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“I was worried I wouldn't… well, that's hardly news, to either of you,” Alma confides, leaning on Cabanela's shoulder. She's staring wide-eyed down at where Jowd is tied and kneeling on a pillow by the edge of the bed. “But this is… I, I certainly see the appeal.”
Cabanela put a lot of effort into this presentation, but he was mostly framing a masterpiece. Gilding the lily, as they say. Jowd is pretty as any pinup, trussed up like a birthday present in thin, silky cords. Red and gold bindings wrap around his naked chest and shoulders, outlining his torso with a rope harness, restraining his arms behind his back. All that intricate lacing presses into his skin, showing off his thick and powerful form. And here's a little secret only a lucky few get to know: Jowd is as squishy and squashy as his cat. Much like Sissel, Jowd can roll himself into a ball and give the impression he's a barrel of lard. But if you strip him out of his ill-tailored clothes, his figure is herculean, with the strength to deadlift his own weight as smoothly as he could open a door. There's a layer of fat on him, to be sure, but it mostly gives his muscles extra girth.
He's still fully dressed below the belt, this whole setup is pretty softcore. Jowd's just gonna have to deal with that, because figuring out all those knots took forever.
“How's that knee doin’?” Cabanela asks, gently tapping Jowd's left leg with a rather light duty riding crop that he's clearly uncomfortable using.
Jowd gives out a snort at the concern. “You're a terrible dom.”
“And yooooou are a very mouthy sub,” Cabanela huffs in response, lounging back on the bed and folding his arms. Tell the world something it doesn't know.
“You're supposed to punish me for it,” Jowd suggests. He realizes what he just said a second later, swallowing and looking over at Alma. She doesn't say anything, but she's subconsciously put a hand over her mouth.
“I cooooould schedule a deep tissue massage for your knee. Is that punishment enough for you?” Cabanela asks, using the crop to poke Jowd in the shoulder. The grimace of horror on Jowd's face is enough to snap the tension between husband and wife, as well as make Alma stifle a laugh. Point one to Cabanela. Even masochism has its limits.
A quick recap for the people in the back- that's Cabanela, for the record, who needs a constant reminder of why he is doing this. Jowd has some issues. His wife and his friend… lover, whatever, are a fixation point for a lot of these issues, so Jowd's only therapist is a kitten. That's not a knock on dear little Sissel, who has gone above and beyond what could ever be expected from a cat confidant, but they don't hand out psychology degrees to felines in this day and age.
Now from what few facts Cabanela and Alma have managed to drag out of Jowd (and the clues Sissel has metaphorically and literally knocked onto their heads), Jowd is actually handling things… pretty well. Graded on a curve, anyhoot. But he's gotten this fixation on the thought he deserves to be punished. Not shocking, it seems to have been his major coping mechanism for years, but not… comfortable.
Alma and Sissel are certainly uncomfortable with it, and who could blame them? Not Cabanela, especially after Sissel had to drag the ungrateful lump back to life against his will and then roll him out of his execution. Still, it's not like Jowd hasn't tried to work things out. He's been doing his best to tell himself he shouldn't feel that way. Of course, knowing you shouldn't feel some such way doesn't make those feelings disappear, now does it?
Cabanela would know. He'd kept his own hopeless feelings buried in his heart for decades.
