Acts of Service

In fairness to Ted, most of his flash floods of self-discovery happened by accident. Ryan Cussen touched his thigh in ninth grade, and, huh, guess he was into men too — who knew? Had a panic attack in the middle of a football match? Maybe he had some issues he needed to work out.

This particular hidden sprout sprung up at him during Trent Crimm’s going away party. Well, it wasn’t so much as a party as it was a calculated ambush of celebration.

Trent was taking a leave of absence from The Independent to work on his book (something about the soul of the sport; sounded great, Ted had already wrestled out a pinky promise from Trent for a signed copy), and it was clear that he’d been hoping to Irish Goodbye it, sneaking away without anyone making a fuss. Not on Ted Lasso’s watch, no siree bob.

He and Trent had had their ups and downs — from the “is this a fucking joke” to the Wayward Ted piece to the article breaking his panic attacks to, well, the thoughtful, supportive article breaking his panic attacks.

Trent had shown up to pace on his doorstep after Ted had declined to comment on that last one, lecturing him about how his silence was just letting everyone else control the story and then, shockingly, offering to reveal his source. Ted had shut that down pretty quick, already suspecting who spilled the beans — no need to ruin anyone else’s career over it. Trent had just stood there, looking shattered. Ted had gotten concerned enough that he pulled Trent inside and sat him down in the kitchen, even going so far as to make him a cup of tea (ugh). He had fumbled through the motions of making Rebecca’s biscuits as he assured Trent that he was just doing the gig — there were no hurt feelings, bad blood, bruised egos, etc. Trent had just sat there, white-knuckling his mug and watching Ted with an indecipherable look in his eyes and a pinched expression on his face.

Trent went a bit strange around Ted for a while after that, but they sorted things out. Trent was a good guy, seeing him in the press room was one of the highlights of Ted’s week. He’d even go so far as to say he looked forward to it. When Ted heard Trent was planning to sing his own version of Bye, Bye, Bye... let’s just say the news upset him more than was probably rational or warranted.

Anyway, proper goodbyes were important. That was why Ted ended Trent’s last press conference with, “before y’all start plucking away at your keyboards or fighting with your Twitter followers, I’ve got a quick announcement for ya.”

All the reporters in the room sat up a little straighter, including Trent, who was peering curiously at Ted over the tops of his glasses from his usual seat two rows in. His hair was looking particularly wild today, like he’d flown out of his house without bothering to brush it.

Ted had noticed Trent’s appearance got more haphazard on the weeks he had Amanda. He couldn’t imagine trying to wrangle in that little firecracker — six-year-olds were loose-cannons to begin with, but Lord Almighty did that girl have more renewable energy than a solar farm. One time Trent looked so haggard, Ted had offered him his coffee, half-drunk and lukewarm. Trent had gulped down the entire thing in three quick swallows and then stared guiltily at the empty cup as if he hadn’t even realized what he’d been doing. That had worried Ted, he wasn’t gonna lie; he hoped Trent would remember to take better care of himself.

Ted grinned at the press room, locking eyes with Trent, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously in return. He raised his voice a little so the folks outside the press room doors could hear him.

“Now, today’s a very special day.”

On cue, Keeley carried the cake through the doors. The lady at the bakeshop had outdone herself. She’d decorated it with a perfect replica of The Independent’s sports page with “We’ll miss you, Trent!” as the headline.

Keeley winked at Ted, depositing the cake on the table at the front of the room before taking a step back and pulling out her phone.

There were a few puzzled expressions, but most of the reporters had already zeroed in on Trent, grinning viciously. Trent was slinking down in his seat, removing his glasses so he could cover his face with a hand.

“It’s also a very sad day. Trent Crimm, only a few hours left on The Independent, is having his very last press conference with us,” Ted explained, standing up and pointing directly at Trent. “Trent! I see you trying to hide behind Rachel. Get on up here! Don’t start playing bashful with me now.”

Trent made a rude noise but dragged himself to his feet. His fellow reporters jeered and wolf-whistled as he walked to the front of the room.

Ted wrapped a friendly arm around Trent, ignoring the glare he got in return and the now-familiar way it made his heart beat faster in his chest. Trent’s shoulder was warm and solid against his hand, even through the blue sports coat Trent had on. Ted patted it companionably as he spoke.

“Trent has been keeping me on my toes for, oh, how long has it been now, Trent?”

“Four excruciating years,” Trent replied.

“A thrilling four seasons!” Ted exclaimed, pumping his fist as he turned back to the press. Nearly all of them had their phones out and were recording along with Keeley, gleeful smirks on their faces. “Everyone here at the Richmond Clubhouse is gonna miss him, his glorious hair, his hard-nosed questions, and his charm-your-socks-off personality.”

“Jesus Christ,” Trent said under his breath, rubbing a thumb over his eyebrow.

“And no way we were going to let him duck out of this press room without a goodbye befitting a man of his stature,” Ted continued. “So please join me in wishing Trent Crimm, protector of truth, justice, and the football way, a very happy last day on the job!”

The entirety of Richmond's Department of Communications burst through the doors, blasting Paparazzi by Lady Gaga and cheering. Keeley was recording every second of it, grinning from ear to ear, and all the reporters in the room erupted in thunderous laughter. Even Trent was hiding his smile behind his hand. Ted beamed at him, nudging him gently with his shoulder before shouting, “come on, enough of my jibber-jabbing! Let’s have some cake!”

Apparently, no one ever fed reporters because they all descended on the cake like starving animals. Pieces were handed out, and the press gathered in circles, chatting cheerfully amongst each other. Ted’s to-do list was fuller than a plate at the Lasso family annual BBQ this time of the season; he had budgets and contracts to sign and meetings out his wazoo, but he stayed longer than he meant to — reluctant to leave in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

After making a round of the room, Ted walked over to Trent, who was sitting on the corner of the table chatting with Mark and Kit while delicately eating the icing off his piece of cake.

“Where there is cake there is hope,” Ted said, leaning up against the table alongside him. Mark and Kit ambled away, making loud noises about going for a second piece. “Should've known you’d had a sweet tooth hidden under that deep aura of mystery you cultivate.”

“And I,” Trent drawled, “should have known you’d pull some outlandish stunt like this.”

Ted nodded. “You really should have. Keeley was peeping through the door the whole time. But, hey, if you’re feeling bad about your journalistic intuition, we could always have a do-over.”

Ted made to grab Trent’s cake, and that was when it happened. Trent’s hand shot out, faster than Ted had known he could move, and clamped his fingers around Ted’s wrist. He held Ted there with an iron grip, halting him mid-reach. Ted froze, hand limp in Trent’s grasp, everything inside him going still. Then, just as quickly as it happened, it was over.

“Don’t touch my cake,” Trent ordered, in that mean teasing way he had, loosening his hold on Ted's wrist, releasing him.

“Yowza, that’s quite a grip you’ve got there,” Ted chuckled, shaking out his hand to hide the fact that his fingertips had started shaking. “Must be all that typing — bet you’d be a hell of a rock climber.”

Trent was rolling his eyes at him, opening his mouth to probably say some zinger of a line that would have Ted scrambling to keep up, but Ted was already on his feet. “Oh shoot, pardon me, I think Keeley’s trying to get my attention.”

He strolled away as casually as he could because, the second Trent had wrapped his hand around Ted’s wrist and squeezed, Ted had gone full half-stalk in his khakis. He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets and walked over to where Keeley was standing with Liza and a few other members of the social media team.

“Alright, Ted?” Keeley asked, a touch concerned, seeing the rictus grin Ted had plastered all over his face.

“Oh yeah, finer than any of the Marvel Chrises minus Hemsworth, can’t compete with that guy,” Ted told her, rubbing tingling fingers over his mustache. “I just need to make a graceful exit. Can you cover for me?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Keeley said. She leaned in close, touching his shoulder and coming up on her tip-toes until she could whisper in his ear. “I’m going to gesture frantically at the door while whispering to you, so everyone here thinks you have a legitimate reason to leave.”

Keeley said all this while gesturing frantically at the door. Ted nodded along, schooling his features into an appropriately concerned expression for the reporters glancing in their direction. “Thanks, Keeley. You are the public relations queen of my heart.”

Turning back to the room, Ted waved his hand in farewell. “Gotta dash! Y’all stay in here and party as long as you want. Thanks for a great season, everyone.”

“Bye, Ted!” the press called out in unison.

“And thanks for everything, Trent!” Ted gave Trent a small salute. “Can’t wait to read your book!”

Trent raised his hand in farewell, but he was watching Ted with a sharp expression that meant he smelled what Ted was shoveling and it wasn’t tulips.

Ted fled, a familiar high-pitched humming in his ears.

“Tell me more about this panic attack,” Marti said, settling back in his seat. “It’s been a while since you’ve had one.”

Marti Oker was an intelligent, round-faced man with a Scottish accent, friendly smile, and dark curls. Sharon had recommended him after her second contract ended with Richmond.

At first, Ted had felt a bit betrayed, his abandonment issues rearing their ugly head and causing more kinds of shenanigans than a bad goose on the loose. After going a few rounds with the doc, Ted agreed to meet with Marti once, once. This had been a dirty fighting tactic on Sharon’s part (a real offside play as far as Ted was concerned) because Marti had a Golden Retriever named Bubba who stayed in the room during sessions. The first time Ted sat on the couch, Bubba had hopped up and laid down next to him, putting his head in his lap; what red-blooded human could resist that?

Bubba was lying next to him now. Ted stroked his head, scratching Bubba idly behind the ears as he gathered his thoughts.

“It was,” Ted searched for the right words, “blindsiding. Came at me from left field.”

“How so?” Marti asked, curious.

“Well, until now they’ve kinda been exclusively related to my issues with my father and all,” Ted said, feeling that familiar agitation welling in his chest, telling him to shut up — we don’t talk about that — Ted took a deep breath, pushed through it. “I’m kinda pissed off if I’m being honest, which I try to be with you, doc. I’d thought once I knew the trigger, I could just avoid pulling it.”

“Reminders of traumatic experiences are a big trigger,” Marti agreed. “That doesn’t mean it’s your only one. From what you’ve told me, this was nowhere near as severe as the attacks you’ve had in regards to your father’s suicide. Can you think back to a time when something like this happened before?”

Ted glanced down at Bubba, who looked up at him with a big ol’ puppy grin. Who couldn’t love that face?

“My first press conference with Richmond.” Ted recalled the ringing in his ears as the whole room had erupted, shouting question after question at him. “That was a doozy. Those journalists were so excited to roast me they were practically spitting fire.”

