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Everything is in place for what could quite possibly be the most romantic moment in Alex’s life. It’s downright cliché, really, with snow drifting past the windows in fat lazy flakes, a roaring fire chasing off the chill and painting the room warm and intimate… and Washington, of course, Washington and no one else, nothing and no one stopping them from being as sickeningly romantic or dizzyingly erotic as either of them could ask for. There’s nothing he wants more than curl up on the couch with Washington, cuddle up to him and make the absolute most of their rare and precious time alone together.
Except – he’d tried that. Tried relaxing against Washington’s side, into the loving weight of Washington’s arm draped loosely around his waist, but neither his body nor his brain is at all appreciative of the capital-M Moment he could be having right now and he’d lasted all of five minutes before the pent-up energy buzzing under his skin had made it practically painful to sit still. Instead of basking in the firelight and Washington’s embrace he’s up and pacing, getting intimately familiar with the number of steps from one side of the room to the other, and the little cabin that looked so damn cozy in the photos online is getting kind of claustrophobic.
It’s too calm and quiet, and god, it’s not like he doesn’t want to relax, but it’s not happening. Where he’s even getting all this restless energy when he’d thoroughly worn himself out earlier looking as stupid as humanly possible on skis (well, mostly on his ass, but attached to skis) is beyond him, but – it’s there, and there’s not an awful lot he can do about it. He’ll wear himself out eventually. Probably.
“It’s weird,” he says, not really conscious of the decision to speak until the words are already out of his mouth, “having this much downtime. Like – is this really okay? Is everything just going to go to shit the second I let my –“
“Alexander.”
“– guard down, or…” Great, now neither one of them is having a nice, relaxing evening. Awesome. “Sorry, I just – this is weird –“
“Alexander,” Washington says again, and he doesn’t sound upset but Alex still cringes, suddenly, acutely aware of how obnoxious he’s been for most of the evening, “come here.”
He obeys without thinking, already two steps towards the couch before he’s consciously processed the order, and he doesn’t think he’s about to be punished – though god knows he deserves it, for so thoroughly ruining the mood – but a particularly self-loathing kind of regret still floods him. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, shoulders slumping as he ducks his head and avoids Washington’s gaze. There’s a lot more he could add to that, but it’s not like talking more is the answer here, and for once he manages to bite back the words.
“Clothes off. Then on your knees.”
Too antsy to bother putting on a show, Alex strips out of his sweater and khakis in record time, leaves everything in a messy heap on the floor in his haste to obey. He’s maybe a little too hasty, but Washington’s the only one who winces at the sound of his knees colliding with the floor; with his mind in a dozen other places already, the discomfort barely even registers to Alex. Settling back on his heels, he bites his tongue – in a very literal sense – and doesn’t let himself ask what Washington’s got planned for him as he stands, scoops Alex’s clothes up off the floor, and heads into the other room.
Before Alex can really start worrying about what Washington’s up to in the other room, though, he’s back – with a handful of rich burgundy leather accented with gleaming gold that answers Alex’s questions before he can ask them, and jumpstarts his heart into beating double-time to boot. He recognizes those cuffs, though he definitely wasn’t expecting to see them in person. He hadn’t been trying to hint at anything, when Washington had been shopping for something else and he’d grabbed the mouse to take a look, but he’s not exactly about to complain if that’s the way Washington decided to take it. They’re gorgeous. And right now they’re exactly what he needs.
He has no idea how to put his gratitude into words, especially not when talking too damn much is what got him here, on his knees, in the first place. So he settles for folding his arms behind his back in preparation, wrists together, the itch of pent-up energy already starting to dissipate in anticipation of what Washington’s offering him.
What Washington knows to offer him, without a word on that particular subject being said.
“You need this, don’t you, princess?” Washington’s tone could almost be called conversational, but its proximity, as he crouches down beside Alex, lends an intimacy to it that raises goosebumps along Alex’s arms.
“Yes. Yes, I – “
“Shh.” Washington presses a chaste kiss to the nape of his neck, taking his wrist and setting it against one of those gorgeous cuffs (and they feel as nice as they look, sinfully extravagant compared to the matted fake fur lining of his own pair – those are never gonna do it for him again now that Washington’s spoiled him like this –). “Shh. I’ve got you,” and he pulls the cuff snug but not too tight, makes quick work of repeating the process on Alex’s other wrist, and the gentle constriction flips a switch somewhere in Alex’s head, makes everything go quiet. Washington’s got him. He doesn’t need to talk, to prove himself. He just needs to be.
“That’s my boy,” Washington says fondly, trailing a hand up Alex’s spine to rest briefly between his shoulder blades, and Alex’s attention refocuses further to center entirely on that steadying, grounding point of contact. His world has narrowed down to the two of them, his awareness of Washington’s every move magnified to the point where he’s opening his mouth for the ball gag before Washington even brings it into his field of view; in lieu of the words Washington’s taken from him, he nuzzles into the brush of Washington’s hand across his cheek, and he feels more than hears the low rumble of Washington’s answering laugh as Washington carefully buckles the gag’s strap at the nape of his neck.
“Comfortable?” Laughter seeps into his voice as well, coloring it warm and sweet, and Alex nods vigorously even though he’s pretty sure it goes without saying that he’s very comfortable with this arrangement. “Good. On your feet, princess.”
It’s been a while (far too long, really, if he’s honest with himself, but that doesn’t matter, Washington’s doing this for him now) since he was in this predicament, trying to get his feet under him and keep his balance without his hands, but Washington’s quick to help him up when he starts to wobble. He’s not above stumbling a little, accidentally-on-purpose, so that Washington has no choice but to step in and help him make it to the couch without taking a tumble. He’s pretty sure Washington knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s definitely sure when Washington gives him a sharp smack on the ass, hard enough to make him jolt, only Washington’s firm grip on his arm keeping him on his feet. It’s worth it, though. There’s nothing quite like the warm-fuzzy feeling of contentment and safety he gets when Washington’s looking out for him, taking care of him, even – especially – in these entirely non-traditional ways.
Washington returns to his spot on the couch and Alex follows, curling immediately into his side, molding himself to the available space as best he can. He pushes at the gag with his tongue, seeing just how much slack there is in the straps; gives a few experimental tugs at the cuffs, not because he wants to get free, but because he wants the reassurance that he can’t. The kind of bondage Washington likes, restraining Alex with words instead of rope and leather… that’s always a struggle that leaves him fighting himself tooth and nail every step of the way. Physical restraint, though, that’s something else entirely.
It’s something he can relax into. The cuffs will keep his arms still no matter how much he feels like fidgeting. The gag’s taken away his voice and the challenge of biting his tongue. He can’t not behave, and that strange sort of blissful inevitability brings him the first moment of peace he’s had since getting on the plane.
Washington’s gone back to his book, now with one hand in Alex’s hair, gently tugging it free from its bun and combing through with occasional pauses to scratch at Alex’s scalp until he’s practically purring. The fire’s still crackling cheerfully away; snow’s still falling outside the window in comically large flakes. Alex smiles around the gag as he snuggles just a little bit closer to Washington and closes his eyes. It’s about damn time they had their picture-perfect romantic moment.