Alright, alright, so that hopeless bit had turned out to be a mistake. Alma and Jowd didn't spurn him. Cabanela could have his love for his married friends. He wasn't a terrible person for wanting it. He still has an airline's worth of baggage from keeping everything repressed for so long. So it's up to Cabanela to pipe up and say, heeeey, maybe bottling up those feelings to make everyone happy isn't what Jowd needs. And as the formerly footloose and freewheeling member of this trio… now, it isn't really his scene, but he's heard of, heeeeard of, ways to indulge certain thoughts in a way that doesn't actually huuuurt anyone…
They've got to do something to take the edge off. Jowd's been getting downright unruly lately, murmuring secret dark fantasies in Cabanela's ear, like how nice Jowd's blood would look all over Cabanela's white coat. One: Alma can never hear that, and two: leave the coat out of this, man. But Cabanela will not touch either of his friends unless they're both in the same room. Anything else reeks too much of being the other man, no matter what they tell him. Meanwhile, Alma…
…calling the lady of the house vanilla would be a dire insult. She and Jowd like to play games, and Cabanela has become their favorite toy. But she's gentle, and she worries, and she's right to worry because Jowd has shown a distressing detachment toward his own wellbeing. She doesn't want her husband to be hurt. She doesn't want her husband to enjoy being hurt. Cabanela doesn't want to hurt Jowd either, not even when the man is being an ass, something about the thought makes Cabanela's hands shake. Of course, since he's the one who brought this up, it's kind of his ball now, baby! He'll have to be flexible, but who's more flexible than him? Walkin’ a tightrope between two very nervous friends, easy as pie, nothing like it.
Soooo. They have a safe world (which Jowd’s not going to use) and the ropes have a slip knot for Jowd to untie them if needed (which Jowd does not appreciate). They have a terrible dom, a worried spouse who's not sure she's on board, and a man who wants to be punished for upsetting his wife but can't be punished without upsetting her even further. Always good to keep a checklist of your assets.
Cabanela idly stretches out a foot, using the pointed toe of his shoe to lift Jowd's chin. Jowd's eyes widen, a slight smile inching across his face.
“What do you think?” Cabanela asks Alma. “We don't have to gooooo any further. I could rub some oil all over him instead and make him sit here for your viewing pleasure.”
“Oh.” Alma toys a bit with her lips at the thought. It's a very appealing suggestion, but she finally shakes her head. “No. No, I… we should at least… try.”
“Offer stays open,” Cabanela says, as casually as he can manage.
He lifts up his leg, setting his heel down firmly on Jowd's shoulder, forcing the man to bow closer to where the two are sitting. That doesn't faze Alma, nor should it, her husband keeps pulling precisely these sorts of erotic power plays on Cabanela. Jowd goes down without a word, a true novelty, exposing his broad, kissable back. His eyes peer up through his mop of curly hair, glued to the riding crop in Cabanela's hands.
“Nothin’ more than a slight sting to it,” Cabanela reassures Alma, showing her the flexible switch. He's tried it out on his own arm beforehand, who do you take him for, and he smacks it lightly against his wrist now to demonstrate. A cocky smile flashes across his face as he adds, “Your husband's bites leave muuuuch deeper marks.”
Alma flushes completely pink, but she looks less intimidated than she was a moment ago. And say… now that Cabanela's mentioned it, there is something he wants to punish Jowd for. A punishment that oh so luckily happens to be more comfortable for Alma, given her big beast of a partner.
“Turnabout on that is faaaair play, right, baby?” Cabanela asks Jowd. That's rhetorical, by the by. The inspector's smile splits into a grin as he slithers his lanky legs off the bed, setting himself down next to his bound and captive prize. Cabanela grips one luscious shoulder in his slender fingers, and bites down.
Mm! That is delicious. That is a thrill. Not that Cabanela hasn't indulged like this before, but he tries to be mindful, Jowd. But since Jowd's looking to be brutalized (in a safe, sane, consensual way, Jowd), Cabanela can snarl and let loose with the full force of his carnal passions. He can breathlessly seize that perfect flesh between his teeth, lick it, suck it, cave in to the immeasurable desire within him and bite down harder, harder. Cabanela slides his hands throughout the cords on Jowd's body, feeling for all the world like he might rip them clean off in the throes of this hunger. He shakily drags his lips across Jowd's skin into the crook of Jowd's neck, and then sinks his teeth in again.