“Would that be the same press conference in which you met this,” Marti didn’t even need to check his notes, “Trent Crimm from The Independent.”

“Trent’s a good guy,” Ted protested, not sure why he felt the need to clarify that point.

“I didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t,” Marti said easily. “I’m curious that you don’t seem to consider him a source of stress. You’ve certainly talked about him in here enough.”

Ted flushed — he may have talked about Trent from time to time. “No?”

“Okay,” Marti said, making a note in his Little Book of Ted’s Foibles. “So if it wasn’t Trent himself, what do you think it was about this most recent interaction that triggered your fight or flight response?”

“Uh,” Ted fidgeted, remembering how Sharon had suggested there may be issues he’d be more comfortable addressing with his fellow man. “I’m not trying to run out the clock on ya, I swear. I’m just a little embarrassed to talk about it.”

“Ah, is it about sex?” Marti asked, blasé as a glass of rosé on a sunny day.

Ted scratched at his cheek. Bubba whined at him, rolling over for belly scratches, which Ted dolled out gladly, eager for an excuse to avoid answering the question.

“Conversations about sex can be intimidating, especially for someone who, as you said, ‘doesn’t like to kiss and tell,’” Marti quoted back at him after Bubba had settled back down. “I promise that, whenever and whatever you are ready to share, you will find nothing but support and safety in this room. But you asked for an emergency session for a reason, Ted. It’s obvious you have something on your mind.”

The words burst forth from Ted’s mouth like a dam had just detonated. “Trent held my wrist down, and I got hard.”

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Marti said kindly, not so much as raising an eyebrow, eyes warm and encouraging. “How did that make you feel?”

Ted stared at Marti, flabbergasted. “Pretty obvious how it made me feel, doc.”

“Not really,” Marti replied. “Sex and sexuality are complicated, and arousal does not always equate to desire. Whatever you felt, it was extreme enough to create a stress reaction. That is my primary concern here, Ted.”

Ted fell back onto the couch, running a hand through Bubba’s fur, grounding himself. “I felt,” he paused, thinking back on it. Remembering how, for just a moment, everything in his brain went still, his thoughts centering on the pinpoints of pressure on his wrist. “I felt quiet.”

“How so?”

Ted made a sound of frustration, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Here’s something that I doubt will surprise you, but I’m a bit of a worry-wart. I worry about the people in my life, what their problems are and how I can help. I worry about the fellas I coach, whether I’m doing right by them. I worry about myself, whether I’m going to turn out sad like my father or ‘emotionally unavailable’ like my mother — to borrow your term. I worry Henry will start resenting me for abandoning him for two years only to make him move halfway around the world. After Nate, I worry about who I’m paying too much attention to and who feels left out. But most of all, I worry that there’s something I could be doing to make someone happy, but I’m just always missing the signals.”

“That sounds very loud, Ted,” Marti said, not putting on a sympathy show or anything, just stating a fact. “I can see why that small moment of quiet could both arouse and frighten you.”

“Yeah,” Ted said, suddenly drained. “I can see that too.”

“Our time’s up,” Marti said gently. “But I have some homework for you.”

“Oh,” Ted lifted his head, grinning. “Will it be a gathering of good ideas and information? Is there an extra credit option?”

Marti laughed, scribbling on his notepad. “I’m not making any promises, but I think it will be worth discussing at our next session.”

He tore off the piece of paper, handing it over. Ted took it, having to dislodge Bubba from his lap as he leaned over. He read over what Marti had written down, face going through a complicated series of expressions before settling on two raised eyebrows.

Marti held up his hands. “I’m not saying it’s for you. I’m just saying it’s worth a read.”

Ted was on the tube (Marti’s office was a few miles north of Nelson Road, which Ted was starting to appreciate — having some separation between his work work and his mental work was nice) when his phone buzzed. It was Michelle, wanting to know if he was still okay with picking Henry up from school tomorrow.

When Henry and Michelle moved over after Ted’s second season, Rebecca had upgraded him to a two-bedroom flat — which was “apartment” in American. It was still in the same building as Ted’s old place, making the switch easy peasy. Michelle’s flat was a few blocks down, making shared custody much more easy peasy than it had been.

As far as Ted was concerned, his ex-wife was a saint. Not only was she flexible with who had Henry when during the season, but she uprooted her life so that he could keep working with Richmond and her son could have a relationship with his father outside of a computer screen.

“I’m excited,” Michelle had confessed as they were working through the details. “I’ve always wanted to live abroad. You being there finally gives me an excuse.”

The whole summer of the move, Ted had been a wreck. He was terrified Michelle’s work would call it off or that Henry would refuse to get on the plane. He drank more than he should have — one of those unhealthy coping mechanisms Sharon had needed to talk with him about.

In the end, everything went smoothly. Henry was thrilled to be in London, less thrilled at times (especially when he found out schools in England didn’t have Thanksgiving break), but all-in-all a mostly happy camper. Michelle got everything approved with her company, switching to full-time remote, but occasionally having to go to one of her company’s international offices (Ted never really understood what “internet security” meant, and, frankly, he was afraid of asking too many questions). They settled into a routine after that first year, working out who had Henry what week and when they needed to swap due to work schedules. Ted had Henry starting tomorrow, which he was looking forward to after the craziness of the last few games of the season.

Ted texted back that they were “on like Donkey Kong” to which she replied with an eye-roll emoji. He grinned, swiping away from his messenger app. His grin faded a little as he returned to the e-book screen, staring at the book Marti had recommended.

A sex therapist’s introductory guide to BDSM, kink, and the submissive/dominant dynamic, the summary promised. Ted swiped away, feeling sweaty. He was no prude, but he certainly wasn’t going to read this on the tube. Sex, in Ted’s humble Midwestern opinion, was like an extravagant, custom-built headboard: nothing to be ashamed of, silly to brag about, and best kept in the bedroom.

When he got home, his hands were itching for a beer.

“Do you want a drink or not to think?” Ted muttered to himself — one of Doc Fieldstone’s witticisms. He ended up going for a pop, which was a “fizzy drink” in British and “soda” in backwater American.

He pulled open his laptop, finishing up some paperwork he owed Rebecca. Then he made dinner, taking a quick assessment of the refrigerator and making a list of what he needed to get for Henry. He cleaned the kitchen, set up Henry’s video game console, made Rebecca her batch o’ biscuits, fixed Beard’s sandwich for Surprise Sandwich Day, cleaned the kitchen again, set up the coffee pot for the morning, and sat on the couch. Ted went for the TV remote and stopped, staring at his phone, which was sitting innocuously on the coffee table, screen dark and judgmental.

“Aw, heck on a deck, Theodore, it’s just a book,” Ted scolded himself. He picked up the phone and opened the app.

He made it a third of the way through before he had to set his phone down. His fingers shook as he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his pants to pull out his leaking cock. It only took three quick pulls before Ted was coming all over his hand, gasping a little at the intensity of it. He washed his hands after his spine unmelted, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“Welp,” Ted said, too loud in his empty apartment. “There’s that.”

“So I wanna talk about this service submission thing,” Ted said before he’d even sat on the couch. Bubba jumped up next to him and curled up into an adorable ball, a comforting weight against his side.

He’d finished the book Marti had recommended that first night, and a week was a long time to be turning things over a brain, especially his. Ted had spent the whole week thinking about it when he wasn’t focused on Henry — making sure he was brushing his teeth, eating his vegetables, and getting his homework done in between Mario Kart, robotics club, and basketball practice.

Marti settled into his usual chair across from him, unphased. “What about it would you like to discuss?”

“It seems counterintuitive, doesn’t it? Wanting to take care of people and then wanting to be, uh, taken care of, so to speak.”

“Submission can be an act of service,” Marti said, “which, as we’ve discussed, is your primary love language. We’ve also discussed how a relationship needs to be a partnership — no one can take care of everyone or everything all the time. The dominant and submissive relationship is, fundamentally, about taking care of each other. Making sure everyone’s needs are met.”

“And you think that’s what I need?” Ted asked, a touch defensive. “To be taken care of?”

“What I think doesn’t matter, Ted. What matters is what you think, and how you feel about it.”

“I think,” Ted started before trailing off and looking into the distance, his forehead creasing as he thought. Marti waited patiently, an encouraging smile on his face. “I think I’d like for someone to tell me how I can make them happy. Remove a bit of the guesswork from this area of my life.”

“It would certainly carve out a moment of quiet for you,” Marti said. “A space where you can relax, recharge, and destress.”

“It’s not one of those unhealthy coping mechanisms?”

“Every coping mechanism can be unhealthy if taken too far, whether it’s positive thinking, sex, drinking, or jogging.” Marti’s lips twitched. “But we all know how you feel about jogging.”

“Just walk or run!” Ted exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Why do people bother with an activity that’s all about doing two activities halfway?”

Marti laughed. “You have other outlets. Spending time with your son is one. Going out for a drink with Beard is another, as is walking to and from work and smiling at your reflection. You’re allowed to find different types of relief in different ways. It’s when one starts consuming all other aspects of your life that we need to worry.”

Ted exhaled loudly, scrubbing a hand over his face, scratching at his mustache. “I don’t know what to do with all this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Marti said, reassuring. “Plenty of people have fantasies that they don’t want acted out.”

“But I do,” Ted admitted, staring down at his cupped hands, “and that scares me a little.”

“Okay,” Marti said, leaning forward. “Let’s unpack that.”

Ted left his session with another, longer list of book recommendations. Marti had written the titles down without needing to look any of them up, which Ted found both impressive and suspicious.

“You seem to have this pretty well dialed in, doc,” Ted had said when Marti handed the list over.

“My areas of specialty are trauma, anxiety, and sexuality,” Marti told him. “It’s an extensive required reading list.”

“Huh,” Ted thought that over, “did Dr. Fieldstone know that when she recommended you?”

“She did,” was all Marti said in response.

Some of the books Marti recommended were easy enough to track down — others were not. Ted grimaced at a few of the prices of the out-of-print titles and decided it was time to turn to his favorite science of all time: library science.

The Richmond library was clean and quiet, and the librarians were always happy to point him in the right direction. Best of all, it was private. Every computer had privacy screens on them, and the library system didn’t keep a record of any books checked out.

Broadening your mind with confidentiality? Ted was Scrooge McDuck because he was diving headfirst into that pile of gold.

The library had a few of the titles Ted was looking for, located in the gender and sexuality section — which was right next to the social interaction section, and Ted found that beautiful.

