he put it away, he said, “That’s enough, Nicholas.”

Nick climbed into bed first, from Bernie’s side, his entire body still far too tense. When both of them were tucked under and the lights were off, he spoke.

“I can’t sleep without it. The cage. It’s always hard to sleep without you. But I reach for it sometimes, because I can’t tell if it’s there or I’m only dreaming it’s there.”

Ask me for it, damn you. Ask me for it. Ask me to help. Ask me to care for you.

“I guess this will be kind of an experiment, huh?”

Bernie wanted so much to offer it. But no. He still hadn’t seen the anger. He still couldn’t unlock whatever it was going on inside Nick that made it impossible for him to ask.

He reached over and intertwined their fingers. I am here. You are not alone.

Nick huffed softly, a laugh with no meat to it. “I will never be what you want me to be,” he said.

“You are not a DIY project, my boy.”

“I really am.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Bern.”

So, no fight.

“Goodnight, boy.”

Nick couldn’t control the brief tension in his fingers, but he didn’t pry them away, either.

* * *

Without the cage, Nick went home Sunday.

No, this wasn’t going to work. Bernie made arrangements for their weekend and plotted out every possible sequence of conversations he could think of. He greeted Nick at the door on Friday with the cage, the paddle, and a very nice suit.

“What’s this?”

“We’re going to dinner.”

Nick’s eyes betrayed him. “Where?”

Good, yes, be curious. Bernie backed him up against the wall and knelt to secure the cage. When he stood, Nick turned without comment, accepting six from the paddle over traces of mottled bruising from last week.

Bernie watched him dress and appreciated the effort Nick was putting into his silence. Ties straight, shoes on. He wrapped his hands around Nick’s neck and exerted only enough pressure so Nick knew he was there.

“You will not speak without my permission to anyone. Normal exceptions still apply. I will grant you permission with a nod. Do you understand?”

This, this was what Bernie had been waiting for, this full-body tension, this barely contained rage.

“Do you understand?”

Normal exceptions still apply. Yes, boy, it means exactly what you think it means. Nick could speak to Lucy and her boys without specific permission; he could speak to Hugh and Truman without specific permission. That was all.

Nick was shaking, hands in fists at his sides, tension in his neck making it feel at once solid and vulnerable under Bernie’s palm.

“No,” he said.

No? Okay, maybe there were a few scenarios Bernie hadn’t covered in his obsessive planning.

“You will not speak without my permission to anyone,” he repeated. “I will grant it with a nod. Normal exceptions still apply. How can I clarify your understanding, Nick?”

“I can’t— Bern—”

Good. Perfect.

“You can. In public. In front of Hugh. Yes, Nicky. You can, you will, and I will be with you the entire time.”

“Friday night dinner—you don’t understand— It’s not a game to him, Bernie, it’s not a joke—”

He tightened his hands just a little. “Do you think this is a joke to me?”

Closer still, but not quite there yet.

“Damn you, yes, this is a fucking— You can’t just play with people like this, Bernie! Fuck me over, do whatever you want to me, but this is— Don’t do this to make a point. Please don’t do this to make a point. You have no idea what it means that he—” Nick ran down. “Did he invite you? He didn’t call me.”

Bernie paused. Another interesting twist. “I asked them to go to dinner with us, and this was his suggestion. The restaurant—”

“I know the restaurant.” Nick’s hands latched on to Bernie’s arms, not in protest. “Friday night dinner is a Reynolds tradition, Bern. If he’s inviting you—both of us—that’s pretty much Hugh’s way of saying ‘Welcome to the family.’ You can’t make it into a power play. Please don’t make it about that.”

Welcome to the family. Bernie nodded to show he understood the magnitude, but contradicted the nod before Nick had even taken a breath in relief. “That makes it even more valuable. Do you understand? This is not a joke to me, Nicky. This is how I care for you. What better way to honor this invitation than to treat it with reverence?”

“By not letting me talk to people?”

“By not showing them the masks.”

