Chapter Text
There is nothing explicitly sexual about their relationship, yet it is steeped in eroticism.
Well, the first point is probably debatable. Depending on one’s definition of sex.
Their interactions do eventually lead to the inevitable outcome. At least on Chester’s part. But what does Parker get out of it in return? A sense of control? The headiness of his own strength? The ability to own another human being so fully in body, mind, and soul?
It began in college.
Or maybe it truly began in high school. Back when the scrawny blond with the pale eyes would stumble after him as clumsy and lank as a newborn giraffe. Always eager to follow every command. Let’s go to the gym, let’s skateboard, let’s work on the car. Yes, Parker, of course, Parker, whatever you say, Parker.
He hadn’t even thought about it at the time. Parker had been used to being the leader in the perpetual games of cat and mouse that have always defined his previous friendships. It had just made sense, seemed natural, that Chester would always just go along with his suggestions.
Then college came and Chester just sort of disappeared for a while. One moment he had been there, Parker’s eternal shadow, and then he was gone. Funny, how one doesn’t notice the presence of something as insignificant as a shadow until it has vanished.
Her name had been Trixie. She owned a walk-in closet packed full of expensive designer black leather catsuits and was approaching thirty. The collar she had specially crafted to fit around Chester’s throat was made of white leather and inlaid with the word WORM in cotton-candy pink rhinestones.
“You can’t be seriously into this,” Parker objected when he found the collar hidden beneath Chester’s pillow. He hadn’t meant to snoop around, really, he hadn’t. There just wasn’t anywhere else to study in the dorm except on Chester’s bed; he didn’t think pushing the pillow out of the way to make room for their books would be such a big deal. That it would change their friendship forever. “Have you been watching sissy porn or something?”
“Dude,” Chester had responded, a one-word response that indicated offense at the question. Yet his lips trembled in something akin to fear. Fear of what? Did he think Parker was going to laugh at him? Berate him? Tell their friends and families about his secret, shameful lifestyle?
Twirling the collar thoughtfully in his hands, Parker thought about his best friend. About the signs that maybe he had been missing all these years. He asked Chester to explain it to him. Everything. Who she was, how they met, what the appeal was, why he liked what he liked.
“She’s nearly thirty,” he says, reluctantly handing the collar back to Chester. “What does she want with some teenager? I don’t like this, dude, it sounds like she’s taking advantage of you.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if the genders were reversed, bro,” Chester says, shaking his head. Parker notices the way he reaches up to touch his throat. He notices the faint outline of where the collar must usually sit, easy to overlook as a play of shadows and light. Something akin to a tan line. The skin looks vaguely shiny. Does he wear that thing in the shower? To his other classes? The ones Parker doesn’t share with him? He probably feels naked without it, judging by how much he is fidgeting, obviously wanting to lock it back into place. “You just don’t understand. I need this. Don’t worry about me.”
Parker does worry about him though. How could he not? He’s his best friend, who he barely even sees anymore, and he’s mixed up in some weird BDSM lifestyle with a woman old enough to be, well, not his mother. Weird kinky aunt? Sure. So yes, he does worry about him. He continues to worry about him up until the day he goes to see Chester in the hospital, and long after that.
For some reason, Chester has penned him in as his next of kin on the school forms. Parker lies and says they’re cousins and the doctor goes over the long list of ailments he had been admitted with as Chester tosses and turns and sweats among the cheap, coarse sheets.
Bruised ribs. Infected whip marks on his back. Anal tearing. It had been the marks on his back that landed him in the hospital, the infection shooting through his body and causing a spike in temperature, the fever leading to loss of consciousness. Scaring his roommate half to death when he shook him and shook him and he just lay there, seemingly dead except for his labored breathing.
They say he’s stable. As long as the antibiotics work, which they have no reason to believe they won’t, he’ll be fine. Sighing, Parker stares down at his face, his hair slick with sweat, and touches his shining forehead. He’s on fire. The doctor promises the pills they have already given him will bring it down soon, but what if his roommate hadn’t found him? What if the guy had been off visiting his girlfriend at another school for the weekend? What if Chester didn’t have class on Tuesdays? What if she had left him at her place when she went to work instead?
Parker drives over to the woman’s house and threatens to tear her head right off her fucking body if she goes near Chester ever again.