He was in the process of running his books through the self-checkout counter when Beard appeared out of nowhere, scaring the bejesus out of him.

“Hey, coach,” Beard said. “Whatcha reading?”

Ted slammed his hand down over the book on top, covering up the title (The Submissive’s Handbook) with his hand. “Nothing much,” Ted said, voice high-pitched and guilty.

Beard nodded sagely. “Heard. Let me know if it's worth an impromptu book club.” He tucked his own book under his arm and turned away. “Jane definitely had some opinions on that one.”

Ted gazed after Beard with wide eyes, frozen in place for a moment before shoving his books in his backpack and taking off after him. “Hey, coach, wait up!” Beard waited — his bland face a picture of earnest serenity.

“Something on your mind, coach?” Beard asked knowingly.

“I think so,” Ted told him. “Mind walking me home? There’s been a particular development in my life that I’m starting to realize could benefit from your unique lifetime of experiences.”

Beard walked Ted back to his flat, listening with stoic attentiveness as Ted gave him the very abridged cliff notes on the last few weeks, leaving Trent’s name out of it without really knowing why. It felt too personal, which was sillier than a sundae on Sunday considering what else he was sharing. After Ted ran outta steam, Beard said one sentence, “sounds like I should show you the Club.”

“So when you said the Club, I thought we were talking more like the LGBTQIAPK club versus a club club,” Ted said waving his hand at the discreet doorway nestled between two high-end hotels. There was a small golden placard screwed into the brink, the word “Club” engraved in an elegant cursive font, followed underneath by “members only.”

“You’ve already been welcomed to that club,” Beard said. “You were Vice President.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” Ted said, rubbing the back of his neck. On Beard’s directive, he’d forgone his usual garb in favor of jeans and a grey sweater, and he was grateful for it. Ted had never been ashamed of his sexuality or enjoying sex, but that didn’t mean he wanted to walk into a kink club wearing his Richmond jacket. “I’m not totally sure this is really my scene, not that I don’t appreciate you trying to expand my world and all. I’m just more comfortable at an Easy Lover pace than a Bad Romance beat, if you catch my drift.”

“Relax, coach,” Beard told him, pressing the buzzer below the placard. “I'm just trying to make you see.”

“Phil Collins call back, well done,” Ted said, acknowledging Beard’s reference with a high-five.

“Can I help you?” A large, unimpressed man with red hair, pale skin, and biceps larger than Ted’s head was standing in the doorway, staring them down. He was wearing a suit that wouldn’t have been out of place on the set of Mad Men.

Beard pulled a card out of his wallet, handing it over. The bouncer glanced down at it and handed it back. “Your guest will have to sign in,” he said, standing to the side, limping slightly, and holding the door open.

Ted swallowed, following Beard in. “Thank you,” he told the bouncer as he passed. “I appreciate your dedication and diligence, and — may I say — you are wearing the hell outta that suit.”

The man blinked at him as he sat back on his stool next to the door, slow and impassive. “Submissives wear the blue wristbands.”

“Thanks for the hashtag pro tip,” Ted replied, shooting the doorman two thumbs up. Beard led him to the check-in, where a black woman with a buzzcut and cheekbones that could cut glass handed over forms for Ted to sign, one of which was an NDA.

“Guests must be escorted by members at all times,” she reminded Beard as she confiscated their cell phones, locking them away in one of the storage lockers behind her desk. “Are you looking for a scene partner, or are you claimed?”

“Just vibing today, Dominique,” Beard told her, much to Ted’s relief.

Dominique nodded, snapping white wristbands on both of them. “It’s a two-drink minimum for observers.” She gestured them through the double doors. Ted exhaled harshly, bracing himself. Beard shot him a benevolent look, his amused one, and led him into—

A piano bar.

Everything about the place whispered bespoke sophistication and unlisted menu prices. The stairwell leading down to the main floor was carved out of marble. The gleaming piano stood on a stage in the center of a dance floor, which was surrounded by polished oak tables of various sizes and shapes. No one was playing the piano, but there was a soft jazzy tune playing from the overhead sound system. The bar was backlit with warm golden light, illuminating expensive bottles of everything from absinthe to whiskey.

It was a far cry from his usual laid-back pub scene, but miles less intimidating than Ted had imagined.

“Not what you expected?” Beard asked, leading him down the steps and towards a table in the corner. There were just enough people that Ted didn’t feel overexposed, not too much that he felt overwhelmed. A few of them glanced at them as they passed, eyes appraising.

“It's a little lacking in the leather and chains department,” Ted admitted, confessing to his assumptions. Can’t move past your pigeonholed ways of thinking until you own up to your stereotypes.

“That’s Friday night,” Beard told him. “Jane’s favorite. Wednesdays are probably more your pace though.” He waved the bartender over. “Let’s get you a drink.”

“You’re a beautiful human being, coach.”

The night passed uneventfully. It was strangely similar to their nights at the Crown & Anchor, except instead of talking over plays and line ups, Beard explained the wristbands (blue for submissive, green for dominant, orange for switch, red for claimed, and white for just chilling thanks) and the membership program (a monthly fee high enough to make Ted a bit nauseous) that came with a one month trial period. Ted nodded along, trying not to stare too hard at the couple making out in the corner, the man with a collar around his neck, or the come-hither looks people were bouncing around like ping-pong balls at a table tennis tournament.

“It’s the one place where the privacy policy is legally binding,” Beard explained. The Club had a ten-lawyers-on-retainer contract of silence, and there were enough power players that attended to help keep it that way. Privacy appealed to Ted. He was a private guy in general, despite his chatterbox personality and tendency to overshare in certain contexts. Also, whether he liked it or not, he had a high-profile job, which made his personal life newsworthy — as Ted discovered the hard way after the whole Nate fiasco.

By the end of the night, Dominique was handing him the membership application papers and Ted was handing over his credit card.

Beard clapped him on the back as they left. “Welcome to the Club, coach.”

“Nice,” Ted said, grinning at him. “How long you been sitting on that one?”

“Two years, four months, and twelve days.”

Ted’s membership trial only lasted for a month, but it still took him three weeks to gather up the courage to go back to the Club without the shield of Beard and his bulwark of imperturbability.

The first week he had Henry, so that was out like a candle in a windstorm. The second week he tried once, got to the door, said “nope,” turned on his heels, and vamoosed. The third week, he was supposed to have Henry again, but Michelle’s mother was flying in to visit, so they swapped custody weeks, which meant this was his last chance to try things out before his credit card was charged with a fee higher than the rent on his first apartment.

“It’s now or never, champ,” he told himself in the mirror, combing his hair back. He’d put on his nice pair of jeans, the ones that Keeley said made his legs look “fucking fit,” and his brown sweater, the one Higgins said made his eyes look soulful. “It’s no different than going for a drink at a bar. A really expensive bar where people are significantly more forward about their wants and needs.”

Ted straightened his sweater, shoving the sleeves up and then immediately shoving them down again. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, opening them on the exhale.

“Remember, you don’t have to do anything,” Marti had told him. “Don’t build this up into one of those things you feel you can’t quit on. There’s no pressure aside from what you’re placing on yourself.”

Staring at himself in the mirror, Ted nodded, smiling at his reflection. It was a shaky smile, but it would do.

He pressed the button underneath the placard, shifting nervously as the same man from last time opened the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking just as bored as Ted remembered.

Ted held out the trial pass Dominique had given him in exchange for the exorbitant hold she’d placed on his credit card. “Heya, Justin. How’s it going? You icing that sprained ankle of yours?” Ted had found out his name and the details on his recent MMA injury from Beard.

Justin blinked at him, taken aback, and stepped aside. Ted took a deep breath and entered.

He stood there for a bit, fidgeting as he gave himself a quick mental pep talk.

“Don’t be nervous,” Justin said dispassionately. “It’s a quiet night.”

“I appreciate that, big guy,” Ted said sincerely. “Thanks for looking out for me. Knew you had a kind soul the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Justin squinted at him. “Are you for real, mate?”

“Who’s to say?” Ted replied and made his way towards check-in.

Dominique was there again, and she offered him a cool smile as he handed over his cell phone and signed the paperwork. “Welcome back. Are you looking for a scene partner, are you claimed, or will you be observing again?”

Ted wasn’t really sure how to answer that so he just said, “blue please, thanks so much, Dominique,” holding out his wrist.

“Two drinks maximum with these and no hard alcohol,” Dominique said, snapping the wristband on, looking him over clinically. “First time is always nerve-wracking. You’ll be fine. Justin and I are here if you need anything.” Without waiting for Ted’s reply, she pointed him towards the double doors and turned away.

The atmosphere was pretty much the same as last time, except for the woman in a tight leather dress playing the piano — that was new. Ted walked down the stairs, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead. He felt eyes on him, but he made his way towards the bar. Ted would get a drink, find a table in the corner, and go from there.

Step one went just fine and dandy. The bartender (Kyle, good kid, wanted to be a human rights lawyer) came over immediately and poured his order, making a tick mark on his wristband and offering encouragement with a pat on the arm. Ted thanked him and turned towards the far side of the room, which was when things got a little sticky. Literally.

Because as he turned, Ted slammed chest first into Trent Crimm, no longer of The Independent, and sloshed beer all over his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t— oooooh shit,” Trent drew out, thick eyebrows shooting up as he recognized Ted, eyes going wide. Ted’s eyes were going wide right back, alarm sirens blaring his head. They both stood there, rooted in place, staring. At the same moment, their eyes slid over to each other’s wristband (Trent was wearing green, Ted noticed, pulse kicking into high gear), before snapping back to each other.

“Uh, howdy,” Ted said, hearing the squeak in his voice. “Fancy meeting you here.” His breath was starting to speed up. Not a panic attack, just good old-fashioned hysteria.

“Okay,” Trent said, taking Ted gently by the elbow and leading him over to an empty table in the corner. “Let’s take a moment.”

Trent was holding a glass of wine, half-empty (or half-full depending on how you wanted to look at it). He set it down on the table and sat down next to Ted, leaving plenty of space between their bodies. He was wearing that grey button-down with a red tie combo under his yellow sports coat — the same outfit he’d worn as he followed Ted around like a sardonic, judgemental shadow for his first exposé.

“Well,” Trent started, trailing off awkwardly. “This is unexpected.”

“I, um, I’m new — new new,” Ted explained, talking fast, which was doing nothing to slow his pounding pulse. “But if this is your venue, I don’t want to disrupt anything or make you uncomfortable so I can just—” Ted broke off, pointing his thumb towards the door and made to get up from his seat.

