5' 3"
"…And what did he do?"
"Yelled like a victim of crime."
"Well, he actually was the victim of a crime!" Duncan laughed, trying to get more comfortable in his seat. Judging by the look of pain that crossed his face for half a second, the attempt was a losing battle.
"Which is exactly why I drove him home and not to the office like he wanted."
Ethan had swung by the hospital early that morning to pick up his dad and found Michael all packed and ready for battle. That fiery look in his eyes said loud and clear: he was about to go straight from the darkness into the light—or, more precisely, straight from a hospital bed to his desk. When Ethan poked his head into the hospital room, the doctor was just handing over a prescription. They hadn't even made it to the parking lot before Ethan snatched the paper out of his father's hand, checked the list of meds, and immediately banned it. Why? Because one of them was hydrocodone—better known to the general public, thanks to House M.D., as Vicodin.
"You're not taking this!" Ethan said firmly. "It's a narcotic painkiller."
"That particular painkiller is prescribed to a hundred and twenty-eight million patients every year," Michael shot back as he was getting into the passenger seat. He clearly considered his son's concern a minor overreaction. "House popped them like candy."
"The FDA is actively working on banning this drug," Ethan replied dryly. "It's addictive. And you should know that if you watched House M.D.! That entire show was basically a PSA screaming about how dangerous it is!" he snapped, frustration bubbling over at how casually his father brushed it off. Then he continued in a quieter voice, under his breath: "Also, I can't believe that you watched anything other than the trial records."
"Look who's talking," Michael chuckled, equally surprised Ethan had ever seen the show. "Vicodin is the best painkiller on the market. There's no substitute," he wasn't backing down.
"Then live through the pain," Ethan hissed.
"No. I've got work to do. Pain's a distraction. So yes, I'm keeping Vicodin. And for the record, we're not going home."
"And for your record, we are absolutely going home and nowhere else. And you're taking exactly the amount prescribed—no more. I'm flushing anything extra," Ethan offered as a compromise.
"And what did I ever do to deserve such a tyrannical son?" Michael sighed with mock sorrow. "Fine, I'll accept your terms on the Vicodin, but I object to going home."
"Grounds for your objection?"
"An innocent man is rotting in jail."
"Objection denied."
"Heartless little brat!"
"If you throw yourself back into work before you've healed properly, your arm will take longer to recover and hurt worse. Then you'll start abusing the drug. And once you start doing that—"
"You're not a child, you're evil!" Michael snorted, trying to cut off his son's monologue—but Ethan was just getting warmed up.
"—Next thing you know, the poor bastard rotting in jail has no chance for freedom because his hotshot attorney's turned into a narc," Ethan concluded, having gone full lecture mode.
"House did his work just fine on Vicodin," Michael answered carelessly. "And for the record, I feel fine. So I'm going to—"
"Don't act like a child! This isn't a TV show! We're going home!" Ethan snapped, finally losing his patience once he realized his entire speech didn't get any attention. It didn't take much longer for Michael to lose his temper, too. When Ethan had told Duncan his dad had been yelling like he was under attack, he may have been stretching the truth—truth was, they'd both been yelling like victims of crime. Drivers in nearby cars at the stoplight had the rare privilege of overhearing a full-blown shouting match between two men who clearly knew their way around a courtroom. Not every day do you hear legal jargon used instead of good old curses and wishes to send the opponent to a new romantic getaway—though the tone was oddly similar.
It took nearly an hour and a couple of cups of boiling hot coffee for the Thomsons to cool off. Michael, as expected, stuck to his principles and dove straight into work, spreading papers across the kitchen counter like it was a conference table and asking his secretary to bring over a few more boxes related to the case. Ethan, for his part, successfully won what Michael referred to as his "house arrest." It was a small victory, but still a victory.
Once Ethan was sure his father wasn't about to make a break for the office, he headed back to the hospital to check in on Duncan. He was still worried about the bodyguard's condition—but there was also something else. He needed to clarify a few things before he moved forward with his investigation.
"Will you mind if I file a request under your name?" Ethan asked, fully prepared to shamelessly lean on the network Duncan had spent decades building.
"You could just file it under your own," the bodyguard pointed out.
"I'm pretty sure my name doesn't carry the same weight."
"Of course it does! You're like a son to me! Everybody knows that!" Duncan blurted. Ethan involuntarily raised his left eyebrow. Where'd that unauthorized confession come from?