“He needs it,” she says, shooting Parker a stony stare. Not giving him an inch. A confident older woman looking down her nose at some bratty nineteen-year-old boy. “If I don’t give it to him, he’ll get it from someone else. That boy is the walking dead.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Parker bites out before he even realizes what he is saying.
He doesn’t know what he’s saying but he knows what he’s feeling. He means those words. If this is what Chester needs, somebody to order him around, keep him on both a metaphorical and literal leash, Parker will give that to him. Whatever he needs to do to keep this woman, and others like her, away from his best friend. Anything to protect him.
The first few days are immensely uncomfortable for the both of them. Parker drives Chester straight from the hospital to his own apartment, despite his complaints that he felt fine staying in his dorm room, and the entire ride he keeps rubbing at his throat. Anxious. As if the absence of his collar has put him on edge. He had been wearing the thing when brought into the hospital and Parker had carefully and slowly removed it in his sleep, immediately trashing the expensive ring of leather in a container full of used syringes.
Chester doesn’t ask about the collar immediately. Probably too embarrassed by the thing, he never wore it around Parker even after the discovery. But he does ask about his phone as soon as they arrive at the apartment. His fingers are twitching at his side like some addict as he brings up Trixie.
“I need to check in with her.”
“You’re done with her, bro,” Parker tells him simply. “We’ll swing by your dorm and pick up your phone and stuff after dinner.”
“What? I-”
“You’re my best friend,” Parker interrupts. He lays a hand on Chester’s bicep, giving his arm a firm squeeze. A little too firm, just hard enough that Chester takes in a sudden breath, sucking the air in between his teeth at the little spark of pain. “You do as I say from now on, okay?”
“O, okay Parker,” the blond agrees. His shoulders shake until Parker lets go, and even for a little while past that. Something about the tremble does not imply displeasure at this sudden turn of events.
The apartment only houses one bed, so he commands Chester to shower and then lie down in his own bedroom to rest. He’s feeling better but his infection hasn’t totally healed up. Parker sees to the wounds on his back, checking to make sure they haven’t broken open under the spray, and applying cream and bandages to the skin. Beneath his touch, the other man grunts several times, tensing, but he doesn’t try to squirm away. Parker lays a hand between his shoulder blades, just above the whip marks, and leaves it there for a long minute. Attempting to magically transfer his love and support to his best friend through some psychic link that doesn’t really exist. He hopes his touch is soothing.
They both nap until nearly dinner. Chester’s body drained from the energy required to fight off the infection, Parker’s body drained from spending two nights sprawled out in a chair beside Chester’s hospital bed. The blond seems unsure of how to move forward so Parker tells him to get under the covers, tucking him in, and then sleeps on top of the blanket on the other side. The space between them seems larger than usual.
“How long am I going to be staying at your apartment?” Chester asks, standing in the middle of his dorm room that evening, trying to figure out what he needs to grab. He seems lost, turning this way and that. No phone to distract him.
“Until I find us one with two bedrooms,” Parker responds, looking up from a notebook. He’s going over their finances, trying to figure out how much extra he’ll need to pull from his savings account. Grateful that his parents had started setting aside those funds for him as a baby. They might need to start working soon. His current savings just barely get him through his bachelor's in this apartment. “You’ll be back on campus Monday morning for classes, just bring what you need until then. We’ll move your stuff over in small batches.”
It’s not like Chester has never spent any time at Parker’s place. He knows where all the dishes are and where Parker keeps the extra toilet paper. Yet he paces around the place like a zoo animal trapped in a cage. Sitting at the kitchen table and then on the couch and then on the floor at Parker’s feet. He tries to watch television but grows bored quickly. Without somebody to tell him what to do, how to while away his time, he is utterly lost. That woman has done a number on him. He keeps reaching up to play with the collar he no longer wears.
“Sit down,” Parker tells him, pointing at a chair by one of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. “Right there so the sun makes your hair glow gold. Now do your homework.”
“What homework?” Chester asks, looking so frustrated he might just start to cry.
“You have reading for literature, right?” A quick nod. “Do that, read. Tell me when you’re done but don’t rush yourself, make sure you absorb the reading.”
Finally, Chester calms down. Now curled up like a giant cat in the chair, slowly turning the pages of some eighteenth-century novel. His hand finds its way to his chest, his thumb lightly stroking the area between his collarbones as he reads. Not even noticing what he is doing. Sighing, Parker returns to his own math assignment. Grateful for a little peace and quiet.
