Ready or Not

Nica Berry

"It happens, Damon. People lose control."

"I don't." Healer Damon looked across the desk in his office at the Infirmary at his friend, Carra. At twenty-six, she was four years his elder and knew him better than anyone else, which was too often to his disadvantage. Like now, when she was trying to convince him that losing control of his mind-gift while in the throes of making love just happened. "I almost killed Garrett."

The incident had occurred almost a month before, but Damon still couldn't get the sound of Garrett's agony out of his head. Worse was the fact that he could sense what he'd accidentally done to the rent boy, but Garrett wouldn't let Damon touch him again. One of the other Healers had been able to set him to rights. Mostly. Garrett still limped, and his career as a rent boy was over. Damon was put on probation at the Infirmary, but it hardly seemed punishment enough for hurting someone so severely.

"What are you going to do, give up sex forever?" Carra asked, then rolled her eyes at Damon's fervent nod. "I'd believe it of anyone but you. You're addicted to pretty boys. Whatever would you do without them?"

"I'm not addicted," Damon protested. "I've given them up. No more rent boys. For their own sake."

"No more rent boys. That, I could agree with." She pursed her lips. "It's no secret that you've been doing a lousy job lately. Garrett's affected your work."

Damon looked away. Of course Garrett had. Now, he kept the barriers around his mind-gift tight, lowering them only enough to do the very least he needed to help his patient. Before, he'd been so carefree, so sure that his years of study had given him all the information he needed to diagnose and treat, and now . . . now he was afraid of letting more than the barest trickle of his mind-gift out lest he lose control again.

"You know what? I think you need a change of pace. Something to give you a new perspective, and to remind you that there's more to life than being a Healer."

He didn't like the amusement in her voice. She was up to something, and he was almost afraid to ask what.

She leaned over the desk and fingered the lapel of the cerulean blue shirt that was part of his Healer's uniform. "A new outfit. That's what you need. I know just the man."

Damon raised his eyebrow. "No men."

She took a quill pen and scribbled a name and address on a scrap of parchment. "He's good. He'll just take a few measurements, and create a work of art for you to wear."

"I don't want a work of art. I want to work."

"Go. You won't regret it."

He clenched his fist around the parchment, already certain he would.

***

"A work of art indeed," Damon muttered under his breath and pulled open the door to the tailor's shop. A brass bell clanged against the wood to announce his entrance. "I just want to do a good day's work again, that's all."

Gods, what a place this was. Stacks of brightly-colored fabric lined the walls and several racks on the floor displayed the tailor's latest works. Shirts, pants, dresses, shoes, underclothes--if it could be worn on the body, Damon was sure he'd find it here somewhere amidst the chaos of the shop.

He walked around several racks and toward the front counter in hopes of spying the shop's owner, but Brenn spotted him first.

"As I live and breathe, if it isn't the famous Healer Damon!" Brenn strode around to the front of the counter. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, dark-skinned and dark-haired like most of the city dwellers. Damon couldn't help but notice how the tight brown pants hugged his buttocks and crotch, perfectly outlining the parts of anatomy Damon had a particular interest in. Leather, Damon thought, though how Brenn had managed to get it so soft and supple remained a mystery. His shirt was a soft white linen, the laces left undone to expose a tantalizing expanse of muscled flesh.

Brenn held his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. The long black hair, like Damon's, was braided in the traditional masculine style and hung past his shoulders. "What can I help you with?"

Gods, it was hot in here. "My friend Carra said I should--that you--" He stumbled, then finally gave up speaking. Why did he have to be such an idiot now? Brenn was only another man, a very handsome man, but he shouldn't be able to reduce Damon to a blithering idiot on his looks alone. So why now? Was he that desperate to bed someone so soon after causing Garrett's injuries?

He repressed a shiver. Yes, yes, he was, though he hated to admit it. "She told you that I've been waiting to make you the outfit of your dreams." Brenn's smile was wide and inviting. He leaned back so his buttocks rested on the edge of the counter. "Carra is a smart woman."