The answer was probably hanging from the IV Duncan had been hooked up to before Ethan arrived. Opiates again. Thomson shivered. Just another reason to never, ever end up in a hospital. One wrong move and they'd have him doped up to the gills before he even opened his eyes.
"I should go," he said, exhaling in response to Duncan's guilty smile. Whether the bodyguard realized he'd said something awkward or was just floating off somewhere thanks to the meds was unclear. "And I'll use your name anyway."
He already had a few theories about Noah's stalker. He hadn't said them out loud—neither to Morgan nor to Duncan—because he didn't have the facts. And he wouldn't dream of asking Duncan to dig anything up until Noah gave the full power to work on it. Sure, he could've done it on the sly. But Ethan knew all too well how awful it felt to find out someone had been poking around in your life—or the life of someone you cared about—without your knowledge. Even if they meant well. Even if they thought they were helping. Even the most noble of "Nancy Drew" moments could leave a bitter taste in the mouth. Also, let's not forget: in court, evidence gathered illegally often got thrown out. And outside of court, people tended to reject truths they didn't ask for—especially if those truths hurt. Most of the time, the hardest part of a case wasn't proving guilt. Damn, usually even the mangiest stray in town knew who'd done it. The most difficult part was building a solid case based on admissible evidence. With people, it wasn't so different. But getting someone to want the truth you found? That was the real battle. If you catch your best friend's girlfriend cheating, will you tell him? There's a decent chance you'll be the one he stops talking to. Not her. And no matter how furious Thomson was at Noah's stalker, he wasn't about to wreck his relationship with Morgan by crossing a line he'd been told not to touch.
But now? The rules had changed. Ethan's hands were untied.
Sitting in his car in the hospital parking lot, Ethan made his first request. When the email was sent, he leaned back in his seat, thinking about how much class he'd already missed this semester. He really needed to get back on top of things and start catching up. But then Morgan called and ruined Ethan's plan to become a responsible student again. Well, maybe it wasn't because of the call. To be fair, Ethan had already half-cancelled his own intentions the moment he saw an opportunity buried in Noah's meltdown—an opportunity that didn't come around often. Morgan needed a break, and Ethan was pretty sure he knew just the thing.
It was 12:25 p.m. Would it even be possible to book the kind of room he had in mind without a reservation? First, he texted Noah that he was on his way to pick him up. Then he made the call. Luckily, the place was already open. Even better—the room he wanted was free. He'd have to swing by home to pick up a few things, but not before grabbing Noah. However, he didn't want to keep Morgan waiting, considering his emotional state at the moment.
"Hey," Noah mumbled as he slid into the passenger seat.
"Hey," Ethan nodded, watching Noah closely. Morgan was barely keeping it together. He was trying to act like nothing had happened, but his hands were trembling and his jaw was still clenched.
"Are you still mad?"
"Unbelievably."
"Good."
"What the hell's good about that?"
"So you won't lose the fuse," Ethan said with a small grin.
"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"Nope. It's a surprise."
"For me?"
"In a way," Ethan said, the grin refusing to leave his face. Truth was, the surprise was mostly for himself—but he was hoping Noah would be into it too. "We'll swing by my place real quick, all right? I need to grab a couple of things."
By a couple of things, Ethan meant a huge duffel bag, which he packed to the brim with everything he might possibly need. Michael, spotting his son all turned up and glowing with suspicious energy, couldn't resist a comment:
"You look like you just won the lottery," he muttered, still salty after their argument earlier that morning.
"Even better," Ethan replied as flatly as he could manage, but there was no hiding the edge of impatience in his voice.
"Just go easy on the kid, would you? I almost started thinking of him as my son-in-law!" The comment hit Ethan in the back as he walked away. He snorted under his breath and made his way back to the car. The human thundercloud that was Noah Morgan sat in the passenger seat, quiet lightning flickering just under the surface. Ethan kept waiting for the boom. How long was he supposed to count until he could hear thunder?
"Damn, that's a huge bag," Noah muttered, eyeing the oversized duffel as Ethan shoved it into the back seat. Thomson didn't respond. He just got back into the driver's seat like he hadn't heard Noah's comment.