The main issue with this entire arrangement is, of course, that Parker is straight. He is simply not attracted to men. If he were to be attracted to any man, ever, it probably would be his best friend, given the strength of their emotional connection. So, the fact that he is still utterly incapable of conjuring any remotely sexual feeling towards Chester really just helps cement this as an obstacle.
They spend another night sleeping beside each other on the single bed, Parker huddled under a throw blanket to maintain their physical and emotional distance. Waking up to Chester staring at his morning wood, his eyes wide, finally leads to the inevitable conversation.
“I can, if you want…”
He doesn’t seem upset about Parker declining his offer. In fact, he looks rather relieved. By the time he comes out of the bathroom, Chester has already begun breakfast and Parker’s erection has deflated inside his pajama bottoms.
“It’s a platonic dom/sub relationship,” Chester fumbles both over the explanation and the plate of bacon he sets before Parker. Worrying his lip as he cleans up the spilled grease and beaming in near ecstasy when Parker praises his efforts. Chester takes his seat across from him, reaching for his glass of orange juice. “It’s, it’s a thing. Not the norm, necessarily, but some make it work. I have a couple of books you could borrow, if you think it would help to learn a little more on the subject. Or, there’s this one YouTuber I know, if you prefer?”
“You’d be willing to settle for that?” Parker asks, keeping his voice neutral, not wanting to inadvertently influence his best friend’s decision. He wants to keep him safe but overall, this is Chester’s decision. He wants to do what is best for him, but not at the cost of his freedom. “A sexless relationship?”
“I’m straight,” Chester says, avoiding Parker’s eyes. He watches one of the cats rubbing against the leg of the table, begging for scraps. “If you asked me to suck your dick or something, I’d do it, because you told me to, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it. Yet when it comes to this sort of thing, to how my body responds, I don’t think any of that really matters. It’s not about attraction, necessarily. My body just reacts in…ways, to pain, or humiliation. I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with that.”
“I don’t care if you get hard from it,” Parker says, shaking his head. “But I’m not going to fuck you or anything. Or ask you to suck my dick, for that matter.”
“That’s a pretty extreme form of orgasm denial,” Chester lets out a little laugh. It ends with an awkward cough when Parker doesn’t join in. “Um, there are ways to deal with that. I just, we need to establish the rules. We could sign a contract, maybe? Or is that too Fifty Shades?”
In the beginning, there are no rules set forth on the subject of masturbation. The way Parker sees it, Chester’s body is his own and he should be able to do whatever he wants with it. After a week of seeming discomfort with this setup, Chester returns from school one afternoon with a book he had retrieved from his dorm. He hands it to Parker before they retire for bed that night, requesting he read the part about orgasm denial first. That night, if he could, please. There is desperation in his voice as the anxiety seems to be eating away at him.
They talk it out the next evening. Parker is relieved to hear that Chester isn’t into actual chastity belts, the idea of taking a trip to the local sex shop to purchase one is mortifying, but other rules have to be put in place. Chester seems relieved once these are established, smiling once more. Reassuring Parker again that no, not only does he not need a dick cage, he is not even remotely interested in them.
“Dude, I have self-control, I don’t need spikes in my balls to stop me from jerking off.”
Despite this reassurance, Parker does make his way to a certain nearby store before week’s end. He’s not a complete novice to these sort establishments. The products range from vanilla (simple lubricants and condoms) to hardcore (they have a functional fucking machine set up in one corner to provide customers instructions on its usage.) The shop is not inherently heterosexual or homosexual or anything in between so, while feeling a little embarrassed, Parker doesn’t necessarily feel out of place.
At least, not at the front of the shop. He peruses the selection of various condoms – ribbed condoms and dotted condoms and glow in the dark condoms and flavored condoms and sheep skinned condoms and condoms for “the larger than average erection.” Most of his experiences at these businesses have always been limited to this area of the store. Walking down the short staircase to the “other” section is like entering an entirely different establishment.
Yet that is where he must go to buy what he wants.
The little booth is located near the very back, manned by a woman with a nose piercing who is old enough to be his grandmother.
“Hi, uh, your website says you do custom orders?”
White had never looked good on him. Chester’s skin is so pale that light colors are often hit or miss on his person. Top that off with his shaggy blond hair, nearly down to the nape of his neck since they started college, and the band of the old collar had nearly blended in with his throat. Black, on the other hand, has always been a striking color on his best friend. Striking in the way a nice suit is. Classy.