Damon hadn't been so flustered around a man in years, not since his early days visiting the rent boys in the local taverns. Brenn was--different. Older. More self-confident. Well-muscled, rather than the youthful, pretty men that were usually to Damon's taste.

Brenn crooked his fingers. "Come on. Over here." Damon walked over to him. They were nearly of a height, with Brenn being perhaps two finger-widths taller. Sandalwood, a heady, masculine scent, reached Damon's nose. Gods. Brenn wasn't making it easy.

The tailor's eyes examined Damon as if they measured every contour of his body. Damon had nothing to be ashamed of, though he wasn't as large and bulky as Brenn. He'd been injured or ill often enough to have endured this kind of scrutiny multiple times, but this--this made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn't before.

"I know what you need." Brenn's face was close, his lips almost near enough to kiss. His smile turned wry and playful.

Damon opened his mouth, but didn't speak, too afraid his words would damn him. "A new outfit," Brenn said, voice full of amusement. "Something soft, and . . . comfortable. But first...." He tapped Damon on the nose. "I'll have to take your measurements."

When he stepped away, Damon shivered, suddenly bereft of the other man's warmth. Brenn hadn't gone far, just to the end of the counter where he picked up a long, leather strip with markings burned in at precise intervals. A measuring tape.

"First, the neck." Brenn took his time turning the collar of Damon's shirt out so no fabric would interfere, and then draped the tape around Damon's neck . It tickled against his bare skin, but Damon did his best not to make any sudden movements. "Good, good. Now, the arms."

Damon raised his arms and held them out perpendicular to his body.

Brenn smacked Damon's arms. "Down, boy, down!"

Embarrassed, Damon rested his arms against his sides. Brenn placed the end of the tape against the vertebrae at the base of Damon's neck, then stretched the tape across his shoulder and down. Brenn slid his fingers along Damon's arm. The touch burned through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Brenn clucked his tongue in annoyance. "No, no, this is no good. You've got too much fabric in that shirt of yours for a proper measurement. Take it off."

Take it--off? Damon blinked, but from Brenn's stern expression, he knew the tailor wasn't making a request. Damon crossed his arms and pulled his shirt up from the bottom. Once he got the fabric over his head, he took another glance at Brenn, but the tailor hadn't changed his expression. Damon dropped his shirt onto the counter.

This time, Brenn took his leisure stretching the leather tape along Damon's shoulder and arm. The soft suppleness made Damon shiver involuntarily, and the feather-light touch of Brenn's fingers didn't help a bit.

"Cold?" Brenn asked.

"No."

"Because if you were, I could offer you something to keep warm."

Tempting. Gods, that was tempting. "I'm fine," Damon forced himself to say.

Brenn gave him an enigmatic smile. "Lift your arms. Please."

Damon did. Brenn reached behind him to pass the tape from one hand to the other then pulled it tight around his chest. He murmured something that sounded like approval then let the tape slide a little to go around Damon's waist.

Damon squirmed, and made the mistake of lowering his barriers just enough to sense the other man. Brenn was... excited. Damon clamped his barriers shut, and refused to look below Brenn's waist. He couldn't afford to let anything happen.

"Ticklish, I see." Brenn sounded amused, but utterly unapologetic. Damn the man. "Now, I need your hips, please. If I may."

"But--"

Brenn cocked his head. "It will be much more accurate if there's nothing in the way of my measurements."

Reluctantly, Damon stood frozen in place while Brenn expertly untied the laces on Damon's pants and pulled them loose. One sharp tug, and his pants, along with his undershorts, slid over his hips and down to the floor. At Brenn's urging, he stepped out of them and the sandals he'd been wearing. The lack of clothing didn't make the temperature go down. Rather, it seemed even hotter.

Brenn knelt, and from that angle, it was utterly impossible for him not to notice Damon's growing erection, but he gave no sign of noticing. Rather, he measured around Damon's hips, then his buttocks, but left certain parts very much alone.