"You're not planning to chop me into pieces and bury me in the woods, are you?" Noah asked in that weird, deadpan voice of his. As if Ethan said, 'Yeah, that's the plan,' he'd just shrug his shoulders and go with something like, 'Ah. Cool, I guess.' Whatever the hell that mood was, Ethan needed to pull him out of it. Fast.
"No. I need you alive."
"That's comforting," Noah mumbled.
"So... is the Eye on me right now?" Ethan asked out of nowhere. "Since it's dialed up, maybe—"
"No," Noah shook his head. "You're still perfect," he said, not even trying to sound funny. He tacked on a faint smile, like it physically hurt to do it. Yeah. This time the bully's offense had landed deep.
Ethan figured Noah didn't need more words right now, so they made the rest of the drive in silence with the soft hum of blues playing low in the background. Morgan was lost in thought and only snapped out of it when the car rolled through the gate into a private parking lot. His head started turning instinctively, taking in their surroundings. Each car here had its own little "stall," which was not quite fully enclosed but just enough to block the plates from view. The lot was nearly empty. There were just three other cars besides Ethan's. Still, Noah's eyes clocked the layout in seconds—the stalls weren't just for looks, and the number of surveillance cameras wasn't a coincidence either.
"This place is weird," he muttered when they reached the front door, above which a red neon sign quietly buzzed: Dominion. If they had pulled up there at night, Noah might've guessed what kind of place this was a whole lot sooner. But in broad daylight, the sign didn't exactly scream anything specific.
"Is this a club or something?"
"Among other things, yeah," Ethan nodded, pushing the door open and stepping into a cool, dim hallway. Low lighting, red velvet walls, and curtains made of clinking black glass beads landed the vibe inside immediately. The decor oozed ambiance, and the black-and-white photos on the walls—tasteful, provocative, and very clear in intent—removed any last trace of ambiguity.
"E-E-Ethan?!" The sound of Noah's tight voice broke the silence. Besides, Morgan even grabbed onto Ethan's hoodie's sleeve. "Where the hell did you bring me?!"
Bingo. The goal was achieved. Right now, staring at a photo of a girl in a latex bodysuit, bare-chested with a gag in her mouth, Noah was definitely not thinking about his stalker at last.
"Is this a BDSM club?!"
"Not just that. Not exactly. How do I explain…" Ethan tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "They do host 'parties,' sure. But more importantly, they offer a wide selection of private rooms for private sessions."
"Private sessions," Noah echoed under his breath. "Ethan, I'm not sure that BDSM is really… my thing."
"You know I'd never do anything to you that you wouldn't like, don't you?" Ethan asked, calm and steady, looking him right in the eyes.
"I know," Noah said instantly.
"Then relax," Ethan said with a smile. He gently took Noah by the wrist and led him forward through another curtain of beads as they approached the front desk. A tall, poised, middle-aged woman was waiting behind the long counter in the semi-dark. Her tightly fitted leather blazer, pencil skirt, and high heels made it pretty clear which kind of role she preferred to play.
"Good afternoon. I have a reservation for room twenty-two," Ethan said. She nodded and moved slowly to a board of hooks where all the room keys hung. But instead of handing them the key, she returned and laid two sheets of paper on the counter. This part Ethan hadn't expected, though the documents made perfect sense once he scanned through them.
"I confirm that I'm not under the influence of drugs or alcohol?" Noah read aloud, puzzled.
"Drunk people aren't allowed in. Makes the play too risky."
"What if I have been drinking but check the box that says I haven't?"
"Then that's on your conscience. And also on me," Ethan said, frowning slightly. "Have you been drinking?"
"No."
"Good," Thomson nodded and went back to reading through the rules. Once he'd checked every box and signed at the bottom, he handed the form back to the woman. She gave him a brief nod but didn't hand over the key. She was clearly waiting for Noah to fill out his copy. While Morgan was reading each line, his expression grew more and more baffled.
"Please confirm that everything taking place in the room is fully consensual?" he muttered, frowning.
"Does it surprise you?" the woman asked with a slight frown. "Did you give your full consent to come in here?"
"Excuse me? Oh! Yes, I just…"
"It's his first time," Ethan said calmly—opting not to mention that it was his first time too. "Everything you're reading is part of RACK—Risk-Aware Consensual Kink," he added in a quiet voice near Noah's ear. "Clubs like this run on three core principles: safe, sane, and consensual. You're confirming that you're here voluntarily, that you understand what you're agreeing to, and that you know how important safety is in everything that happens."