“It’s fine,” Trent said, a little too quickly. “It’s fine, I promise. Just… sit.”

Ted sat, clutching his drink in his hands. Just a bar, he told himself firmly. No different than running into him at the Crown & Anchor. But it was different because, for the first time, Ted was considering things he never let himself consider before. Maybe it was because he wasn’t the cornerstone of Trent’s vocation anymore, or maybe it was because they were at the Club together (now, in this moment, like some sort of off-beat, indie rom-com), but his thoughts were spinning in all kinds of new directions.

He knew Trent was gay — had met Phillip, his ex-husband (bit of a turd bird, in Ted’s opinion) — and now he knew other things about Trent, and those things were tumbling over themselves in his mind, painting quite the picture. It was a picture that went a long way towards explaining the thoughts and feelings that arose whenever Trent was around. Like the way his heart leapt whenever he touched Trent’s shoulder or how his stress was always eased by the sight of him in his press room chair.

Ted cleared his throat, watching Trent watch him out of the corner of his eye. “So,” Ted said, going for jovial, “what are you in for?”

Funny thing about Trent was that the man always seemed to get calmer as people around him got more nervous. It was like he sucked all the confidence out of the room, using it to nourish his razor-sharp wit as he bullied the truth out of people.

He was doing it now, settling back into his skin, watching Ted squirm. “Sex, mostly. Is that what you’re looking for, Ted?”

“Jesus, Trent,” Ted said, taking a sip of his beer, cheeks burning. “Give a man a second to acclimatize before you start pitching hard hitters.”

Trent had the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, old habits. Let me rephrase. Why are you here?”

Ted tapped his fingers against the glass in his hand, trying not to sweat as he remembered the exact catalyst that brought him to this particular establishment. “I recently became aware of certain inclinations that I’m attempting to muddle through. I’m just getting the lay of the land, so to speak.”

“So when you say you’re ‘new new,’” Trent trailed off, inviting Ted to complete the rest of his sentence. It was a dirty reporter trick of his that Ted had fallen for many a times.

“I guess I’m what you’d call a virgin to this kinda thing,” Ted said, falling for it again.

“We all have to start somewhere,” Trent said, not unkindly. “If you’re looking to be… eased in, Sarah over there is very attentive.” Trent waved at a blonde woman at the bar, who waved back. “There’s also Daniela, but she’s out of town this week.”

Ted’s mind was still reeling at what was happening, which is maybe why he asked, a little catty (forgetting his manners in a way that would have his granny spinning in her grave), “any reason you’re only recommending women?”

Trent’s face spasmed for a second before he visibly tucked away his shock. “I didn’t realize you were open to anything else.”

“I bring the B to the LGBTQ,” Ted said, recycling an old joke from college. “Vice President of the University of Kansas chapter, in fact, which I’m surprised none of your colleagues have dug up yet. We caused a bit of a hootananny trying to get a few of the other acronyms added. That’s how I met Beard, by the way, but I shouldn’t be telling other people’s stories.”

Trent took a large mouthful of wine. “Well, in that case, Karim is a good choice.” He nodded towards a man with short black hair who was wearing an orange wristband. “He’s a switch, which gives him a unique perspective. Very diligent to his partner’s needs.”

“Am I supposed to go over there and just proposition him?” Ted asked, crossing his arms and breathing harshly out his nose. “It seems rude when I don’t even know the guy.”

“This isn’t a Jane Austin novel,” Trent said dryly. “You are allowed to strike up a conversation without being introduced first.”

Ted shook his head, lips twisting into what Michelle used to call his hangdog expression. His heart sank, feeling more deflated than a three-day-old balloon. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Trent shifted, posture going guarded. “Then you’re probably in the wrong place.”

“I don’t mean it that way,” Ted said, flapping his hand apologetically, irritated with himself. “What I mean is that I’m forty-seven years old, and I’ve had sex with exactly four people, one of which I was married to for twenty years. I’ve never had a one-nighter in my life, and the one time I tried that on for size I ended up in a confusing friends-with-benefits situation that ended with her very, very sympathetically breaking things off when I got too attached. So I’m not sure I’m actually capable of tapping someone on the shoulder with the ultimate intention of saying, ‘would you mind holding me down, slapping me around a bit, and penetrating me while providing positive feedback?’”

Trent was staring at him, eyes impossibly dark. “I can assure you that there are several people here who would be thrilled if you did just that.”

“I don’t want several people,” Ted said, voice tight with frustration. “I just want someone I know and trust. Someone like—” Ted broke off mid-sentence, clenching his jaw, and blushing furiously.

Trent's eyes bored into him, saying nothing for a long moment.

“Do you mind if I test a theory?” he asked, finally. “I’ll need to touch you.”

“Always happy to help out a hypothesis in need,” Ted mumbled distractedly, still a bit embarrassed by his outburst.

Slowly, Trent lifted a hand, wrapping it around Ted’s wrist and squeezed. All the air left Ted’s lungs, and he jerked up straight in his seat like he’d been electrocuted. He stared at Trent, mouth dropping open.

“However you answer will change nothing between us,” Trent told him in a low, soothing tone, “but would you like—”

“Yes,” Ted interrupted, throat dry. He swallowed hard.

“My place is just a few blocks down,” Trent told him, licking his lips, hand still tight around Ted’s wrist. “Amanda’s at Phillip’s, but if you’d feel more comfortable in your own space, I can order a cab.”

“Your place is fine,” Ted said, throwing a few pound notes down on the table and pushing Trent out of his seat and towards the stairwell.

There was a bit of an awkward moment as they signed out of the Club. Trent realized he’d left his wallet at the bar and had to run back down, shooting Ted a mildly panicked look like he was convinced Ted was going to flee into the night the second Trent was outta sight. Justin and Dominique both took that opportunity to subtly make sure Ted was secure in his life choices. Trent returned, breathing fast as if he’d sprinted up the stairs, just as Ted was telling Justin that he was a credit to his profession and assuring Dominique that he was peachier than Georgia in the summertime.

“How do you make everyone adore you within twenty seconds of meeting them?” Trent asked, irritability, as they left. “It’s intensely annoying.”

“Well, mostly I just avoid asking them mean questions, Trent,” Ted said, amused.

They were walking side by side, arms and shoulders brushing as Trent led Ted back to his place. Ted started chatting away as they turned down the corner, filling the silence with inane observations about various sights along the path. Trent listened, watching him with a slight smile on his face, asking the occasional dry question in return.

Ted fell silent as they reached Trent’s townhouse, heart pounding in his ears as Trent unlocked his door and ushered him in.

“Take off your shoes, if you don’t mind,” Trent said, taking Ted’s jacket from him to hang up in the hall closet. “But watch your step. Amanda spilled her Lego box the other day, and I’m still finding pieces scattered about.”

Ted toed off his sneakers, glancing around. The living room was just off the side of the entryway. The furniture was a bit mismatched, obviously well used, but homely and cozy. He wasn’t surprised by the overflowing bookshelves or the newspapers cluttering up the coffee table, but he did pause a bit at the switch console plugged into the television set.

“Well, strike me pink,” Ted said, although that might not have been the best expression to go with, all things considered. “Didn’t peg you for a gamer.”

“Hardly,” Trent huffed. “It’s Amanda’s, but I’ve been known to play the occasional round of Animal Crossing in between writing sessions. Clears the head.”

“I’ll bet,” Ted said, running a nervous hand through his hair, shifting his weight.

“Ted,” Trent started, voice gentle. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Ted interrupted in a rush, certain. “I’m enthusiastic, just feeling a bit jittery and caught on the back foot. I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet.”

“Well,” Trent said, placing a large hand on Ted’s hip. Ted could feel the heat of his touch, the warm, steady pressure of his fingers through the fabric of his jeans. “That’s easy enough to sort out.”

Trent tilted his head up, leaning in until his mouth pressed softly against Ted’s. Ted sighed, curling his fingers around Trent’s waist, just taking a moment to feel the smooth lips against his own, the slow rasp of stubble across his cheek. He pulled Trent closer, until the strong, lean lines of his body were flush against him, pressed together from chest to thigh. Trent touched the hinge of Ted’s jaw with his hand, adjusting the angle. Ted opened his mouth and let him in.

Trent tasted a bit like the wine he’d been drinking, but his tongue was warm and slick, sliding confidently past Ted’s lips in a way that made him go weak in the knees. Ted breathed in through his nose, smelling the faintest hint of Trent’s cologne. Ted made a soft sound of want in the back of his throat, and the kiss got hungrier — the steady press of lips becoming sharper, more insistent. Trent fisted Ted’s sweater in his hand, shoving him back against the wall and crowding him in, scraping his teeth over Ted’s lower lip. Ted could feel himself getting hard. They were close enough that he knew Trent could feel it too, just like he felt Trent’s answering hardness against his thigh.

Ted pulled away, already breathless, dragging in desperate gasps of air. Trent watched him, eyes dark and glittering.

“We can stop at any time,” Trent said.

“I know,” Ted replied.

“I’ll take care of you,” Trent promised, sincere and heartfelt, taking his hand and leading Ted deeper into the house.

“I know,” Ted said again, then added, “I trust you.”

Ted sat on Trent’s bed, watching as Trent removed his sports coat and his belt. He threw his coat on top of the dresser carelessly but held his belt in his hands, staring at it thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head and setting it aside.

“Probably best to stick to the basics,” Trent said. “You’ve already told me what you’re looking for. Do you have any hard limits?”

“Um, no marks where people can see them. I don’t like advertising my romantic enterprises to every fella I run into on the street. Humiliation isn’t really my cup of tea, to borrow one of your country’s sayings, and nothing involving bodily fluids aside from,” Ted trailed off, flushing, before making himself finish, “the usual.”

Trent smiled at him — that fond, closed-lipped one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It was, Ted realized, one of his favorite smiles. “Anything else?”

Ted knew he had to say it, it wouldn’t be fair to Trent if he didn’t. “I’d prefer if the term ‘daddy’ isn’t used in any capacity or in any of its variations. Other than that, feel free to use any other words in the glossary of terms.”

Trent raised an eyebrow at that. Ted braced himself for questions, but Trent simply nodded.

“Easy enough. You know about safewords?” Trent asked, rolling up his sleeves, muscles and tendons in his forearms flexing, making Ted’s mouth go dry for the second time that night.

Ted licked his lips. “I’ve read about the light system. Green for go-go, yellow for slow, and red for no. Easy to remember — universally accepted.”