"Inseam," Brenn said, and tapped against the inside of Damon's leg. "Move your legs wider, please."

Damon did as he asked, sliding heel to toe until Brenn said, "There. Good."

Brenn wrapped one hand as far as it could go around Damon's right leg and used his thumb to push the tape up the inside of Damon's thigh, straight to his crotch. The grip tightened, making it hard for Damon to keep the tailor's strong presence from his mind. And then it was that damned leather trailing between his legs, tickling the side of his cock. Brenn just let it dangle there. No, worse--he trailed the tape up and down, up and down, until Damon wanted to strangle him.

"Done," Brenn said, "except for one last measurement." Grinning, he stretched the tape out along Damon's erect cock. "Oooh. Very nice." And then, the leather went around it, just behind his balls. "Good, good..." Brenn said--

--and tied the leather tape there, around Damon's cock. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to stay in place. Brenn gave it a little tug. Damon jerked and looked down in disbelief. How dare Brenn do this to him? He should go now, before things got out of hand. Or, rather, more in hand than they already were. He reached for his clothes. "Thank you for your time, but--"

Brenn slapped his hand. "No, you don't. Stay. You need this."

Needed what? A handsome man? Oh, definitely, but he couldn't afford to get involved with anyone. No, thank you. "You don't know what I need." A good fuck, but he didn't dare, not after the last time.

Brenn tugged again at his leash, making Damon's cock ache with need. "In the bedroom. Now."

Damon's head resisted. No good could come of this after what had happened with Garrett. Yet... some part of his soul longed for someone else to take charge, to lift the burden of responsibility from his shoulders. He wanted to be told what to do by someone he could trust.

At the third tug, Damon followed, both relieved and afraid. Brenn led him through a curtain into a small bedroom at the back of the store. Clean, but cluttered, the shelves along the wall were piled high with knickknacks and tools of his trade. A small brazier burned on a wooden table near the door, heating a kettle of water for tea. The bed--

Oh, gods, the bed. It was a cozy-looking nest on the floor, the highlight of which was the supple leather cover across the mattress. Damon longed to touch it, and wondered what it would feel like against his--

Fingers dug into Damon's shoulders. "Kneel," Brenn said, breath warm against Damon's ear. "Or shall I make you?"

Damon sunk to his knees onto the mattress. Too late, he noticed the rings in the wall. Leather strips dangled from them. Panicked, Damon tried to back away, but Brenn was behind him, blocking his exit.

"Easy, now." Brenn's arms slid down around Damon's body to grasp his wrists. "What happens, Healer, when you're not in charge any more? What happens," Brenn asked, and kissed the curve of Damon's shoulder, "when you're not the one in control?"

Damon had never contemplated such a thing. He always had control, in the Infirmary, in the taverns with the rent boys. He couldn't accept anything less, not when lives were at stake. Those with the empathic or telepathic mind-gifts could ruin minds if they lost control. Healers--Damon couldn't suppress his shiver. Healers could tear someone apart from the inside out. He swallowed and took a deep breath, thinking of Garrett. "People get hurt."

The answer seemed to surprise Brenn. The tailor took a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was gentle. "Not here. Not now."

They stayed there for a few moments, with Damon appreciating the hard, masculine body behind him. The leather collar around his cock grew tighter. If only it were true, that he could trust himself and his mind-gift when he wasn't in absolute control.

"Lie down," Brenn said, voice suddenly harsh. "Arms out."

Surprised, Damon did as he was bid, stretching his body out along the lovely texture of the deer hide before he thought about what he was doing. Fear and excitement slithered through him. He wriggled a little against the hide, savoring the feel of it against his bare skin, even as he knew there was no turning back. Brenn took one wrist, and then the other, and looped the leather restraints around them. Again, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to keep him from going anywhere.

Damon gave the restraints an experimental tug. There was no escape. A new fear rushed through him. What if Brenn was a madman, or a sadist? The only calming thought was that Brenn was Carra's friend, and Carra wouldn't send Damon into danger.