"Ah, I see," the woman nodded, catching only the part about it being his first time. After that, she said nothing else. She just watched Noah carefully, waiting, until he finally handed over the signed form. Only then did the key marked with a red tag land in Ethan's palm.
"Thanks," Thomson said, and after getting brief directions to their room, he grabbed the large duffel bag over his shoulder and started off confidently down the hall. Noah still looked completely lost.
"What exactly surprised you about the rules?" Ethan asked as they turned into a dimly lit hallway.
"I just didn't realize BDSM was so... regulated! I mean, it's a good thing! Everything's about safety, which is awesome. But I always pictured this world a little differently. More like... cruelty. Blood. Tor—ture," Noah said as he stopped in front of one of the black-and-white photos. It showed a man in a full latex dog suit sitting obediently at the feet of a busty domme. "There are things I just... have a hard time wrapping my head around," he added quietly, as if afraid someone might overhear and throw him out on the spot.
"No one's asking you to understand it all," Ethan said, unlocking their room and holding the door open for him. Morgan stepped inside and then stepped back immediately, but he didn't have a chance to run away. Ethan shut the door behind them, locked it with a soft click, and slipped the key into the pocket of his jeans.
"Okay. I trust you without question, but I'm still kind of scared," Noah admitted, eyeing the contents of the room—too many of which looked uncomfortably like torture devices.
"Easy, Morgan. The only reason I booked this room is for that," Ethan said, walking to the center and pointing up at the thick steel ring embedded in the ceiling. Morgan stared at it for a good half-minute.
"That's... is that what I think it is?" he asked, his voice just a little shaky.
"I don't know what you're thinking."
"You want to... I mean... tie me and hang me up there?"
"That is exactly what you're thinking," Ethan confirmed, dropping the duffel bag onto the floor. "I want you. And I want to tie you and hang you up there."
"Do you think you can actually pull that off?" Noah asked uncertainly, still processing the layered meaning in Ethan's answer.
"Well, we're about to find out."
"You realize you'd have to lift me off the ground, right? Are you sure you—"
"Morgan, you're a fragile little princess. If there's anyone I can lift, it's you," Ethan snorted, pulling off his hoodie. Today, his usual run of black T-shirts had been replaced with a stark white one. After a moment's thought, he decided to keep the fingerless leather gloves but ditched the mask.
"Do you really think that's gonna help me relax?" Noah's voice came muffled from somewhere behind him.
"Positive," Ethan replied. "Especially if you imagine it's not rope tying you up," he added with a sly grin, unzipping the bag and laying out its contents on a small round table. Ethan's gear included several neatly coiled lengths of pre-treated rope. Oil. A tablet. A knife. A Polaroid camera. And a dark blue bundle.
"What's the knife for?" Noah asked, his voice sounding just husky enough to send a chill crawling up the back of Ethan's neck.
"In case I tie something too tight and need to cut the ropes fast. It's better to cut through than try to loosen with knots and risk hurting you," Ethan replied. "And just so we're clear—I'm saying this out loud for the record: Morgan, I've never done this kind of tie before. I'll do my best to be careful, but I can't rule out mistakes. If anything feels off, you tell me immediately. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Immediately."
"Yeah."
"No suffering in silence on my account."
"I got it, I got it," Noah said, waving him off. He didn't seem to take it quite as seriously as Ethan would've liked—but that was fine. They'd get there.
"If you got it, then take your clothes off," Thomson said, handing him the bundle.
There was no embarrassed mumbling coming from Morgan this time. Just the soft rustle of paper being unwrapped.
"Whoa-ho-ho!" he blurted with genuine delight. "Where did you find this?" It was a men's kimono in a deep, rich navy, paired with a narrow, light-gray sash.
"Online shopping works miracles," Ethan said, already pulling up a tutorial on his tablet. This bondage, unlike the others he'd practiced, wasn't one he trusted himself to wing from memory. He'd watched the video enough times to have the basic flow down but still decided not to risk with it.
Noah started undressing. Ethan only looked back up when Noah, now turned away from him, slipped the dark fabric over his shoulders. For the briefest second, Ethan caught a glimpse of pale skin across his back and the edge of his underwear.
Nope. It's not going to work.
Ethan frowned.
While Noah was struggling to figure out how to wrap the kimono properly, Ethan stepped in quietly from behind.