“Yes, that will do fine,” Trent said, a small half-smile toying at the corners of his mouth. “If you are in a position where you can’t speak, this is the signal I use for stop—” Trent made a fist and opened it twice “—and this is the sign for slow down.” He crossed his middle and index fingers over each other. “Can you remember that?”

“Oh sure, sure.” Ted paused. “Why wouldn’t I be able to talk though?”

Trent hummed, pulling his hair back and up into a bun. The sight of it had certain parts of Ted taking notice — he shifted in his seat. “Some people want to be gagged or choked. Other times they may find their mouth otherwise occupied.” His eyes grew hooded. “Is that something you’d like to try?”

Ted got harder just picturing it — Trent with a hand around his throat, holding him tight as he thrust into him.

“What’s the hand signal for yes please thank you kindly?”

Trent made the “okay” sign with his thumb and index finger. Ted mimicked the gesture back.

“That’s the one,” Trent said, amused before going all serious all of a sudden. “Now here’s my hard limit, Ted. If you ever lie to me about this, say give me a green instead of a yellow or a yellow instead of a red, we’re done. Immediately and completely. Do you understand?”

“That’s a big ten four,” Ted said, honestly. He had his issues with discourse, as two mental health professionals and an ex-wife could attest, but honest communication in the bedroom had never been one of them. Ted remembered that chapter in the book about submission from the dominant’s perspective, and how essential following the protocols and rules were to consent and added, “I would never put you in that position, Trent. I’ll let you know what's what, scout’s honor.” Ted held up three fingers.

“Of course you were a boy scout,” Trent said, removing his tie and placing it on the bedside table. He opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom, setting them down next to his tie. “With the preliminaries out of the way, are you ready to begin?”

“For sure, Kuala Lumpur,” Ted said, leg bouncing up and down nervously. “How do we do that exactly? I get on my knees or do you—”

Trent slapped him. Not especially hard, but enough that Ted fell silent with a surprised grunt, cheek tingling and all the blood in his body rushing to his dick.

“Did I say you could talk?” Trent asked, voice low and throaty.

Ted’s mouth shut with a click, staring up at Trent, an odd sensation of relief flowing through him. The slap had smarted, no two ways around that, but the shock of it had also halted the crank on the can of worms his brain had been in the process of opening. Trent watched him with dark, unreadable eyes before asking in a neutral tone, “color?”

“Green,” Ted choked out, breath ragged. Trent smiled, reaching out to cup Ted’s cheek, the one he slapped, with his hand. He leaned down, pressing a biting kiss to Ted’s lips. It somehow managed to be both sweet and dirty — tongue and teeth aggressively teasing him open, making filthy promises. Ted kissed back, a soft whine building in the back of his throat.

“Take off your clothes,” Trent ordered, biting down on Ted’s lower lip once more before stepping back a few paces, giving Ted a little breathing room. He stood and stripped quickly, aware of Trent’s eyes sliding over his body. He appreciated how they paused, widening at the sight of his erect cock. It was always nice to be noticed.

After he’d stripped off his last sock, Ted stood there, hands awkward by his side. Trent didn’t leave him hanging for too long, stepping back into his space and wrapping his fingers around Ted’s dick. Ted let out a small gasp as Trent squeezed him, right around the base.

“I suppose if my cock was this big, I’d feel confident enough to wear khakis unironically too,” Trent said before directing, “sit down on the bed and spread your legs.”

Ted sat, shivering in anticipation. Trent stepped in between his thighs, just standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes shining in the low lamplight as they roamed over his body, taking him in. Ted stared up at him, waiting, shoulders tense.

“Very good,” Trent said softly.

Ted released a sudden, shuddering breath. It was amazing to have someone else calling the plays for once, but a part of him was still worried he’d mess this up somehow. What if he did something wrong and ruined the mood they had going on? He wet his lips, and Trent’s gaze flickered down, tracking the movement.

“Trent, I—” he started.

Trent’s fingers gripped Ted’s hair, just shy of too painful, yanking Ted’s head back. It stung. Ted loved it — the pain in his scalp shutting everything else out.

“Let me be clear,” Trent said, voice going sharp in a way that had Ted’s breath speeding up. “You will not speak unless it's to use your safewords or unless I ask you a question. You are going to suck my cock, and then I’m going to fuck you. You will not come until I tell you to do so. Do you understand?”

Trent had it all figured out, diagrams and everything. “Yes, sir,” Ted whispered, automatically falling back on his Midwestern manners, the knot of fear in the back of his mind easing.

Trent breathed in harshly, eyes darkening. He liked that, Ted realized — a hot sensation spreading in his chest. It felt like an endorphin rush, the all-elusive runner’s high. The force of his arousal shocked him a bit, how keyed up just being good for Trent was getting him.

Trent kept his grip on Ted’s hair, using his free hand to unbutton and unzip his slacks, pulling himself free. Ted’s eyes darted down taking in the sight of Trent’s hard dick, foreskin already pulled back. Trent let him look his fill for a moment. “Do you remember the hand signals?”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said again, but all his attention was on Trent’s cock. It was one of the most beautiful things Ted had seen: long, elegant, and thick around the base. His mouth watered; it had been a while since he’d gotten to do this. Trent tightened his grip. Ted whimpered.

“Show me,” Trent ordered. Ted made the gestures. “Excellent. Now open your fucking mouth, Ted.”

And then Trent was guiding his head down, pressing him forward until the head of Trent’s cock rubbed against his lips. Ted did as directed, opening his mouth and taking what Trent gave him.

It was just the tip at first, salty against his tongue. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked gently.

“Yes, just like that,” Trent said, sounding like he was biting back a groan. Ted preened a little, tonguing the head of Trent’s cock, nudging carefully at the foreskin underneath. Trent hissed, hips jerking forward. Ted did his best, gagging a little even as he tried to push further down. Trent held him in place with the fist in his hair.

“Easy,” Trent warned him, chiding. “You only get what I give you.”

Trent’s hips were moving, thrusting slowly, filling Ted up with the thick weight of him over and over again. All the muscles in Ted’s neck and shoulders went slack, and he just gave over to it. The ache of his jaw, the smell and taste of Trent surrounding him — the world narrowing down to the pressure on his scalp and the cock resting on his tongue.

“Christ, the state of you,” Trend said breathlessly, touching Ted’s lips where they stretched around him. “You’re beautiful like this. Opening up for me like you were made to swallow my cock. Practically gagging for it.”

Ted whimpered, hands reaching up to clutch at Trent’s hips, clinging to the waist of his pants like a lifeline. He was so hard it hurt, a constant raw throb between his legs.

“No, no,” Trent said, batting Ted’s hands away. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

Ted lowered his hands back down to the bed, fisting the sheets. He slid his tongue along the underside of Trent’s cock, breathing through his nose as Trent shifted his grip, threading his fingers through Ted’s hair and pressing him forward slowly, gently. Ted relaxed his jaw and opened his throat, taking more of him in.

“Good, Ted,” Trent said, voice gravel-thick, guiding him back and forth, using Ted to pleasure himself. “You take it so well.”

Ted groaned, the praise making his brain swim, thoughts floating away, leaving him euphoric and warm.

“I think you can swallow a little more, don’t you?” Trent pulled him forward slowly, tugging Ted down his cock until he’d taken it all the way to the back of his throat, nose resting against Trent’s pubic hair. Ted felt filled up, used in the best possible way. Trent held him there for a moment, hand cupping the back of his skull as Ted cradled Trent’s hardness against his tongue, before he tightened his grip and pulled Ted up and off, his cock sliding out between Ted’s lips with a wet pop.

Ted made a noise of complaint as Trent tucked himself back into his pants. His hand raised, automatically reaching for him. Trent caught his wrist, fingers tight and unyielding. He slapped him again, the other cheek this time, a little harder.

“What did I tell you about touching me without permission?” Trent asked, threatening. Ted’s eyes widened, staring up at Trent apologetically.

“We’ll have to do something about this, won’t we?” Trent asked, squeezing hard around Ted’s wrist even as he trailed the fingertips of his other hand over Ted’s tingling cheek. The combination of pain and tenderness was making Ted feel dazed, drunk on it. He went easily, pliant, as Trent shoved him back against the bed. Trent followed him down, hands pinning Ted’s wrists to the mattress as he climbed on top of him, sliding his still-clothed thigh between Ted’s legs.

Trent kissed him, hard and demanding, tongue forcing its way past Ted’s lips. Ted tilted his head, going slack as small, desperate noises escaped from his throat. He lost himself, reveling in sensations: the hot slide of Trent’s tongue, the weight of his body holding him down, the chafe of his clothes against Ted’s flushed skin, and the unforgiving pressure around his wrists.

Trent sucked at his lower lip, biting down and soothing the sting with his tongue. He pulled back, ignoring Ted’s sound of protest as he released Ted and leaned over, picking up his tie from where he’d left it on the bedside table.

“Hands,” Trent demanded, stretching the strip of cloth between his hands. Ted lifted his arms, pressing his palms close so Trent could wind his tie around both his wrists at once. Trent knotted the fabric, tying Ted’s hands together before yanking them up, stretching Ted’s arms up over his head, so he could fix the end of his tie to the bedpost. “There. Now we don’t have to worry about your self-restraint or lack thereof.”

Oh God, Ted thought, pinching his lips together to keep the words “yes ” and “please, Trent, yes” back as Trent ran his fingers over the bindings, testing them. The knots weren’t especially tight, Ted could probably slip his hands out if he wanted to, but he liked it — the feeling of being restrained, the soft dig of the material against his skin. He thought of the ropework he’d seen in one of the books, thought of Trent using that on him and trembled.

Trent trailed his fingertips down the underside of Ted’s arms, carefully raking his nails over the sensitive flesh there. Ted panted, hips flexing as they sought something, anything to ease the pulsing ache in his cock.

“Stop.” Trent shifted away, sitting back on Ted’s thighs and pressing Ted’s hips down with the palms of his hand, fingers digging into his skin. “You haven’t earned that. Do I need to take you over my knee until you learn to behave?”

Ted shuddered at the image that presented — him bent over Trent’s lap, Trent’s hand coming down on him over and over, slapping until Ted’s head was empty of everything except the burn of it. His dick jumped against his stomach, leaving a wet patch of precome against his skin. Trent noted Ted’s reaction, a mean smile spreading slowly across his face. Ted had seen that smile a lot his first few weeks on the job. It was the one that said Trent was thinking of all the ways he could take you apart.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Trent asked suggestively. “Maybe even beg me for it.”