"It's hard, isn't it, to give up control. To be the vulnerable one." Damon whimpered as Brenn stroked his back, wicked, ticklish touches with the tips of his fingers. "Give up your control, Healer Damon. Give it to me."

No. Damon's mind rebelled against the thought. He was a Healer, one of the most respected men in the territory. He had a reputation to maintain, and a patient at home who needed him. Sleeping with Brenn was acceptable--no, inevitable at this point--but on his own terms, not like--

"Gah!"

Brenn's wandering hand had found its way between Damon's legs, cupping his sacs and massaging them while his thumb trailed along the smooth skin of his perineum. Damon strained against his bonds, but it was no use. Every movement made his skin slide against the supple leather, which only ignited his need further. "Don't. You don't understand what could happen if--" He let the word hang.

"Oh, I think I understand. The entire territory knows what happened between you and that rent boy, and Carra told me about you. Give it up, Damon. You're not in control. You don't need to be."

He did. He did. People died if he lost control.

Damon wriggled again. Brenn spanked him. "You don't give up easily, do you? Here. I've got a present for you."

The world dimmed as Brenn tied a blindfold around Damon's eyes. "Damn you. Don't--"

"Don't what?" Brenn slid his body alongside Damon's. "Are you afraid of the dark, Healer?"

"No. Of course not."

"But you're afraid of not knowing what will happen. Even if it's pleasurable." Brenn's finger was back, rimming Damon's ear, tracing the line of his jaw. "What will it take to teach you that you have nothing to fear?"

"I'm not afraid!" Damon resented that implication, even as he shivered. He was afraid. Tied up, blind, helpless, he had everything to fear. He wasn't worried for himself. Pain meant little when his knowledge of bodies could apply to himself, and he knew how to distance his mind until the pain receded. No, injury to himself meant little. It was his partner he worried about. Restrained like this, Damon had no control, and if his partner triggered his body and caused Damon to unleash his dennar, it could be disastrous. Like Garrett.

"Then why so tense?" The scent of sandalwood wafted through the air, and when Brenn's hands touched him, they were warm and slick. "What happens next might be a good thing."

Damon groaned as Brenn massaged his shoulders with the oil. "But it's not. Not if I don't know what's going on."

"My, my. I suppose I'll have to prove it to you, then, just how pleasurable the unknown can be. Especially when you're not in control."

Brenn tickled him along the small of his back. Damon panicked. "Let me go. Please. I can't--"

He jerked back, trying to get to his knees, but Brenn's body pressed him back down. "You can. You will," Brenn said, with an edge to his voice that made Damon obey. "You will not question what I do, or why. You will not speak unless spoken to. Understand me?"

"Yes." Until Brenn spoke, Damon hadn't realized how much he wanted someone else to be in control. He began to feel the first faint glimmers of hope. What he wouldn't give to be able to relax with someone completely, to have no fear of what might happen. Brenn was strong, sure of himself.

Like Garrett had been.

"Stop worrying. You're nothing I can't handle." Brenn spanked him again. "Lift up your rear."

Damon did, raising his buttocks into the air and tucking his knees beneath him. The leather tape still dangled from his cock, maddeningly ticklish. Brenn tugged on it, and laughed when Damon squirmed. "When are you--"

Smack. Damon flinched when Brenn's hand stung his buttocks. "No talking. Or must I punish you so you don't forget again?"

"Please..." Damon said, uncertain if it was a plea for Brenn to stop, or to continue.

Brenn took it as the latter. The brush of cloth and the squeak of leather meant that Brenn was undressing. A few moments later, he pried open Damon's jaws and stuffed in as much of the linen shirt as he could. "No talking."

It tasted of Brenn's sweat and smelled of him. Instead of being repulsed, Damon felt himself grow more desperate for Brenn's nearness. His cock swelled, which made the tape even more itchy and uncomfortable.

Brenn left him, then. Damon knew because he felt the mattress shift and he could no longer sense Brenn's presence. That's all he let himself be aware of. He kept the rest of his mind-gift shut down, not wanting to know if Brenn was aroused, which he almost certainly was.