"First of all, the left side goes over the right. You've got it the other way around," he said softly. "That's how you tie a kimono on a corpse."
Morgan let out a quiet "Oh—" and started fixing the wrap. But before he could finish adjusting the fabric, Ethan slipped his hands under the soft, rustling material.
"And second of all," he murmured from behind, "when I said get undressed, I meant everything." With that, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Noah's underwear and slowly slid them all the way down to his ankles. The briefs matched the kimono almost perfectly—deep navy, patterned with tiny constellations.
"Is that really necessary?" Noah asked, his voice just barely unsteady.
"Yeah," Ethan nodded.
Not really. It was just Thomson's wish and nothing else.
"The fabric feels amazing," Noah mumbled, clearly trying to change the subject. "What is this?"
"Pure silk."
"Oh my God, how much did you spend on it?" Noah reacted just as expected.
Way less than what I wanted to spend on you.
"Are you ready?" Ethan asked, picking up the first coil of rope. He didn't answer the question about the price.
Noah gave a small nod, one hand instinctively holding the front of the kimono closed below his waist—probably worried it might fall open by accident. Ethan had to bite back a wicked grin. Nudity was kind of the whole point today.
He rewatched the first segment of the video just to be safe, then moved closer.
"It's gonna be great," he promised, sensing Noah's nerves. "Or as Andrea would say—'it's gonna be sick!'" he added, mimicking Noah's best friend dramatically. Noah blinked, caught off guard by the impression—then burst out laughing.
"You never stop surprising me," he said, visibly more at ease. Perfect.
Ethan folded the rope in half, then looped it around Noah's torso just under his chest, threading both ends through the center loop he formed along Noah's spine. He pulled them snug, then looped the ends back in the opposite direction, reinforcing the tie with another wrap and locking it into a new knot just beneath the first. From the front, it now looked like four tight, parallel cords encircling Noah's chest.
The extra wraps weren't just for aesthetics—they were to help distribute pressure evenly and keep him from bruising after being hung up under the ceiling.
"Spread your arms," Ethan said gently, lining things up. The silk kept slipping—too smooth to hold the rope in place without extra effort. Or maybe it wasn't the fabric. Maybe it was how hard his hands were shaking. Or the rush of anticipation. Please let this go right!
The next two wraps of rope spanned Morgan's chest. The treated cord lay flat and even, hugging the fabric snugly. Where the silk gathered under pressure, it folded into elegant pleats that shimmered gently in the soft light of the room. A hint of citrus that was coming from the rope tickled his nose.
Ethan slipped two fingers beneath the ropes, feeling the heat of Noah's body through the thin, natural fabric. Then, holding the trailing rope between his index and middle fingers like he was holding scissors, he drew it upward in a smooth arc, tying a wide knot that fixed the structure even tighter.
Satisfied with the result, Ethan hesitated a moment, deciding which shoulder to move first—left or right. In the end, he went with Noah's right, slinging the rope across it and drawing it down to connect with the lower wraps. The almost-nine-yard rope ran out.
"That's it?" Noah asked, surprised.
"Nope. This pattern uses several coils. If I tried doing the whole thing with one monster-length rope, I'd lose my mind threading it through every loop just to make a single knot," Thomson explained as he released the next length. He tied a soft knot at the base of a new loop, threaded the ends of the previous rope through it, and then pulled tight—turning the fresh coil into a seamless continuation of the last.
"How does it feel?" Ethan asked. He didn't really want to break the silence—something about it just fit the atmosphere. But silence unsettled Noah, and what he needed right now was to relax.
"Fine."
"Well, that's a boring answer," Ethan remarked, moving in front of Noah. He passed the rope through the lower wrap again, then worked upward, tying a new knot just under the upper cords.
"You get a boring answer because that's how it feels," Morgan snapped back.
"Ohhh, someone's getting bored?" Ethan grinned. "Do you want me to make things a little more interesting?"
Of course he did.
5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah didn't even try to keep track of what Ethan was doing.
'Do whatever you want', he thought numbly, drifting inside an emotional vacuum that wouldn't let him fully sink into the moment. The dim lighting, the strange gear scattered around the room, the air thick with unconventional want—it all faded into background noise. He was trapped in his own private torture chamber of thought. Over and over, his brain circled back to the same conclusions: that everything that had happened was his fault… and that his grandmother didn't deserve any of it. Then the spiral turned again, dragging him right back to the possibility that the person who'd visited her might return to the retirement home. And that thought swallowed him whole. Noah was terrified.