He grabbed Ted’s jaw, holding him in place, dark eyes flashing.

“Disobey me again and you will be punished for it,” Trent warned, grip brutal. Then he lowered his head, pressing a searing kiss to Ted’s lips, fingers tight on Ted’s chin. Ted surrendered to him, welcoming and eager, Trent’s mouth bruising his own. He was surrounded by Trent’s body, hands bound fast over his head. A thrill ran down his spine as he understood that he had no choice, no other option, but to lay back and take it. He was floating, weightless, barely noticing when Trent pulled away.

“Open your eyes, Ted.”

Ted made a sound of protest, but his eyes opened — the concept of ignoring Trent’s command not even a fleeting consideration. Trent was staring down at him, pupils blown wide. He released Ted’s jaw to cup the sides of his face, stroking his thumbs along Ted’s cheekbone.

“There now,” he said, giving Ted a pleased half-smile as he stroked his hair back from where it had fallen across Ted’s forehead. Ted felt a peculiar surge of exhilarated pride as Trent kissed the corner of his mouth, his neck, the underside of his jaw. “That’s it, darling.”

Trent shifted away again, and Ted tried not to whimper at the loss of contact. Trent was reaching over, grabbing the lube and condom he’d placed on the bedside table and dropping them on the bed beside Ted’s hip. Using both hands, he spread Ted’s thighs open, guiding them up until Ted’s knees were bent against his chest, Trent settled between them. Ted felt cool air against his balls. He shivered as Trent ran two dry fingers along his hole, breath coming in quick, desperate bursts. Ted grit his teeth together. He wasn’t supposed to come. Not until Trent told him to.

“I think I’d like to hear you beg,” Trent said mildly, like he was discussing the weather. “What do you say to that?”

“Please,” Ted gasped out immediately. His voice sounded as wrecked as he felt. “Trent, please.”

“Oh yes, I like that very much,” Trent said and smiled, teeth flashing. He wrapped a loose hand around Ted’s dick, swiping a torturous, teasing thumb over the head, smearing the wetness that was building there. “Have you ever had someone eat you out, Ted?”

Ted’s whole body went hot. He’d seen rimming in porn, of course. Thought about it. Jerked off to the idea a few times. But he never knew how to ask for it — it always seemed like it was too big of a request, too much of a demand on someone else. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, hands clenching and unclenching above him. “I haven’t, I wanted, no,” he stuttered, fighting to hold himself still, to keep from thrusting into the grip of Trent’s palm.

“Well,” Trent said, pressing a kiss to the back of Ted’s thigh, the graze of stubble on skin making Ted shiver. “I’m looking forward to your feedback.”

Trent sucked an open-mouthed kiss to Ted’s balls, pausing to remind him, “you aren’t allowed to come yet,” before spreading Ted’s cheeks wide and running the tip of his tongue over his hole. Ted’s back arched, a guttural shout tearing from his throat.

The sounds coming from between his legs were obscene — Trent holding his thighs up and apart as he licked along the length of Ted’s crease, teasing the outer edges of his rim with his tongue, hair tickling the sensitive flesh of Ted’s inner thighs.

Ted was a throbbing mess of want and need. He was chanting, begging — not for anything specific, just a constant litany of “Trent,” “God,” and “please .”

“You’re gorgeous down here,” Trent said, breath ghosting over the flesh of his opening. “So eager. All red and swollen and quivering.” He sucked wetly at his hole, drawing out a high-pitched keening sound from Ted’s throat, before shoving his tongue inside Ted, fluttering and licking him open. It was too much. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes. Ted was going to—

“Wait, please, Trent, I’m going to, I can’t, yellow,” Ted managed, words slurred together, barely holding off the orgasm he could feel building in the base of his cock. Trent immediately pulled back, hands still and firm on Ted’s thighs.

“I’ve got you,” Trent told him, his tone soft. “Catch your breath. Tell me what you need.”

Ted followed his directions automatically, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. He concentrated on the burn in his thighs, the pressure of Trent’s tie against his wrists anchoring him. Trent lowered his legs, kneading the muscles in his thighs. He reached up, wiping gently at the tear tracks along Ted’s cheeks.

“Should I be concerned about this?” Trent asked. “Do you need a break?”

Ted shook his head frantically. The last thing he wanted to do was stop. He needed the safety he felt as Trent’s body pinned him against the mattress, the certainty of Trent inside him. “I was going to come. I didn’t want to disappoint,” he stopped, reframing it, “I want to make you happy.”

“I understand,” Trent told him, settling on top of Ted, paying no mind to the sweat and precome covering Ted’s stomach and chest (his clothes were going to be ruined). He wove his fingers through Ted’s hair. “You are. You do. You’re doing so well — I can’t imagine anyone taking it better for me.”

Trent trailed kisses down Ted’s jaw, kissing the hollow of his throat as he slid his hand through Ted’s hair over and over. Ted dragged in a breath, letting out a full-body shudder, muscles relaxing. He felt taken care of, reassured. Trent looked at him, considering. “Color?”

“Green,” Ted said, words rushing out of him in relief. “Very green. All green. Evergreen.” Trent’s hand tightened in his hair.

“Ask me to fuck you,” Trent demanded in that throaty timbre that had always driven Ted a little nuts.

“Please fuck me,” Ted blurted out immediately, having no problem with cursing in the bedroom. Never a more appropriate time or place for some adult content. “I want to feel your dick inside me. I want you to tell me when to come.”

Trent laughed, delighted. Ted felt that same surge of elation — Trent’s satisfaction becoming his.

“You beg for my cock so politely,” Trent said, scraping his teeth along Ted’s collarbone, lowering his head to suck at Ted’s nipple. “How could I refuse?”

He set his teeth in Ted’s pectoral, sucking a savage, red mark into his flesh. It hurt perfectly; Ted’s chest heaved with the agony and pleasure of it. His cock drooled, spreading wetness along the front of Trent’s shirt. There was a palm against his throat, the slightest threat of pressure before it pulled away. Ted heard the click of a cap. He opened his eyes, having shut them again without realizing it, watching Trent kneel over him, spreading lube over his fingers before reaching down between Ted’s legs. There was a heated, proprietary look in Trent’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since you deflected my question about the offside rule,” Trent said, sliding a finger right on inside him, not bothering to tease. “Did you know that?”

An absolutely shattered noise escaped Ted’s throat. All he could do was gasp and shake, clenching around Trent’s finger greedily. The finger withdrew, and Ted swore in frustration at the loss.

“I asked you a question — perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Trent said, firm and unrelenting as he shoved two fingers back inside Ted, punctuating his next words with short, cruel thrusts of his hand. “Did you know I wanted to fuck you?”

“No,” Ted said, voice cracked open. “Please, Trent, I didn’t know, I swear.”

“I think I imagined this very scenario — you in my bed, pleading with me to wreck you.” Trent added a third finger, scissoring slowly, stretching him until Ted was nearly nonverbal with the deep, blissful ache of it. He stared up through damp lashes, feeling pinned down by Trent’s gaze.

Trent smiled, self-satisfied. “I have you now, don’t I.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ted answered it anyway. “Yes.”

The fingers inside him crooked, brushing against his prostate. “Yes, what?”

“Sir,” Ted croaked out, the word falling out of his mouth faster than he could think it. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” Trent said, his smile going sharp. He left his fingers inside Ted, reaching down with his free hand to pick up the condom, tearing the packet open with his teeth. He had to withdraw his fingers to pull his cock out and roll the condom on. Ted sobbed then.

“I know, darling,” Trent said, hushing him as he settled back between Ted’s thighs, pressing in close as he lined himself up. “Relax, I’ve got you.” He braced himself over Ted, gripping his shoulder as he pushed the head of his dick in.

Ted bit his lip, feeling his body giving way, making space as Trent, smoothly, patiently, fucked into him. Ted wanted to buck his hips, desperate for more, but he knew he wasn’t allowed. All he could do was let his thighs fall open and take it and take it and take it.

“Breath,” Trent ordered him. “Breath.”

Ted released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding with a loud whoosh. Trent was hard and thick and perfect inside him. Ted felt punch-drunk. Impossibly full.

“Trent,” he exhaled weakly as he melted back into the sheets, everything tunneled down to his breath and the man whose cock was splitting him open.

“There we go,” Trent said smugly, kissing the side of his neck, bending to bite another mark into the meat of Ted’s shoulder. He started moving, grinding his hips in slow circles before rocking in and out in small movements, making sure to press his cock against Ted’s prostate with every maddening thrust. Ted took a breath, released it, and blissfully gave himself over.

“That’s it,” Trent muttered, lowering himself until their chests pressed together, using one hand to hike Ted’s leg over his hip, the heat and weight of him holding Ted down. “Such a good boy.”

Ted moaned loudly at that, high-pitched and gone. Trent made a low noise, wrapping a hand around Ted’s throat and speeding up the movement of his hips until he was pounding into Ted at a quick, steady pace. Ted went incoherent, sounds of pleasure spilling out of him as Trent slammed in, thrusting deep, pressing up against that spot that made him whine and gasp. Ted felt his balls tighten. He dug his nails into his palm.

“Can I?” He said, finding his voice just long enough to beg for release, for permission.

“No,” Trent told him, gently kissing the space behind Ted’s ear as he dragged his dick steadily, relentlessly, in and out of him. “Not yet. You can stand a bit more.”

Ted made an undignified noise, peeled open and scraped raw, every nerve in his body on fire. He’d never wanted to come more in his life. With every thrust of Trent’s hips, the fabric of his shirt rubbed against Ted’s leaking cock — the metal zipper of his pants digging into the crease of his thighs. He was trembling, taken apart and held together all at once.

“Trent, please, let me,” he gasped out, so utterly desperate that his voice was hitching, garbling out the words. “I need — please, sir.”

Trent shuddered, dragging his teeth along the pulse of Ted’s neck, hand tightening around Ted’s throat. “Come on my cock, Ted,” Trent whispered in his ear, tone leaving no room for anything other than Ted’s obedience. “Come on my cock like a good boy.”

Ted’s head fell back, his mouth dropping open in a silent scream. His whole body seized, strung tight, as he came, cock untouched and jerking — splattering Ted’s chest, making a mess of both of them. Trent was murmuring filthy praises into his neck, even as he fucked Ted through his orgasm and tensed with his own. Ted couldn’t make out any of it. The force of his climax rolled over him in waves. He was shaking, vision going dark around the edges as he was dragged under the tide.