Left there. Alone, bound and gagged with his ass in the air. How demeaning.... and exciting.

He realized why when something ticklish--a feather--traced the line of his body from head to heel, and then disappeared. Brenn was devising new, little torments for him just to prove how little control Damon had. Tricks, all of them, designed to make him vulnerable.

"Will you lower your barriers, Damon?" Brenn asked. "Will you give me control?"

Damon shook his head. No. Not when he would put Brenn at risk.

A moment later, Brenn was gone again. Damon stayed where he was, unmoving, wondering what Brenn would do to him next. And, after a while, when. There was no way to track time. Brenn came at random intervals. A smack to his rear, or clamps set to pinch each nipple. The expert, erotic touch of Brenn's hands along his shoulders and back, or the maddening touch of the feather as it trailed up the length of his cock and between his legs, lingering to tease the area between his buttocks.

Tease, and depart. Tease, and depart. None of it was predictable, and all of it was infuriating. His body ached and tingled as it never had before. He longed to give into the orgasm he could feel building, but he couldn't. Brenn brought him close to the edge again and again, but not over.

"Will you give me control, Damon?" Brenn asked after every torment.

No. Damon shook his head and lay as still as he possibly could. If he could send his mind elsewhere if he were in pain, he could do the same if he were feeling nothing but pleasure. When his mind went away, he took the control over his mind-gift with it.

The feather returned. A tickle behind his ear or between his legs. Brenn's hand caressing his face, Brenn's lips along his shoulder blades. A random spanking. A strip of rough fabric rubbed across his back, around his stomach. Each exquisite torture grew harder and harder to ignore. Pain was a constant, easy to deal with, easy to escape. Pleasure--especially Brenn's sort of pleasure--was far harder to ignore.

Brenn's hand, slicked with a sort of oil, finally released Damon's cock from its leash and stroked it, gently squeezing his balls and massaging his erect shaft. Whatever the oil was, it made his skin tingle. Pleasure erupted deep inside him, enough to force his mind back into his body. His barriers wavered, and for a few intoxicating moments he could sense Brenn's body, erect and ready. Gods, what he wouldn't give to be able to show Brenn what a Healer could do with a mind-gift alone....

He slammed his barriers shut, almost sick from the effort of keeping his mind-gift locked away.

The hands let go, but the tingle remained and turned into warmth, which made the aching need worse. His body begged for release, but Damon refused to give in. If he did, he'd have another Garrett, bloody and mutilated because he'd loved Damon too much. His body sank down. All he wanted to do was curl up and be left alone to endure the ache of his unfulfilled body.

Brenn smacked him again and grasped Damon's hips to haul them back into the air. "You're not going to hide from me. Is that clear?"

Since the shirt muffled any noise he might make, Damon nodded, utterly miserable. The rest of sensation was starting to fail him, buried beneath his body's craving for release. Despite his best efforts, Damon had failed. At that moment, nothing of the world existed between he heat and ache in his body and whatever Brenn would do to it. He didn't have the strength to keep his barriers up any more. Brenn's presence hovered in his mind, then overtook it.

"Good, good," Brenn said, his voice low and soothing. He draped a lock of hair behind Damon's ear. "You've finally given in, after forcing me to take what you refused to give." Hands traced the line of his buttocks, and lingered at the puckered entrance between them. Damon smelled the sharpness of lube as Brenn used it liberally. "You feel it now, don't you? That place beyond fear. It's only me and you here. I'm in control. Whatever happens, happens."

The hundred small torments had worn him down. All Damon could do was slide his head against the leather. Yes.

Brenn's thick, hard cock probed between Damon's buttocks. Damon tensed. He'd only been on this end of a relationship once. Being the one penetrated required a huge amount of trust, and he'd never been able to let go of his own fears of hurting someone to let anyone since Garrett touch him like this.

"Let go. Relax." Brenn sensed his fear and eased his cock inside slowly enough to let Damon's body adapt to its presence. "Whatever happens, I am in control. Lose yourself and have no fear."