When Chester opens the box and sees the collar sitting there on the white satin pillow, he just freezes up like a deer in the headlights. Beside him, Parker chews at his lip, waiting for some sort of reaction. It’s such a simple collar compared to his old one. No rhinestones to bite into his skin. A little thinner so that he can move his head with more ease. The embossing is elegant but discrete, not on display for the whole world to see, but hidden on the inside where only the two of them will ever be aware of its existence. A half heart with a jagged-edged lining, two lines of letters framed inside it. On the top are the letter BE and the bottom BR. When Chester looks up at Parker, he removes his watch and shows him the back of it. Engraved in the metal is the other half of the heart and the missing ST and OS.
“Your Rolex,” he finally breathes, tears already leaking from the corner of his eyes. He wipes at them with the back of his hand, a strangled whimper escaping from his lips as he snatches up the ring of leather in his hands. “I love it. Bro, put it on me?”
“Your hair’s getting long, dude,” Parker says, laughing a little, ignoring the discomfort he feels over seeing Chester tearing up right in front of him. “Push it up in the back so I can see what I’m doing.”
He tightens the collar until he can comfortably fit two fingers between the band and Chester’s throat. Then he steps back to take a look at him. He was correct, of course, the black complements his natural skin color better than the white ever could have.
“How’s it feel? I know it’s not as good quality as the other one. Is it too rough?”
“It’s perfect,” Chester assures quickly, reaching up to run the tips of two fingers along the side. No sharp edges, he had made sure of that. It’s why he had gone out of his way to visit a fetish shop rather than a leather engraver; they know what works for human skin. “Thank you, Parker.”
“Yeah, well, wouldn’t want you running off,” Parker laughs, scratching at the back of his head. “You’re welcome though. I just, you’re my best friend, dude. I want you, and I want you to feel wanted. You know?”
Voyeurism becomes part of Parker’s natural routine. There is nothing in their contract that forbids him from dating women but none of them stick around long, too put off by his relationship with his best friend, roommate, and pet. They find women at local sex clubs. Ones used to being watched in bed, who enjoy the attention. Some of them try to squirm their way into the dynamic, smiling up at Parker with a hint of mischievousness in their eyes as they inform their new partner that they are perfectly fine with his cute blond friend joining them in bed. Some even offer to take control for the night, promising to put on a good show for Parker as they crush his sub beneath their boot’s heel.
He turns down these women. The dominant, aggressive ones who look at his best friend and see a choice morsel in need of devouring.
Sharing is not an option. Chester belongs to Parker, and he chooses who can touch him, namely himself, and who cannot, namely, everyone else. Including Chester, at times, because Parker forbids him from undressing or touching himself while he watches Parker with the women. He just sits to the side, hands folded in his lap, observing. After a while, Parker becomes so used to his presence, it feels wrong to even masturbate without a set of eyes on him.
They keep a tally system that determines when Chester is allowed to cum. Points are awarded and deducted depending on a number of things – when he disobeys a direct command or doesn’t clean up the house to Parker’s satisfaction, a point is deducted. He does not receive a point for every command obeyed and it is easier to lose than gain them. But Chester is, for the most part, a good submissive. He almost always finishes a day with a net gain.
Once he’s reached a hundred, Parker presents him with one of the vouchers he keeps in his wallet and the counter rolls back over to zero. Chester is allowed to redeem the vouchers whenever he wishes, as long as he’s alone in his room, returning the slip of paper to Parker the next time they are together. The vouchers are simple, hand-written things, just a piece of printer paper cut up into makeshift coupons. Easy enough to duplicate. But it’s part of the process, acknowledging his weakness and accepting the pats on the head Parker gives him in return. Not congratulatory but almost comforting. There there, it’s okay that you’re weak and in need of release, your best friend won’t judge you.
Strange, how such weirdness can become so normal. If Parker somehow traveled back in time and told his high school self that, one day, he would have to give his best friend permission to jerk off, he would have thought he was losing his mind.
In some ways, however, none of this is strange at all. Except for the rare and overtly sexual implications of their relationship, not much else changes.
This is how it’s always been, hasn’t it? Parker telling his best friend what they should do, when they should do it. Telling him what to wear and what he should eat and what music he should listen to. Back in the day, it had been more of a monkey see, monkey do sort of situation, Chester ordering the same food as him or buying the same shoes, but it’s still very reminiscent of their high school days.