Ted came back to himself in slow, sublime increments. There were hands on him, stroking his sides, rubbing in soothing circles against his wrists, touching his face. His hands were free, limp against the pillows, his limbs warm and relaxed. A hand carded through his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp. Ted blinked, the world coming into focus.

Trent was smiling down at him, that closed-lipped, crinkly-eyed one again. Somewhere in between the most intense orgasm of his life and now, Trent had untied Ted’s hands and pulled out of him, leaving him wet and loose, dripping lube onto the sheets. He was still lying on top of him, a comforting weight anchoring Ted down.

“Hello,” Trent said, lazily mouthing at Ted’s jaw. “Welcome back.”

“Hey, yourself,” Ted said, his voice hoarse.

“How do you feel?” Trent asked. Ted stretched underneath him, taking stock. He ached, sore and exhausted, but in an amazing way. Like he’d just run a long race and came out with a personal best. High-fives all around.

“Ten outta ten,” Ted replied, tranquil and relaxed all the way down to his bones. “Touchdown in the penalty box. Goal in the end zone.”

Trent snorted. “I’m going to ignore that blatant attack against my profession. Will you be alright for a few minutes while I go clean up, or do you need me to stay here while you come down?” Trent brought one of Ted’s hands up to his mouth, kissing his palm.

“I’m good,” Ted said. If he were a cat, he’d be purring in satisfaction right now. “You’re coming back though, right?”

“If you want,” Trent said. “Some people prefer to be left alone afterward.”

“Nope,” Ted said, rolling over onto his side, pressing his face into the pillows and breathing deep, smelling Trent and sex sweat all over them. “Come back.”

“I will,” Trent promised, running a light hand down Ted’s back. “One moment.”

Trent’s weight disappeared, and Ted zoned out, listening to the sounds of water and rustling coming from the connecting bathroom. When Trent came back, he had a washcloth in his hand, using it to clean off Ted’s face first, before running over his chest and between his legs. Ted hissed softly when Trent ran it over the oversensitive flesh of his spent dick.

The bed dipped as Trent climbed in next to him, and Ted curled into his side, surprised when he pressed against warm, bare skin.

“You’re naked,” Ted said, brain still running two ticks behind everything else.

“I am,” Trent said, bending down and kissing Ted sweetly, his lips soft and gentle, mouth minty.

“You brushed your teeth,” Ted said, feeling about as observant as a brick wall.

“I did.” Trent wrapped an arm around Ted and pulled him close. Ted rested his head on Trent’s chest, closing his eyes as Trent traced meaningless patterns along his spine. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom for you, when you feel up to moving. Do you need anything else? Glass of water?”

Ted shook his head, wrapping an arm around Trent’s waist and throwing a leg over him, keeping him in place. He cracked an eye open. “You mind if I stay the night?”

“I insist on it,” Trent said, soothing Ted’s hair back and kissing the top of his head. “And if anyone ever tries to kick you out while you’re in this condition, I’ll burn their bloody house down.”

Ted chuckled sleepy, already drifting off as he replied, “why would I want anyone else when you’re right here?”

Ted woke up about an hour after falling asleep, bladder hollering at him. The room was dark, and Trent was pressed up against his back. He muttered a little as Ted shifted out from underneath his arm.

After relieving himself, Ted picked up the toothbrush Trent had left out for him and glanced in the mirror.

If there was ever a picture that reflected the phrase “ridden hard and put away wet,” he was it. His mouth was red and swollen and there were vivid bite marks on his chest and shoulder along with finger-shaped bruises on his hip. Ted pressed down on them, feeling a small zip of pleasure at the sting. His hair was wrecked beyond what anything outside of a shower could fix, strands sticking up and out where Trent’s hands had fisted them. Ted smiled at his reflection and meant it, brushing his teeth before crawling back into bed beside Trent.

Trent’s hands reached for him immediately. He pulled Ted back against him — curling his body around him like a quotation mark, forehead coming to rest between Ted’s shoulder blades. A groggy murmur came from behind him, “okay?”

Ted covered Trent’s hand where it was resting on his hip. He linked their fingers together. “Just fine, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

Ted woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of crinkling paper. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the sun-drenched room, and the man sitting up, cross-legged in bed next to him. Trent’s hair was down, poofed out and frizzy. He was dressed in black boxer briefs and a white t-shirt. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was reading, no, he was marking up the newspaper with a red pen.

“I feel bad for the person who has to review your corrections,” Ted said through a yawn. “Do you send them in every morning or save them up to mail in bulk? Is this a side hustle of yours or do you just do it for the fun of striking fear into the hearts of others?”

“I’m doing the crossword, you ridiculous Yankee,” Trent said, but he was smiling down at him, folding the paper in half and lowering it to his lap. “There’s coffee on your side table. I remember you take it with copious amounts of sugar.”

Ted sat up with a grunt, sheets pooling around his waist. “I like my coffee like I like my romantic partners.”

“If you say ‘strong and sweet,’ I will beat you over the head with this,” Trent told him, holding up the newspaper.

Ted took a sip of his coffee. “Hot and in bed,” he finished innocently. He winced a little, shifting as the deep ache inside him made itself known — he hadn’t felt that sensation in a blue moon. Trent noticed and didn’t bother hiding his smirk.

“So,” he said, tossing his paper on his side table and turning to face Ted. “Is there anything we did last night that you want to talk through? Likes or dislikes?”

Ted thought it over. “I pretty much liked all of it, Trent. I could’ve stood you being a little rougher, but I appreciate you starting me off on the beginner’s level. That mean praise one-two punch you had going on was just the ticket.” He looked down, tapping his fingers against the mug in his hands. “Did I—”

“You were perfect,” Trent said. “I enjoyed you immensely.”

“Good,” Ted said, clearing his throat. “That’s good.”

Trent fidgeted a little, pulling his glasses off and playing with the earpieces. “You said something last night I’d like to follow up on. I won’t be hurt if you didn’t mean anything by it. People say a lot of things when their endorphins are up, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone got caught up in the moment.”

Ted looked at Trent askance, wondering just what he said that had Trent more nervous than a prize turkey in November. “What’s shakin’, Kevin Bacon?”

“You implied you wanted to do this again. With me. Exclusively.” Trent finished, grimacing at himself, looking for all the world like he was thirty seconds away from marching into the bathroom and trying to drown himself in the shower, Dani Rojas style.

Ted tried to hold back his fond, affectionate expression at Trent’s awkwardness. “Well, yeah, Trent. I’m pretty sure I told you I’m not into one-hit-wonders back at the Club.”

“There were a lot of different ways to read into that,” Trent squawked, defensive. “I can barely understand your folksy colloquialisms in the harsh light of day, much less when you’re divulging your secret sexual desires to me at a kink club.”

“Hey, now, the Club is a classy place,” Ted protested, placing his coffee down. “Although, I’ll allow that I can be a bit motormouthed, and parts of last night were certainly a talkathon.” He turned, taking Trent’s hand in his own. “So here's God's honest truth, straight from the horse's mouth.”

“Yes, like those colloquialisms exactly,” Trent said, grumpily, but there was a shy, pleased glint in his eye.

“I like ya, Trent. A lot. A lot a lot. You made me go all aswoon long before you held me down and set me spinning. I’d like to see where this goes in a long-term capacity, enjoying all the privileges and benefits that come along with that.”

“Aswoon,” Trent repeated tonelessly, but he was smiling, crinkling his eyes at Ted.

“Slaphappy,” Ted clarified helpfully through his mischievous grin. “Lightheaded, bedeviled, weak-kneed.”

“God,” Trent said, dropping his glasses to the sheets and raising himself up to straddle Ted’s lap in one quick movement. “Do you ever shut your senseless mouth?”

“Yes, sir, when you make me,” Ted said, running his hands underneath Trent’s shirt, stroking up his back, mapping out the muscles there. Trent buried his hands in Ted’s hair, yanking his head up so Trent could kiss him, greedy and possessive.

It took them a while to make it to the shower and even longer to get out of it, but eventually they got themselves in order. Ted left Trent to his hair products and blow dryer, dressed in his clothes from last night (folded up and waiting for him), and made his way downstairs.

He poked around Trent’s kitchen, mind working through what he could make that would hit the perfect late breakfast, early lunch spot. Trent’s cupboards were on the threadbare side, but he had the essentials. Ted opened the freezer, checking to see what Trent had in the area of frozen fruit, and halted, stunned.

“Uh, Trent,” Ted called out. “Could you come here? I need you to explain something to me.”

“What is it? Is the moka pot acting up again?” Trent asked, coming into the kitchen, freezing in his tracks when he saw what Ted was holding up. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“I can explain,” he said.

“Oh?” Both of Ted’s eyebrows were up all the way to his hairline. He didn’t know whether to be horrified or fascinated or horrifyingly fascinated. “How does one explain not one but two boxes of Hot Pockets? And don’t try saying that they’re for Amanda because I know you would march through the nine circles of h-e-double hockey sticks before feeding her this garbage.”

“I,” Trent’s mouth worked soundlessly as he shoved his hands in his pockets, trying too hard for casual. Ted took a page out of Marti’s book and waited him out.

“Sometimes when I’m writing, I don’t want to stop to eat,” Trent explained, like that made it better. Ted made a noise of distress. “And, for those rare moments, I like to have something on hand that’s easy and quick.”

“Your cholesterol levels must be off the charts,” Ted complained, sighing. “Sit down, I’m going to make you something with fiber in it.”

Trent protested, claiming that as Ted was a guest in his home, proper British etiquette demanded that Trent cook for him. Ted shushed him — “ol’ Lizzie isn’t going to revoke your citizenship, don’t bother fighting me on this because you won’t get anywhere” — shoving Trent into a chair. Ted proceeded to lecture him on the nutritional value of processed food and just generally fussed over Trent’s dietary habits as he banged around the kitchen. Trent watched him with warm eyes, hiding a smile behind his fingertips.

Ted texted Beard the next time he had Henry, asking if he and Emily, Jane’s niece, wanted to meet up in the park for a round of hoops. Emily was Henry’s age and had one heck of a free throw — she and Henry were in different classes at the same school and got along like peas and carrots.

Beard texted back an affirmative, suggesting next Saturday after breakfast. Henry whooped when Ted told him. Come Saturday, he was grabbing his basketball and practically dragging Ted out the door before he’d finished putting on his shoes.

Beard and Emily were already at the park when they got there. Henry ran over to Emily, who was shooting bank shots on the court like a pro. Ted sat down next to Beard, who handed him a cup of coffee.

“Coach,” Beard said in greeting.

“Coach,” Ted greeted in return. They toasted each other in their usual routine.