Jowd makes a pleased hum deep in his chest. His eyes are half closed, and when Cabanela bites particularly hard his mouth parts slightly open. Cabanela still suspects Jowd is less affected by all this than Cabanela himself. In fact, now that Cabanela's gotten a taste he can't make himself stop.
He slips around to kneel behind Jowd, running his fingertips across the broad expanse of the other man's back. A touch of his tongue against Jowd's salty flesh, before he moves in to suck an angry bruise into the skin. Oh no. Oooh no. Something inside Cabanela is tangling itself up into knots, far worse than the ropes currently binding Jowd. Cabanela bites at the corner of Jowd's shoulder blade, over and over, harder and harder. A bite on each and every one of those ribs. Again. Harder. A bite just to the side of his spine. Every inch of it. Harder. A savage bite to the nape of Jowd's neck, like he's a godsdamn feral animal.
“Oh, my,” Alma's voice interrupts, like a firehose of cold water. “You really do hold yourself back when you're with us.”
Cabanela freezes like he is a teeny tiny hedgehog in the headlights, about to be smashed flat on the road. He very slooooowly, dreadfully, drags his eyes up from where they'd been fixated on some truly sublime physique. Alma has her fingers pressed to her mouth again, but she looks far more contemplative than shocked. Jowd has turned his head slightly to look at Cabanela out of the corner of his eye. The detective's got a nice sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. He's also got a knowing look on his face.
“You can let go,” Jowd says, genuine, kindly, too kindly because Cabanela thinks he's going to vomit this couple's compassion right out of his soul. “You have us. We want you.”
“We are dealing with yooour hangups today,” Cabanela strictly replies. “Not mine.”
In a fit of ingratitude, Cabanela grabs Jowd firmly by his thick blond curls. He tugs Jowd back by his hair until Jowd's back is arched, displaying his magnificent set of pectorals to the world. Cabanela glances up at Alma, the seething mess inside him bubbling like tar.
“Care to join us, Alma?” he asks, ever so sweetly. “I bet your nails could leave some loooovely art on this canvas.”
“There's so much rope in the way,” Alma demurs. She indulges him anyway, running the edges of her fingernails down Jowd's chest. Jowd gives another satisfied hum.
“Don't hold back now,” Cabanela says. “I've seen you leave much deeper marks on him.”
Goodness me, but he hadn't known Alma could flush any redder. “Not on purpose!” she protests. Cabanela waggles his eyebrows and she amends, flustered, “Not usually.” Jowd grins at her, clearly goading her on, so she kisses him firmly and then rakes her nails across his skin. Jowd rumbles deep in his chest, leaning in to kiss her further. He bites at her lip, and she digs her nails into his back in response.
When the two finally break apart, Jowd has a series of reddened lines like claw marks all across his chest. Between that and his back, the two of them have mauled this man. Certainly oooone way for Cabanela to feel less awkward about a measly little switch. Alma's not looking quite as relaxed about it, not yet, but she is admiring their mutual handiwork.
…She's not likely to get more relaxed than she is now, so Cabanela decides to make the call.
Cabanela gently, gently pushes Jowd down so the detective lays his head in Alma's lap. He tenderly stokes Jowd's shoulders for a few moments, running the pad of a finger down Jowd's glistening neck. The inspector looks to Alma and nods, giving her a bit of warning. Then he strikes the riding crop across Jowd's skin.
Alma flinches at the sound, but she doesn't look away, because Jowd looks like he's just seen the face of a god. “Yes,” he breathes out, trembling slightly at the sensation. Cabanela’s a little taken aback. Still, he was right, the mark from the riding crop is barely visible compared to all the other bites and bruises. Cabanela twirls the switch in his palm, and strikes Jowd again with a loud crack.
“Yes,” Jowd moans. His eyes are wide open and he already looks a bit delirious, but can't say he's not giving the green light as hard as he can. Cabanela experiments, putting more force into the third blow.