Of course, there is the physical affection. That is different.
It is possible to enjoy being touched without anything innately sexual about it. Yet this takes a little while for Parker to get the hold of it. It helps that Chester claims to still be straight, despite everything, yet physical affection between two men is just not something that Parker is used to seeing nor dolling out. Not in any way more significant than a side hug or a handshake.
But it’s one of those things Chester needs so he learns.
Starting with simple touches, a coaxing hand on his lower back, a comforting palm on his shoulder, it quickly develops into something more. Before long, Parker finds himself outright cuddling his best friend. Not in the way he’d cuddle one of his girlfriends, but in the way he’d cuddle his cat. He’ll be lying on the couch, watching something on television, when Chester appears in the doorway, half-asleep in a pair of baggy pajama bottoms. He pats the cushion in front of him, calling him over like a pet, and Chester somehow manages to squeeze into that small space, half held in place by Parker’s arm.
Even once they move to a larger apartment, it remains routine for them to share a bed. Sometimes spooning, sometimes just lightly touching fingertips together and nothing more. Just enough that Chester can feel his presence. Yet Chester has his own bed and his own room. It’s his space to call his own. Parker calls it his kennel, like he’s a dog that needs his own den, but it’s an affectionate term. It’s the one place that Chester is allowed to totally let his guard down. As long as he is inside his bedroom, he is not required to obey any of Parker’s commands, besides the most basic ones – no masturbation without a voucher, no talking to other doms, make sure your chores are done on time.
Some nights, he chooses to sleep alone in his bed and Parker is happy to give him that option. Mostly, he chooses to sleep beside him. None of the women ever stay the night.
The school year ends. There are discussions of summer trips that never come to fruition. They go to the lake house with Parker’s family one week and it passes in a lazy blur of kayaks and barbecues and games of chicken fight in the water. Parker’s two sisters offer to share one bed, allowing Chester his own room, but he turns down their offer.
“He’s my guest, we’ll share,” Parker says, smiling down at the pre-teen. He reaches out and musses her windblown hair as she protests, pulling away and calling him an insulting name. “We did used to share a one-bedroom apartment for a while, you know?”
They discuss whether or not Chester should wear the collar to bed at night. During the day, around his family, is out of the question. Right from the beginning, before the family vacation was even a passing thought, they had agreed that Chester was never to wear it around either of their families or in pictures on any social media. But when alone at night?
“You never know what could happen, dude,” Parker consoles him. “What if one of the girls runs in? They’ll ask questions.”
One of the girls does not run in. What they get instead is Parker’s mother, letting herself inside when they don’t immediately answer her inquiry about breakfast. Chester isn’t wearing his collar, but he is pressed flat against her son, Parker spooning him from behind in a way that would doubtlessly look suggestive to anybody who barged in on them. Shoulders bare, flushed pink from the previous day spent on the lake. Both wearing shorts beneath the blanket, but how was she to know that?
She doesn’t interrupt their sleep to ask questions. Instead, she waits until everybody else is outside playing horseshoes and calls Parker inside for help.
“I can’t get the mayonnaise open for the macaroni salad, sweetie, can you please help me?”
He barely even turns the lid before it’s off.
“Well, uh, here,” he says, holding it out, but his mother is standing there, arms crossed across her chest, tapping her foot in annoyance.
“So, what, you’re gay now?”
“What?” Parker asks, feeling the blood drain from his face. He nearly drops the tub of mayonnaise.
“How long have you two been dating? Is this a new development? I don’t care if you’re gay, Parker, be who you are, but you could have at least told your own mother.”
“Mom, I’m not gay,” Parker cries out, mortified they’re even having this conversation. He hurries to set the tub on the counter and wipes at his pant thighs with his hands as if he had touched something dirty. “I like women.”
“Bi then,” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “You know what I mean. If you were going to start dating your friend, you could have at least told us about it. After all those comments I made about wanting to introduce you to my coworker’s daughter.’
“No, seriously, Mom, you’re misunderstanding the situation entirely,” Parker says, rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand in frustration. He allows it to drop back to his thigh. “Chester and I, we’re not in a romantic relationship. Or a sexual one! Before you go that way with it. We just sort of have this…understanding.”
“Understanding?”
Parker pauses for a moment to consider his words. He isn’t about to describe to his mother that they’re in what is essentially a BDSM arrangement. How could he make this more palatable? Besides skipping many of the details, that is.