“Trent’s over there,” Beard said in his flat affect, the sassy one, nodding towards the playground section of the park.

Ted glanced over and saw Trent helping Amanda across the monkey bars. As if sensing his gaze, Trent glanced up, locked eyes with Ted, and smiled. It was his rare, wide smile — dished out only when he’d been surprised by something that delighted him. Ted wasn’t sure when he’d started cataloging Trent’s smiles, but it had been long enough ago that Ted had an inventory of favorites ready to go by the time they’d gotten to know each other biblically.

Ted smiled back, waving a hand in hello. Trent raised his hand in return, going for elegant and smooth, and walked right into one of the equipment’s support beams, rebounding off with an annoyed expression on his face. Then Amanda was jumping down and racing towards the jungle gym, and Trent had to dart off after her.

Ted chuckled softly, affection welling up in his chest, filling him to the brim. “You always seem to recommend places where Trent’s popping up.”

“Not sure what you’re implying, coach,” Beard said, giving away nothing.

“Not implying anything, just expressing my gratitude. Oh, I didn’t go through with a membership at the Club. I appreciate you giving me a foot in the door and showing me a safe space to explore certain aspects of myself, but those fees are too high for my length of kite string.”

Beard nodded. “Understood. Couples get a discount if you ever change your mind.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you, coach?”

“I’ve got two ears, two eyes, and basic common sense.”

Ted laughed, leaning back against the bench. He knew he would gravitate over to Trent eventually (always had, always would), probably invite him and Amanda over for lunch. But for now he was content to sit next to his best friend, listen to his son’s cheerful shouts, and watch the man he was dating not so subtly ogle him from across the park.

He took another sip of his coffee, tilted his face towards the sun, and took a moment to enjoy being still.

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of I offered myself as sanctuary Next Work →

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Ms_FangTooth (Kalinara) Sat 23 Oct 2021 01:16AM UTC

Oh my goodness. This is the fic that I didn't know that I really really wanted with these two. Thank you for writing it. (I do feel like Justin and Dominique will be a little sad that Ted won't be a club member. :-))

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:08PM UTC
  
  I’m so so happy you liked it! And yes, Justin and Dominique are going to miss Ted and his weirdo vibe. Maybe he’ll come back with Trent sometime and bring them gift baskets as a thank you for looking out for him. Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
  
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mardia Sat 23 Oct 2021 01:40AM UTC

Holy shit this was GREAT.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:08PM UTC
  
  YOU’RE GREAT! Thank you so much for reading!
  
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SpaceOperetta Sat 23 Oct 2021 01:55AM UTC

I don't have anything coherent to say beyond the fact that my immediate reaction to the line about Trent playing Animal Crossing was "I know exactly what hairstyle he has in-game and it's the long wavy one"
my blood and brain is elsewhere. whew

Last Edited Sat 23 Oct 2021 01:56AM UTC

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:09PM UTC
  
  Honest to good, have never played Animal Crossing. I just googled “popular switch games” and went with it. It’s hilarious that there a character in it with Trent’s hairstyle. Anyway! Thank you so much for reading and leaving me such a lovely comment.
  
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2. 1. SpaceOperetta Sun 24 Oct 2021 01:37AM UTC
    
    It's a game where you live on an island with animal neighbors. You have a house that you can decorate! If two people share a switch, you live on the island together, with each having their own character and little house. So, good familial bonding. (Just for reference!)
    
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BookGirl89 Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:06AM UTC

This. Is. Perfect!!
Hell yeah, Ted’s love language is acts of service!
Every interaction between Trent and Ted was so great; the sweet/soft, funny, super hot, it was all so excellent.
Beard is a real one; I love how he knows Ted so well and is in his corner.
“Ted grimaced at a few of the prices of a few of the out-of-print titles and decided it was time to turn to his favorite science of all time: library science.” This line made me laugh, I could hear Ted saying it.
Small thing: I love that you worked in the whole Henry and Michelle situation; Ted’s not perfect, but he’s such a good person and a caring dad, I’m dying on that hill!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:12PM UTC
  
  I mean! He makes biscuits for Rebecca every day, he brings sandwiches for Beard, he ate the Indian food that nearly killed him, he got Nate a suit! Acts of service is Ted’s jam. Thanks you so much reading. I’m beyond thrilled you liked it!
  
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medrengirl Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:20AM UTC

*fans face* well, goddamn was that hot

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:13PM UTC
  
  Thank yooooou! Smut is so logistical to write so it’s always a delight to hear it worked out.
  
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haycorn Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:26AM UTC

Omg omg omg I did not know until this very moment that I needed this fic with my entire body and soul. Blistering hot but also just.... incredibly sweet that Ted has someone to take care of him and let him have that quiet and OH I JUST LOVE THIS SO MUCH.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:14PM UTC
  
  I love YOU so much! Thank you so much for reading. I’m overjoyed it managed to hit that sweet/sexy spot I was going for.
  
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notquiteaghost Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:28AM UTC

oh bless you this is exactly the fic i have been craving for this pairing & you nailed it

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:15PM UTC
  
  BLESS YOU FOR READING! I was so so nervous about this fic, and I’m bowled over by the response it’s gotten. Thank you for taking the time to leave me such a lovely comment.
  
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NeelyO Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:50AM UTC

Just so beautiful and hot and nuanced and Beard is the best of friends and WOW I LOVED THIS!!!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:16PM UTC
  
  Thank you so so much! I’m glad everything I tried to weave it paid off for you. Nuanced is much better than the “hot mess” it was initially. Thank you for reading!
  
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Luthorchickv2 Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:53AM UTC

OMG this was so so perfect. I am utterly speechless. So hot and tender and loving. The morning after scene was so sweet. And Beard is perfectly in character. I can't wait to reread this.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:18PM UTC
  
  I’m over the MOON to hear it hit that hot/tender/loving triangle. I was so worried about this fic and how it would be received. Thank you so so much for taking the time to write me this lovely little piece of feedback. You’re a rockstar.
  
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Clockwork_Night Sat 23 Oct 2021 03:15AM UTC

Thank you thank you THANK YOU 💞❤💞❤💞

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:19PM UTC
  
  THANK YOU ☺️☺️☺️ !!
  
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tarandus Sat 23 Oct 2021 03:19AM UTC

Loved every minute of it. Thank you!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:20PM UTC
  
  I love that you loved it! This little fic was a JOURNEY and I’m so delight you came on it with me.
  
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need2sleep Sat 23 Oct 2021 03:51AM UTC

i think i saw a snippet of this on tumblr! so so glad it’s a full fic, it’s amazing!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sat 23 Oct 2021 11:21PM UTC
  
  Thank you! It definitely started out as a bit of a hot mess experience. I’m truly grateful to everyone on tumblr who encouraged me to keep at it.
  
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Calichrome Sat 23 Oct 2021 03:53AM UTC

Ah-Maz-Ing! Seriously, I am so incredibly impressed with all the tones you juggled here. The man understanding himself better journey, right next to the super sweet meet cute rom communism, sidling up to the sweet sweet hotness of a perfectly matched sexual pairing. With supportive friends and mental health to boot! Oh, and Ted being Ted and charming all he meets. Absolutely delightful from start to finish!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:25AM UTC
  
  There were so many threads! The first draft of this was definitely a hot mess, but I'm thrilled to hear that it came together for you, hitting that sweet/sexy middle ground. I honestly intended this to just be pure smut, but I am apparently incapable of writing any sex scene without several K of feelings before it. Over the moon that you liked this - thank you so so much for leaving me this lovely piece of feedback.
  
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kirazi Sat 23 Oct 2021 04:00AM UTC

this was delightful (and uh also extremely hot) and I am still screeching about the reveal that Beard set them up: perfect.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:26AM UTC
  
  Beard knows what's up. He sees all. Thank you beyond words for reading and leaving me this lovely comment!
  
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dairaliz Sat 23 Oct 2021 05:00AM UTC

❤️🔥❤️

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:26AM UTC
  
  THANK YOU!
  
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Shorthairedme Sat 23 Oct 2021 05:27AM UTC

This was fucking amazing!! I feel so lucky to have gotten a taste of this on your tumblr and am so happy you decided to continue it!!
Coach Beard IS A TRUE FRIEND I LOVE THAT MAN. He knows what he’s doing but is so tight lipped about it i respect the fuck out of that

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:28AM UTC
  
  Beard is wise, Beard is all-knowing, Beard sees all. I love him to bits. Thank you so much for reading! This literally wouldn't've happened without the lovely people on tumblr screaming at me - I was so close to abandoning it. Thank you 5eva.
  
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undefinableme Sat 23 Oct 2021 06:10AM UTC

This was absolutely PERFECT. Honestly, I loved every step of the way. I had to pause a few times because I just didn't want it to end. I really enjoyed the Coach Beard scenes, you got him and his friendship with Ted perfect. Really you nailed everyone's characterizations down pat.
Thank you so much for sharing!

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:29AM UTC
  
  YOU'RE PERFECT! Thank you for this amazing feedback. I've totally been in the position where I slow down reading a fic because it's that good, and I'm HONORED beyond words to be in that category for you.
  
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Account Deleted Sat 23 Oct 2021 07:10AM UTC

oh my god, i don’t think i’ve ever read porn with such a perfect, well-rounded and believable narrative?! that last line, the way it tied into the submission - amazing. and the therapist and beard helping ted out - it makes so much sense!! this was soooo good.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:30AM UTC
  
  I'm honored! Thank you so much for reading! You rock my socks.
  
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nontoxic Sat 23 Oct 2021 07:18AM UTC

This is so good??? The balance of searingly hot and achingly tender it’s just so perfect omg. Absolutely masterful.

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1. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:31AM UTC
  
  You should've seen the first draft... it was trash. I'm so glad it worked out and hit the hot/sweet middle ground I was aiming for. Cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate your amazing feedback. Thank you.
  
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reginahalliwell Sat 23 Oct 2021 08:29AM UTC

Oh my GOD this is incredible. I loved it so much. If you were interested in continuing Ted and Trent’s adventures, I would be thrilled to read more. Seriously, this is amazing.

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1. Account Deleted Sat 23 Oct 2021 02:54PM UTC
  
  I'm gonna second that. This tag needs more porn.
  
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2. AuntieClimactic Sun 24 Oct 2021 12:33AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much! Sequels are tricky for me because I usually stop writing once I've told the story I wanted to tell, but who knows when the muse will strike. I'm so thrilled you to hear you liked this. Cannot tell you much much I appreciate your feedback!
  
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