“Shit,” Nick murmured, dropping his head. “Oh fuck you, Bernard.”

“You are not a joke to me.” Inspiration interrupted every line he’d thought of for this conversation. “Nick, you’ve absolutely never been a joke to Hugh Reynolds.”

“I know that.”

“Then show him.”

This shudder was mild, but Bernie still felt it.

“Kiss me, please.”

Bernie gave him the breathplay he wanted even more than the kiss and when Nick was gasping, he offered the kiss as well.

“He’s going to have so many questions. I’m not sure I can do this, Bern.”

“He won’t ask them.”

Nick looked up. “Did he tell you that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Fine. A hunch. But if he starts asking questions, I should win something big.”

Bernie considered telling him about the cage still being made, handmade, by an artist. But no. Now was not the time.

“You already have me. Am I not big enough?”

“Good point. Okay, if Hugh starts asking questions, I get to blow you in the truck.”

“Deal.”

Nick shuddered again. “This is such a fucked up idea. Where did this suit come from? I don’t own anything this nice.”

“Hush, Nicholas.”

“Right. Hush. Sit down, shut up, don’t speak unless spoken to.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, Bern. I didn’t mean that.”

“Is that what they used to say to you?”

A flash, somewhere deep in the sea-blue of Nick’s eyes. “They used to tell me that until I could speak like a normal boy, I shouldn’t speak at all. I had a slight lisp. And I liked to sing, as a kid.”

Just like that, Bernie was approximately six seconds away from punching his own walls.

“I’m all right. Hey. Bern. I’m all right. I got out, I grew up, I’m fine. Also, you better get your shit together or he’s gonna be asking you his eight thousand questions.”

Bernie took a deep breath. “And what do I get if he does that?”

“You get a blowjob in the truck. Are we going?”

“I would never tell you to shut up. You can speak to Hugh and Truman without reservations. The suit is a gift.”

“You bought this for me? Christ, Bern, how many finished hours—”

“Hush, Nicky.”

Nick stopped.

“I’ve already fed the dogs. We should go.”

“Okay.” Nick, still trying to make up for bringing his childhood into the room—trying to make up for upsetting Bernie—said, “This is a pretty expensive present, Bern. You better watch out. Someone might think you like me.”

The suit was expensive. The custom cage was a Porsche.

“I’m still considering a collar with my name and phone number, Nick. Don’t tempt me.”

“Property of Bernie LaCroix, I remember.” This time Nick arched up for a kiss without asking. “I’m going to lose my mind on the way there. I’ll probably be insubordinate. You mind?”

“Not at all.” Nick’s insubordination was the most honesty Bernie could wring from him, though he’d never pre-committed to it before.

“Great. Because this is a stupid fucking idea, maybe your stupidest, and that’s saying something.”

“Dial it back, Nick.”

Nick grinned.

Dinner with Hugh and Truman went beautifully. They knew something was going on, but aside from modulating his tone (Nick spoke with less force when he wasn’t acting) and occasionally glancing at Bernie before speaking, Nick acted like himself. But the small shifts in him, the small areas where his persona gave way to his true self, were enough.

They celebrated their successful dinner with a blowjob in the truck, even though for once Hugh Reynolds hadn’t over-stepped his questions.

* * *

The cage arrived at seven a.m. on a Wednesday morning. It took everything Bernie had to not demand Nick’s presence right then and there.

Friday. Two more days. Well. Two and a half, given the time. Friday. Don’t let him know anything is strange.

After the eventful weekend that began with Friday night dinner and ended Sunday with a lunch out during which Bernie did all the talking and Nick didn’t once ask for permission, they’d gone back to the cage each weekend. He wasn’t sure how it worked into his master plan, but it felt right, so he did it. When Nick arrived today, he’d expect the cage. The usual cage. The old cage.

He’d get, of course, the new one. If it didn’t fit, Bernie was quite possibly going to have a nervous breakdown.

Two and a half days, during which he called Mel not once but twice.

The second time she’d accused him of having an announcement he didn’t have the balls to make.