“Chester’s last ex messed him up bad,” he starts slowly, carefully choosing each word before he speaks. “She hurt him, bad. Not just mentally, but physically. I was there when he needed someone to just show him some affection. It’s like, platonic cuddling. That’s all. If we were girls, you wouldn’t bat an eye.”
“I never cuddled any of my girlfriends in my sleep,” she counters, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “Parker, it’s okay, if you want to tell me the truth, I’ll accept you how you are.”
This time he just laughs. He can’t help it. The entire situation is so ridiculous.
“Mom, if I was dating Chester, I’d let you know,” he assures her. “But it really isn’t like that. Call us platonic life partners if you want. He’s my best friend, and he’s an extremely important part of my life, but neither of us swing that way. Hell, it’d be a lot easier if we did. I love him, just, not like that.”
The first time Parker physically punishes Chester is in late June.
Oh, he’s punished him before in other ways. Making him sit in the corner for hours, deducting points from his voucher system, disallowing him to sleep in his bed for a night. He learned early on that Chester craves discipline and if he doesn’t serve it out, Chester will continue to push until he gets a reaction out of him. Yet in June, it’s like something snaps inside of him. His sweet little sub suddenly because defiant, ignoring his orders or snapping back at him over the tiniest thing. Parker doles out the usual punishments, but nothing he does seems to correct the behavior.
So, finally, on a particularly hot and humid evening, his temper frayed, he grabs Chester by the wrist and pulls him down over his lap. The first couple smacks on his bottom are through sweatpants, lessening the impact of the blow to a degree where Parker feels like he’s hitting a stuffed animal. Grabbing at the elastic waistband of the pants, he yanks them down below the curve of his buttocks, exposing Chester’s lily-white ass to the air, and gives him several more hearty slaps right in the middle of his posterior. The blond yelps and wiggles on his lap and Parker pauses, giving him time and opportunity to use their safe word.
He doesn’t. He squirms and he cries and he sniffles. He begs him to stop and yells about how much it hurts. But he doesn’t use the safe word.
Only when his ass is bright red and face wet with tears, does Parker stop again.
“Are you going to finish filling out your FAFSA forms, bro?”
Panting and sniffling, Chester does not respond. Parker gives him another smack and he lets out a little squeak, his body jumping in surprise and pain. The skin is tender, sore, but unbroken.
“Yeah, dude, I’ll finish them tonight, I promise.”
They’re due by end of month. Parker doesn’t punish Chester because he enjoys it, he does it for his own good.
Chester, on the other hand, does enjoy it.
He doesn’t get hard from it the first time, maybe too shocked by the entire experience. The second time, he does. Parker feels it bumping against his thigh before he’s done and with Chester squirming with each blow, it becomes even more obvious. He swears he can even feel it twitching in need.
“Uh, apologize,” he manages to get out once Chester is back on his feet. But he can’t even remember why he had taken his best friend over his lap or what he should be apologizing for. He’s trying to center his focus on Chester’s face, but the erection pressing against the front of his pants is so distracting. The more he tries to ignore it, the more prominent it seems. He finds himself shifting his eyes to the side.
The apology sounds as unsure as the request for it. He apologizes first for jerking off without a voucher, and then he apologizes for their current situation.
“Parker, I’m, I didn’t mean to-”
“I think it’s best if you go to your room right now.”
Chester doesn’t reply. He stands there for a moment longer, waiting for Parker to look at him, and then shuffles off when he doesn’t. Parker hears the door in the hallway open and then quietly close. A minute later, the sound of music comes. Great.
“I know you said you liked pain, I just didn’t realize you meant it like that,” Parker brings up over dinner. “I’m not angry about it, for the record. It makes me happy, knowing you enjoyed it. I just…don’t want to see it.”
“Spanking is complicated,” Chester admits, agreeing to speak candidly for now. Their contract on pause for the length of this meal as per Parker’s decision. “It’s partially the pain, partially the humiliation aspect, but also just partially a natural physical response. Something to do with change in blood flow or something, I read about it once. A lot of guys can get hard from it, even if they don’t enjoy pain. Didn’t you ever get a little stiffy when your mom spanked you?”
“What? No, dude, my mom never spanked any of us,” Parker denies, shaking his head. He feels his face going flush. “I wasn’t aware that was a thing, though. Uh, sorry, for doing that. It just seemed like a good idea. I probably should find a different way.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Chester admits, smiling a little sheepishly. “I won’t ask you to like, help me out or anything. But I uh, I really enjoyed it, dude. I understand if you’re uncomfortable doing it again but please don’t worry about me.”