Damon held his breath as the pressure mounted. It ached, but after the first few moments it turned into a pleasurable sensation. Damon groaned into his gag. This was exactly the way it had happened last time. Garrett behind him, pushing, Damon sensing the eagerness of his partner's body and exploiting it.

It was happening again. Caught up in impending pleasure, Damon's control over his mind-gift wavered.

Held in the arms of a strong, sturdy man, it loosed.

Even as Brenn's cock thrust inside Damon and hammered that internal pleasure point, Damon's mind-gift sought Brenn to pull his awareness of the other man even closer. Through his mind-gift, Damon knew Brenn's body just as intimately as Brenn did. He pulled and pulled, needing Brenn as close as possible, until Damon couldn't tell where Brenn's body ended and his began. They were merged together, one man, both of them crying out as they both crept toward the edge of climax.

Damon went over first, and with it went the last of his control. His mind-gift went wild as he orgasmed and ejaculated across Brenn's leather bedcover. His body and mind weren't his anymore, but Brenn's. More. More. Brenn's pleasure was Damon's, and vice versa. A surge of his mind-gift felw through Brenn's body, driven by instinct to make sure his partner felt the greatest amount of sexual pleasure possible.

He knew the instant Brenn climaxed. Brenn howled and clenched Damon's waist hard enough to bruise, but Damon didn't care. He was too intent on using his mind-gift to "see" and "feel" Brenn's body react, how every little muscle spasmed and worked to release Brenn's seed into Damon.

More. Damon's mind-gift acted as if on its own, wringing Brenn's body to the utmost. Climax rolled over them again and again. Damon felt every nerve ending in Brenn's cock as if it were his own. Pleasure doubled, tripled, until Damon was sure he couldn't cope anymore. He'd tear them both apart--

<No. I'm here. I won't let you hurt me. We're both safe.>

Brenn was a telepath, Damon realized belatedly. Garrett hadn't had a mind-gift at all, and hadn't been able to defend himself against Damon's unintentional invasion. Brenn could, and at long last, Damon stopped worrying and let go, letting his body and mind do as it would. Brenn's mind comforted him even as his arms cradled Damon's body to his in the physical world. Together they spiraled upwards, lost in ecstasy, but safe.

It stopped, finally, when Damon ran out of energy, the consequence of using his mind-gift for too long. At some point during their thrashing, the shirt in Damon's mouth had come loose enough for him to spit it out. A low chuckle came from behind him. "Gods. You should let go more often."

"Brenn?" Damon hardly had the strength to speak. "Let me go. Please. I need to see..."

"I'm here." Rough hands pulled off the blindfold and then tenderly unwrapped Damon's wrists. Damon blinked, relieved to see Brenn alive and well. Fragments of their mental connection remained, and flared when Brenn bent down to kiss Damon on the lips. "Do you yield, Damon?"

"Yes," Damon whispered, and let Brenn make love to him again, no mind-gift, just the two of them embraced by a nest of soft leather.

***

Back in his office at the infirmary, Damon had just finished changing into his uniform when Carra strode in. She studied him from head to toe and smiled. "You look... calmer. Must be some outfit he made you."

Damon showed her the shirt Brenn had made, soft, thin leather dyed an exquisite forest green. "Fantastic tailor. Definitely."

"Very nice." She fingered a sleeve, and smiled. "Ready to get back to work? We've just gotten a new patient in triage. Thrown by his horse. He's got a couple of broken ribs, at least."

Damon held the shirt to his nose and breathed deeply of the leather scent. If he tried, he could imagine Brenn there with him. I'm here. There's nothing to fear.

"Ready," Damon said, and followed her out.

END

Nica Berry lives in southern California with her two cats and writes queer science fiction, fantasy, and erotica. She currently has four e-books out, Hart and Soul with Torquere and three others with Loose Id. Visit Nica online at http://www.orossy.com/nicaberry.

Copyright Thaneros Online Magazine 2008.