“Listen, big brother, if you want to make an honest man out of Nick, just say so. We’ll fly out for the wedding.”

He growled something at her that made her laugh, and she was still laughing when he disconnected.

It wasn’t casual. He knew that. Mel was desperate to meet Nick. This was her demonstrating restraint.

Friday evening arrived eventually, at the end of a very long day. He felt foolish and ridiculous, but Mel’s jibe had chafed; Bernie lit candles in the bedroom when he saw Nick pull up outside, then went downstairs to watch him undress.

No cage presented. Nick took this in with a glance, folded his clothes, and braced against the wall.

“Long day?” Bernie asked.

“Yeah.”

You and me both. Bernie gave him eleven and watched him tense for the next one. Nick always expected to end on an even number. It niggled at Bernie’s OCD to stop on odd, but he did it anyway.

He put away the paddle and pressed himself against Nick’s body. Nick pressed back.

“Bern.”

Bernie reached up, loosely grasping Nick’s wrists, pulling them down so Nick could turn. Eyes hitting in the vicinity of Bernie’s lips, not higher. “How can I serve you, my boy?”

Nick gnawed on his lip for a full minute. “I need to spend more time here. I’m not giving up my place, but I sleep better when I’m here. The last three nights were—not good.”

Bernie controlled a very real desire to do some kind of relationship touchdown dance and marveled at the timing of this, the perfect fucking timing of everything.

“If it’s too soon—”

“It isn’t,” he said, stilling Nick’s words with a thumb pressed to his lips. Nick immediately sucked it inside. “It isn’t too soon. You will never have a request that is too soon for me, I promise you.”

Nick couldn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked up.

“Yes, it’s a dare. Go ahead and try. But not tonight.” Bernie pulled out his thumb to trace Nick’s lips, then held them open for a kiss. “I have something for you. Come upstairs.”

A nod. He made certain Nick walked in front so he could fully appreciate his reaction to the candles. He wasn’t disappointed.

Nick froze in the doorway, hands going up on both sides as if he needed the support. “Oh my god. Bern. The wax.”

“They’re all well contained.”

“You hate candles.”

“You like them.” He waited for Nick to argue, but he didn’t. “Your gift is on the bed.”

“Another gift?” Nick didn’t move. “This is— Bernie—”

“I’m not proposing,” he said, and ignored the twinge of regret in his gut when Nick relaxed. “Go open your gift. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

He’d been a little worried the candles wouldn’t offer enough light to see the intricacies of the cage, but the mystery made it even better when Nick began to understand.

Nick, raised in poverty, living well below his means in a disgusting little apartment, had no interest in art of any kind. He’d joked once that he wouldn’t know art if he saw it on a wall, though he loved Mel’s pictures (which were certainly art). Still, he turned the cage around in his hand with rapt attention.

“God, it’s gorgeous. It’s so beautiful. Don’t tell me this is to actually be worn. What is it, the special occasions cage, Bern?”

Bernie shook his head. “Daily wear.”

The words made it through a haze of appreciation, and Nick’s eyes sharpened. “We really doing this?”

“Lie back.”

Nick obeyed, but didn’t let go of the cage. His fingertips still ran over the smooth solid sides, the impossibly perfect welds, while Bernie cleared away the box it had come in and adjusted candles to better light the bed.

“I accept,” Nick said softly behind him.

He turned.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

This was more than mere words. Bernie swallowed around a strange, unsettling lump in his throat.

“You are offering me yourself and I accept, Bern. I accept you. I love you.”

He’d thought of a thousand ways to say all of it that weren’t quite so blatant. He’d worried about scaring Nick off. He’d had no idea that this moment waited for him. Standing over Nick’s naked body in candlelight, listening to Nick cut through all of the stories they’d told each other over the years with those two words.

“Will you offer me yourself, Nick?”

Nick held out the cage. “Yeah.”

“I accept.”

The cage fit perfectly. He could tell Nick liked it even without asking. They discussed the comfort of his foreskin, the fit of the cock ring, the length and width of the cage. Nick asked for permission to touch it, and when he did, he was reverent.