“It made me a little uncomfortable,” Parker admits. He scrapes at some of the fried rice on his plate, moving it around without eating it. “But if you really are into it, I think it’s something I could learn to get over. I like it when you enjoy yourself, bro.”
“Just don’t force yourself,” Chester says.
After the spanking incident, Parker finally gives in and asks for a detailed list of all the things Trixie would do for Chester that he had enjoyed. There are a number of ones that fall into the far too sexual category for Parker to be interested in – riding his face, pegging him, forcing him to walk around all day with an app-controlled butt plug inside of him. But there are other things on the list that he hadn’t even considered that are far less direct. Some of these are just far too harsh for him to consider. He doesn’t care if his best friend likes being slapped in the face, he’s not going to do that to him. Or whip him bloody. That’s how they got in this situation to begin with.
The one that does stand out to him, however, is somewhat intriguing. More intriguing than spanking which already has somewhat sexual “please daddy” undertones.
“Choking?” Parker asks, tapping at the single word jotted down on the list, directly between crossdressing and hairpulling. “You like being choked?”
“Huh?” Chester looks up from his laptop. It’s early September, classes back in session, and he’s working on an assignment. “Yeah, dude. You gotta know what you’re doing though, or you could really mess up somebody with that stuff.”
“Would you still enjoy it with a man?” Parker asks, cocking his head in interest at this development.
“I wouldn’t see why not?” A shrug follows, noncommittal. Hinting that while he reports to have enjoyed choking, it might not have been on the top of his list. He doesn’t usually play coy on this sort of thing.
Still, the idea lodges itself into Parker’s brain. Choking is different than many of the other activities that Chester had presented. It seems less inherently sexual than anything associated with the butt or nipples. The throat is a rather normal part of the body, rarely covered up and easily presentable. More than that, as they go about their daily lives together, he finds himself staring at Chester’s throat, wondering how much of his hand could he fit around it? The black leather collar suddenly seems teasing. Taunting in its proximity to that tender, pale skin.
So, he does his research. Not just through the books that Chester had presented him, but online. Learning where the arteries are and where the windpipe is. Teaching himself how long is too long and what causes euphoria for the sub – release of dopamine and other feel-good chemicals, apparently. Like self-injury, the body doing its best to try to improve upon its mind’s current situation, not recognizing the injuries are self-inflected. Parker even practices on himself a few times, squeezing at his own throat and feeling the impending haze come before his grip weakens and he's lefting gasping for breath. Never daring to go so far as auto asphyxiating with a rope or anything that extreme, too scared of accidentally offing himself in the process.
He can do this. He knows he can. It’s about control.
Control.
Up until this point, it has always been about controlling Chester. There is something to be said about having utter control over another human being. But there is also something to be said about having control over one’s own body. In the way meditation or yoga or working out at the gym can feel like more than just physical transformation. This feels like something almost spiritual. Channeling his own strength into something that would further cement their trust and devotion to each other. In a scenario where one partner could literally end up dead at the hands of the other, trust is essential.
“You know that it causes erections, right?” Chester asks when Parker suggests they try it. “That’s why they always find dead celebrities in closets with ties around their throats. They were jerking off during it.”
“I’m not going to go into shock because I caught a glimpse of your dick, bro,” Parker says. “I’ve felt it against my thigh enough times at this point. I’m more concerned about whether or not it’s something you’d want to do. If you’re not into it, just tell me and I’ll drop it.”
“Trixie she um, she used a belt,” Chester says, licking his lips quickly. He scuffs at the floor with his shoes as he continues. “I didn’t like that part. I liked the light-headedness and how good it made the orgasm. But the belt…it hurt my throat. I always thought- If her hands had been bigger…”
“My hands are bigger,” Parker says quietly. “I promise, no belt or tie or rope. Just my hand, I’ll have total control over my movements.”
They do it in Parker’s bed. It’s more comfortable there and Chester can lie down without fear of falling off if he struggles. It’s late-September and sweltering outside, the Indian days of summer, and his throat is fully on display through the tank top he had thrown on that morning. Because he won’t be able to speak with Parker’s hand around his throat, they agree that Chester is to hold onto Parker’s forearm. If he wants him to stop, he’ll squeeze him hard, three times, in quick succession.