Jowd gives out a loud, jagged, desperate cry, his breath shuddering in his chest when he stops. Cabanela and Alma lock their eyes in alarm. That was by far the most obscene sound Cabanela's ever heard, and he's been in bed with this man. Forget being troubled over a little kink. Now Cabanela's horrified they've made Jowd go this long without relief. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and then puts more flair and spin into the next impact. This time he doesn't wait to see Jowd's reaction, laying into Jowd's back over and over with a percussive rhythm.
Jowd flies somewhere off into la la land, silent except for heavy breathing and the occasional intense groan. Alma is rapt. Cabanela… Cabanela is in serious danger. Now that he knows he can whip these kinds of sounds out of Jowd, he'll have to spend every waking moment of his life trying to restrain himself. He swore he'd never abuse any power he had again, would be irreproachable for the rest of his life… but this… this. Jowd is panting, shining with sweat, his glittering flesh bound by bright, beautiful cords. Cabanela could lose himself. Gods in heaven. They'd been worried sick about the wrong person.
Cabanela swallows, hard. Keep control. Keep track of the strokes. Five. Jowd moans, his voice aching with need rather than pain. Four. Jowd is begging, pleading to be hit harder. Ye gods. Cabanela hits harder. Th-ree. T-two. O… one.
Hard limits. That had been the agreement. Cabanela's mental countdown hits zero and he stops dead, dropping his arm to the side. His body promptly slumps against the side of the bed, something it has no business doing, he's hardly been doing anything strenuous. Jowd grits his teeth at the loss. His breath is still stuttering. He's either trying not to cry or is the most aroused he's ever been in his life. Might be both.
Alma is soothing her hands through her husband's hair, a tender expression on her face. She patiently, patiently waits for Jowd to come down from whatever high he's on. It's a doozy of one, to be sure. He'll start to calm, then suddenly be wracked again with shivers. They at least look like the good kind of shivers. Hard to tell, when they're blurring the line between pleasure and punishment.
Jowd's breathing finally evens out, and he relaxes into his wife's lap. Actually relaxes, maybe the most he's been since he was hit by a meteorite in Temsik park. Alma murmurs a soft question to him that Cabanela can't quite hear. “I could have gone for longer,” Jowd quietly answers. Alma makes a bit of a face and plucks at one of his curls. He smiles in response. “It was good. My head feels… clear.”
It's an intimate moment. Private. Cabanela ascends to his feet, intending to venture out into the kitchen and gather up some comfort eats for the couple. His body goes and stabs him in the back a second time, because his steps are leaden, and that makes him loud enough for Alma to notice and slow enough for Alma to grab his wrist before he can leave. She looks up at him, puzzled.
“A little aftercare, baby! Nothing like it,” he cheerfully explains. Was he cheerful? His voice is coming out wrong. “Glass of water, a fluffy robe, something for an aching back, I have a lovely aloe-infused and scent free little item so as not to offend any manly sensibilities-”
“I'll get them,” Alma says, in the same tone of voice she gets when her husband is being pigheaded. That hardly seems fair, what did Cabanela do? But when she sets him on the bed he sinks down and can't seem to sit up again to object.
Jowd shifts, and oh hey! Jowd did use that slip knot that was tied into the ropes. Cabanela actually didn't expect that. Jowd's unwound himself loose enough to haul himself up onto the bed, scooting in close. “Didn't you read any of those pamphlets you threw at us?” he asks, half searching and half poking fun. “We're supposed to be taking care of you afterwards, too.”
Cabanela has no explanation for why that statement feels like a knife in his heart. He starts to shake his head, so Jowd abandons talking and grabs him to kiss him thoroughly. Cabanela tries to protest. Alma isn't in the room, this is breaking his biggest taboo. But Jowd is stroking the back of his neck and hugging him close and murmuring his thanks against his lips, against his throat, and Cabanela falls to pieces.
At least working through his own hangups requires less rope.