"Do you want me to make things a little more interesting?"
Noah was about to let out a quiet snort but didn't get the chance. Thomson gave his left nipple a sharp pinch, right through the cool silk of the kimono.
"Ow! Are you out of your mind?!" Noah yelped, more from surprise than pain.
"You're not here," Ethan said, flicking him lightly on the forehead. "And it's pissing me off."
"Oh, well, excuse me for not being able to—"
"One more word in that tone," Ethan cut him short, and just like magic, a new object appeared in his hand. It was something that looked a lot like a paddle, complete with a handle, only this one was finished in leather. Its purpose in this context was pretty damn clear.
"My hands aren't even tied. You really think I'd let you?" Morgan grinned. He knew Ethan wouldn't actually hit him. This was just their usual back-and-forth.
"Oh, you want to pit yourself against me?" Ethan shot back, smacking the leather against his palm with a loud sound. Noah should've flinched. Instead, to his own horror, he flushed to the tips of his ears. The sound had a bite to it—and so did the image of Ethan, brimming with confidence and raw, easy strength. There was a glint of mischief in Thomson's eyes, not cruel, but charged with possibility. Like he'd push their already strange dynamic as far as it could go—and twist himself inside out if that's what it took to drag Morgan into some blissed-out high.
And still, Noah managed a quiet, "No."
"No, it is, then," Ethan said without missing a beat. He tossed the paddle aside and returned to the ropes. "In that case, I'll have to pull you back into our date the tried-and-true way," he added casually—and flicked a fingertip across Noah's nipple again.
"W-wait, is it a date?" Morgan blinked, watching as Ethan tied off a set of knots across his chest. The word had a stronger effect on him than any of the touches.
"What else would you call it?"
"I-I-I don't know; I hadn't really thought about it..." Noah stuttered.
"Well, think about it now," Thomson said, slipping around behind him again. He kept working in silence, glancing now and then at the muted video still playing on his tablet. A few times, he muttered under his breath and undid part of the pattern before starting over. Noah stayed quiet, chewing on what he'd just heard.
A date.
A date?
A date!
"The first part's done!" Ethan announced, visibly thrilled. "Does it hurt anywhere?" he asked, grinning wide. For the first time, Noah caught himself thinking he'd never seen Ethan look this openly happy.
"No, it's all good," he mumbled, still slightly dazed, his eyes stuck on Thomson's smile. Ethan looked more and more like a kid who'd just been handed a toy he had been dreaming about.
And apparently, that toy is me, huh?
"Awesome. Do you want to see what your back looks like right now?"
Noah was in one of those moods where he couldn't care less what his back looked like. But looking into Ethan's glowing eyes, he just nodded. Thomson snapped a Polaroid and showed him the slowly developing photo.
"Whoa. Wow. That looks… complicated," Noah said, fishing for the right word.
"Oh, we're just getting started!"
Ethan played the video again; his gaze was glued to the screen with laser focus. Noah stood awkwardly, fidgeting in place. With nothing better to do, he lifted his right arm and examined the wide kimono sleeve. The deep navy fabric shimmered in the soft light, and now he noticed a subtle wave pattern on the silk—something he hadn't caught before. The sight warmed him. Not because of the beauty of the pattern, though it was gorgeous, but because it hit him that Ethan had picked this kimono with care, probably thinking over what Noah would actually like.
Morgan could almost picture Ethan sitting for hours in some online store, scanning through kimono options with the same intense concentration he was giving the shibari video right now, seriously weighing every option, trying to figure out what Noah would fall for. The thought was ridiculously sweet and didn't quite line up with the usual image of sarcastic, sharp-tongued Thomson, who'd bite the head off anyone reckless enough to throw an unwanted comment his way.
Ethan picked up a new coil of rope and crouched down in front of Noah. In response to the unspoken question on Noah's face, he explained:
"This part's called the hip holster."
That meant nothing to Noah. He just watched as Ethan looped the rope around him, higher up on his thighs. After tying an elaborate knot on the left side, Ethan tugged the rope down, hiked up his kimono familiarly, and wrapped the next loop just above Noah's left knee. Then he got to work building a structure of turns and crossings that ran parallel along the outside of his leg. Noah kept fussing with the fabric, trying to smooth the soft folds gathering at his hip. Once Ethan finished with the left leg, he moved on to the right.