“This is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Don’t think I don’t know this is a proposal, Bern. Just because you made it about this doesn’t mean it’s not really about that.”

“Mel wants to meet you,” Bernie countered.

“Tell me when and I’ll make arrangements at the gym.”

Just that. No questions, no arguments. But Nick wasn’t being clever; he was still grazing his fingers over the sides of the cage.

“She offered to fly here.”

“With four kids? We should go there, Bern. God, does this set off security at airports? We’ll have to check it or something, though the idea of someone pawing around—” Nick broke off. “What? That’s what you meant, isn’t it? We should go to Milwaukee?”

You want to meet my sister? was a stupid question. After a second of silence, Bernie asked it anyway.

“I thought we already knew that. Bern, you okay? You look freaked out.”

Bernie leaned down and crushed Nick’s body with his own, kissing him savagely, knocking his hands away from the cage. “You undo me, Nicholas.”

Nick laughed. “You know the cage isn’t gonna make me any better at this, right? I mean, I’m feeling pretty positively toward you right now because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched, but give me ten, fifteen minutes to regain my composure and go back to fighting you.”

“You never fight me, Nick. You only ever fight yourself.”

“Okay, or thirty seconds.” Nick arched up for a kiss. “Fuck you, Bernie.”

“You should watch your mouth.”

“You should make me.”

They grappled, and Nick was stronger, Nick was incredibly hard to pin down when he didn’t want to be pinned.

“Is this me fighting me, Bern?” he panted, on Bernie’s back with his arm around Bernie’s neck. “It feels like I’m kicking your ass right now.”

Almost time. Bernie put up a few more attempts at escape, letting Nick’s confidence grow, letting him forget their roles while they played. The next time the fight paused so they could catch their breaths, he said, “Nicholas.”

Nick released him.

“On your back.” When Nick didn’t react quickly enough, Bernie pushed him to the bed and kept a hand at his throat, looking down at his eyes. “Who do you belong to?”

They stared at each other endlessly. Bernie had no idea how long it lasted, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if the candles started dying.

Finally, with barely a breath, Nick said, “You, Bern.”

“For how long do you belong to me, Nicholas?”

Nick swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing under Bernie’s palm. “Always,” he said. “Always.”

Always. He’d expected a length of time. He’d expected something more like I can try for a month or This is too much. We have to go slower. Both answers he’d prepared for. In his wildest, sweetest dreams of Nick, he thought he might get Forever. But forever was a word that began with now and ended with infinity. Always, by contrast, included the past. Always was a loop that had no beginning or end.

“Always,” Bernie agreed, and kissed him. “I will keep the key to this one. You will ask me for a discussion if you need to use it. Otherwise, I will make that determination, Nick.”

“Thank you.”

Bernie reached over to the nightstand and retrieved the key. “Off now.”

The stunned expression on Nick’s face made it hard to keep a straight face. “But we just put it on.”

“Yes.” He’d practiced for an embarrassing amount of time to get it right, and now slid the key in and unlocked it almost by touch. It really was beautiful. He released Nick and settled the cage back on the nightstand with the key beside it.

“You’re a fuckin’ sadist, Bern.”

“I know.”

Sex by candlelight. He poured lube over their cocks and let Nick jack both of them while he kept his hand over Nick’s mouth, occasionally pinching his nose shut. Nick began breathing deeper and Bernie found himself doing the same, matching those oxygen-storing breaths, judging by his own lung capacity how far he could push Nick. When he’d pushed both of them to the peak more times than he could count, he pinched Nick’s nostrils one last time and said, “Come.”

Nick’s body jackknifed, and he took Bernie right over the edge with him, shadows dancing on the skin of his bared throat.

“You belong to me, my boy,” he murmured, kissing Nick ruthlessly. “I will take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

Nick gripped his head and pulled it close, until Bernie’s ear was at his lips. “I know.”

Bernie closed his eyes and gave in, letting Nick hold him up.