“You’ll get it back when we’re finished,” Parker promises, gently setting Chester’s collar on the bedside stand. The metal latch on it clicks against the wood. “You don’t need it now, anyway, I’m right here.”
His throat fits perfectly in Parker’s hand. Like it was made to slide into place like a key and a lock. His chin nestles into the arch made by Parker’s thumb and index finger. He runs his thumb gently across the skin there, feeling Chester’s pulse against his fingertips. He takes note of the windpipe in front and makes sure he isn’t pressing into it.
“Squeeze if you want me to stop, even if you’re not sure,” Parker says quietly. “We can always try again if you panic.”
Chester’s eyes look huge. Normally they’re half-lidded, lazy, Parker is unsure if he’s ever seen him look so alert. The blond gives him a little nod for the go-ahead.
It’s exhilarating. The way the sound of breathing just cuts off, abruptly, like that. He feels movement in Chester’s throat, it feels like he’s trying to swallow but Parker’s fingers are in the way. Then something just sort of hits and Chester’s eyes relax, lids lowering until he looks like he’s stoned out of his mind. Parker doesn’t loosen his grip and Chester doesn’t do anything to stop him. The fingers on Parker’s bicep are holding firmly, indicating Chester is still conscious, still in complete control of his mind, but he doesn’t squeeze. Soon, his face begins to redden. His fingers twitch. Parker swallows, feeling a bead of sweat go down his face. Chester’s leg kicks below them once, twice. Not struggling, almost more of a reflex.
He releases him. The inhale of breath is sharp, ragged. But no coughing. He swallows a few times, panting. The redness of his face lightens back to his normal pallid tone.
All in all, Parker had cut off his air for maybe twenty seconds. As he recovers, he leaves his hand exactly where it was, lightly cupping Chester’s throat. He feels each gasping breath against his palm.
“Again?” Parker asks, once his breathing has somewhat settled.
Chester nods. Takes hold of his arm again.
It lasts longer this time. Parker keeps his eyes on Chester’s the entire time, all but staring into his soul with the intensity between them. This is something entirely different than anything they’ve ever done before. Maybe it’s because Parker knows he could kill his best friend with one quick movement of his hand. Maybe it’s because Chester can’t speak at the moment so they're forced to communicate solely through their eyes. Maybe it’s just how absolutely perfect the two of them have slid into their roles, as snug as if they were a couple of well-tailored suits. For the first time since this all began, Parker is truly immersing himself into his position as Chester's dominant. So much of the time, it has felt like it was all just a ploy to please his best friend. Doing things he never would have asked for with anyone else, let alone even thought of on his own. He’s learned to appreciate their interactions, even enjoy them over time, but never has he just jumped into one of these acts with such enthusiasm.
His own strength is intoxicating. By the time he releases him a second time, Parker is hard.
It’s the first time he’s ever gotten hard from anything they’ve done. He’s awoken with morning wood plenty of times, Chester cuddled against him, but that likely would happen with or without his presence. He isn’t even sure why he’s got an erection now. Is it the sight of Chester’s face, eyed half-lidded, gasping at nothing? Is it the way he looks at him with so much trust? Is it the feeling of power this entire experience is giving him? The headiness of control over life and death itself?
“How do you feel?”
“Fine,” Chester gets out once he’s had a moment. “Good. Not quite there, yet.”
“Once more?”
A nod.
This time, Chester begins thrashing beneath him. His face bright red, body in panic mode. The erection in Parker’s own pants throb, his own head going a little fuzzy with need. Chester claws at the blankets with his free hand, yet he doesn’t squeeze Parker’s arm. It’s as if his body and his mind are working separately. Parker is tempted to see how long he’d go, would he let Parker knock him out before asking for help? Tempted, but he doesn’t do it. He knows Chester is close, his eyes fogging over. The thrashing stops. The fingers twitch on Parker's arm.
He releases him.
The boy starts crying almost immediately. Yet, innately, Parker understands this is not a bad thing. It’s a release surely as much as an orgasm would have been. Climbing up onto his knees, the submissive throws himself into Parker’s arm, craving physical affection more than ever. Which Parker readily gives him, ignoring his own erection, ignoring Chester’s matching one. This is beyond sex. He buries his fingers into the shaggy blond hair, kissing him on the temple, squeezing him hard with his other arm. Somehow both solid yet fragile in his arms.
“I’ve got you.”