"Why did I even bother putting this on if you're just gonna keep raising it up?" Noah protested, flinching slightly when Ethan's hand grazed the inside of his thigh during one of the passes accidentally (was it truly accidental?).
"It's gonna look amazing in a bondage," Ethan announced in a flat tone, while still being fully focused on the ropework.
"I sure hope so… because right now I just feel ridiculous."
Once again today, Ethan completely ignored the comment. After finishing the leg bindings, he stepped back and gave his handiwork a long, appraising look. Judging by the satisfied expression on his face, ridiculous was not what Thomson was seeing.
"And now for the fun part," he declared, grabbing a fresh coil of rope. His eyes were practically glowing. A chill ran down Noah's spine.
Thomson tied the new rope to the one running down Noah's left leg, then looked up at the ceiling ring.
"Fuck," he muttered suddenly.
"What?"
"It's moments like this when I really hate my height," Thomson said, dragging over a chair with leather cuffs bolted onto the armrests.
"Don't say a word," he warned, dead serious, as he climbed up on the chair—barely managing to reach the ring above. Looping the rope through it, he dropped back down and got to work again behind Noah's back. All in all, he had to climb up there four times. By the last round, Noah was barely holding it in not to laugh. He might've covered his mouth, but both of his wrists were already tied off with two new ropes. Then Thomson handed him an instruction to grab the ring. (Unlike Ethan, Morgan could actually reach it.) After getting the rope through the loop, Ethan threaded the bondage and then secured the knots around Morgan's ankles—effectively tying his left wrist to his left ankle and his right to his right.
"What's so funny?" Ethan asked with a frown.
"Nothing," Noah said—though the grin stretching across his face betrayed him.
"I'll go ahead and assume you're picturing the tentacles instead of rope and not laughing at me climbing around like an idiot?"
Morgan couldn't hold it any longer and broke into laughter.
"I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I'm sorry, but it really is kind of hilarious."
"Oh, shut up," Ethan snorted—and then, without warning, grabbed the ropes at Noah's ankles and pulled them up hard. Noah didn't even have time to scream, because suddenly he was hanging parallel to the floor. The ropes dug into his body with sharp precision. For a split second, he lost his breath. Every loop wrapped around him pulsed with sensation, hitting every last nerve ending like a wire. He honestly thought he might black out. And then… the tension gave way to something else. It was the sense of weightlessness. Noah twitched instinctively, and his whole body responded—it shifted, swayed. The ring above him, he realized, could spin.
"This suspension is called The Marionette," Ethan said. "Grab the ropes tight." Noah obeyed, tightening his grip around the cords. "Now pull down. Hard."
"What for?"
"Just pull."
Noah let out a shaky breath and did as he was told. It was harder than expected, but once he managed enough force, his body swung downward—and suddenly he was hanging upside down, head toward the floor. The hem of the kimono raised up his thighs, baring his legs.
"Hey! That's cheating!"
"Relax. Everything truly precious is still out of sight," Ethan smiled, crouching in front of him to meet his eyes. "How does it feel?"
"I don't know!" Noah burst out. He genuinely didn't. There was no clear way to name the storm inside him—a venomous rush of fear, arousal, and pounding adrenaline.
"Oh, that's way better than 'fine,'" Thomson noted. "Can I take a photo?"
Noah was already starting to drift. Whatever he was feeling was well beyond language. His whole body felt trapped. Every muscle pulled taut, every nerve stripped raw—as if the slightest touch to his skin would feel a lot more intense.
"Y-yeah," he murmured.
"Mind if I add a little flair for the shot?"
"Sure," Noah exhaled. It didn't even occur to him to ask what kind of flair Ethan had in mind—at least not until he felt something slick brush just above his ankle. Thomson, wearing a leather glove now glistening with body oil, gently ran his hand along the curve of Noah's calf, leaving a thin, glossy layer behind. To Noah's horror, a few drops of oil slipped down his leg—but thankfully, the rope around his thigh caught them just in time.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"The rope's already oiled," Ethan replied calmly. "And I'm not going to overdo it. I just want to give your skin a bit more shine." Ethan said as he slid his hand up toward Noah's thigh, just above the compression of the binding rope (or, in this position, down toward it). Morgan let out a strained whimper.
"You'll ruin the kimono," Noah gasped. A few stray drops of oil were making a treacherous path toward his groin—right to the most sensitive part of him.
"That's what dry cleaning is for," Ethan said matter-of-factly.
"What's the point of oiling up skin that's covered by clothes?" Noah asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Well…" Ethan leaned in closer. "Because I want to," he said, straightening up as he poured more of the thick, clear liquid into his palm. A cool hand slid up the inside of Noah's thigh. Another few drops trailed lower. Noah gasped, clutching the ropes so hard his wrists turned a bluish tint.
"I— I don't feel so good," he rasped. Thomson immediately brought him back to the upright position.
"Yeah, sorry. Not everyone enjoys being upside down."
That wasn't the problem!
Ethan didn't slip his hand beneath the kimono again. Calm and unhurried, he focused only on the exposed areas, spreading a light layer of oil over the bare skin. When he was done, he wiped his hands clean with a paper towel, picked up the Polaroid, and took a few shots. Noah just hung there, suspended parallel to the ground, trying to make sense of anything. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. It felt like all his senses had gone into overdrive.
… And on top of it all, he was aroused. Which kicked off a whole new wave of frantic thinking—mainly about how to keep Ethan from noticing.
Thomson set the camera down on the nearby round table, then walked a slow circle around him, double-checking each knot and brushing the oil-slicked skin with barely-there touches. Then, out of nowhere, he dropped down onto the floor—flat on his back—positioning himself directly beneath Noah.
"What are you doing?" Morgan asked in a whisper for some reason.
"I'm looking at you."
"Don't."
"Why not?"
"It's… embarrassing."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Ethan folded his arms behind his head, clearly settling in with no intention of moving.
"I might slip."
"I'll catch you."
"I meant fall. On you."
"I understand."
Noah tried to shift his position, but it just looked like he was flailing in zero gravity. Ethan didn't stop watching him for even a second.
"Have you pictured it yet?"
"Pictured what?"
"Wet tentacles wrapping around you."
"Ethan, stop."
"Slipping under your clothes."
"Shut up!"
"Caressing your skin…"
"Grrrgh!" Noah let out a desperate growl. "How long am I supposed to hang like this?"
"A while."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Nope."
"I swear I'll fall right on top of you," Noah threatened, gripping the ropes around his wrists. He meant he was going to put himself back into that inverted suspension.
"Go ahead."
"You think I won't?"
"I think you won't reach, dummy," Ethan replied with sarcasm, which, of course, only made Noah follow through. He pulled hard on the ropes, and his body swung until he was nearly vertical again—face-to-face with Ethan.
Well, indeed. He hadn't quite made it. Now his face hovered maybe four inches from Thomson's. Ethan didn't so much as blink.
"Told you."
"Oh, screw you!" Morgan snapped, realizing just how compromising his new position was.
"So," Ethan said smoothly, "what about that imagination of yours? Still stuck in neutral?"
"Ethan, why are you doing this?!"
"Doing what? Turning you on?"
"Ethan!"
"You're already worked up. It shows."
"So what?" Noah shot back, irritated.
"Nothing. Just stating the facts."
"Well, maybe instead of stating the facts, you could actually do something about it?" Noah snapped, surprising even himself with the boldness.
"Absolutely not," Ethan said, shaking his head. "I'm not laying a finger on you."
"Wh—What? Why the hell not?"
"Jerking off isn't the answer to everything," Ethan replied with a smirk. Noah's jaw clenched so hard it nearly cracked.
"You're awful!"
"And you're adorable," Ethan laughed, clearly enjoying the situation. He propped himself up on his elbows and brushed the barest kiss against Noah's lips—then just as quickly slipped out from under him and stood.
"I booked this room for a few hours. We've got plenty of time. Wanna try another bondage?"
I'm hanging upside down, can't feel my damn hands, and I've got a boner! He's absolutely screwing with me!
"How many of these ties are there, exactly?"
"At least as many as sex positions," Ethan tossed back casually. "I want to try every single one."
"Tie?"
"Everything."
Oh my God…
"Let's do a side suspension next. Do you think you can part your legs a little?"
"Ethan!"
"And who knows… maybe after that, I'll give you the reward you deserve."
"ETHAN!"
"Be a good boy, Morgan. We're just getting started."
Oh. My. God!