ofanotherera | lunch hour

lunch hour

Alfie makes a funny figure, walking through Tommy's pretty glass-walled building, along the marble lobby and towards the elevator that takes him up to the floor that houses the firm. He nods politely at the receptionist, who gestures for him to go on in. There are other delivery boys around, bringing quinoa salads and coffee with multi-syllabic names, but there is just one Alfie, with a few home made sandwiches and one thermos of soup.

He waits until the harried looking legal assistant leaves Tommy's office, and then catches the door before it can bang shut, and pokes his head in.

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"That, too. I meant- yesterday you asked, and I said yes. Will you always ask, or say-- from now on, this isn't just an interaction, this is kink?"

"That's something we decide."

He says, pleased he brought it up.

"It's yours to give. And it can be complicated to negotiate. Sometimes it's good to draw square lines about it, to keep the rest of our time safe from overtone. Sometimes it leaps out at you, and you find yourself somewhere innocuous and ready to just-"

He clears his throat.

"Well. What I mean is we'll have to learn, together."

He picks up Alfie's hand and kisses the knuckles, once, then draws his thumb over them.

"I'm new to this. A scarf around the wrists, telling someone not to come yet, a few slaps to my ass- that's all I know. I want to learn, but it'll take time."

Which they have, which he knows Alfie has to give. But he wants to make it clear regardless.

"If it helps, in some ways you've probably gone further than we'll likely go. Unless it's something you really enjoy, I won't tend to give you a slap on the ass."

He promises, with a little twinkle in his eye.

"It will be slow, because- what we're doing, we're building a new kind of intimacy. Yesterday just was wrists to wrists, bondage less restrictive than the bedposts. It was 'I want you to come,' not 'don't come yet.' But it's about a different kind of intensity, right? If I'm not wrong, it felt like more."

He bites his lip when he understands what Alfie is saying- right, exactly. Getting Alfie a drink and sitting at his feet felt more intense than getting his wrists bound, and when Alfie put the belt on him it wasn't anything like the last time.

"What makes it enjoyable for you?" Him, he gets: even outside of the sexual arousal, being cared for, letting go, putting himself in Alfie's hands- that's what did it.

"The sex is kicked up, in and of itself. You know-"

He knows Alfie, who on the average day leaves a gentle dusting of bruises carefully under Tommy's long sleeves, pressed suits, who is far gone when they're at their most ragged.

"But the rest- it's warmth. Authority, and palpable trust. It's a give and take. I like the service I get, and am happy to give the security in return."

He doesn't get it on a personal level, but when put like that it's easy to imagine it being true for Alfie. With the food gone, he feels comfortable enough to roll his chair closer to Alfie's, so that he can hold his hand, kiss his cheek, knock their knees together.

"Did you hope- imagine? That we'd share this?"

He reaches up, resting their foreheads together for a moment, clasping his shoulder.

"Not so explicitly."

He makes an inquisitive noise, rests his hand over the one on his shoulder.

"I knew we'd likely end up rough with one another. I knew I'd likely tie you down. It didn't click to me, to think of you in the context of service, until I saw the stress rolling off you, and then saw it melt when I took you by the neck."

He sighs happily, tugs on Alfie's fingers a little just so he has something to touch.

"And the community? Should I know something else, about what that means to you?"

He thinks about it, and shakes his head.

"I can bring you to see if you want, but I'm as happy staying out."

He shakes his head as well. Maybe someday, but now- "No. Just you."

He'd just needed to know if Alfie had been uncomfortable, if there is anything they should avoid.

"Good."

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, then reaching back for the bag. There are oatmeal cookies to be had; home baked.

"Mister Solomons," he chastises, but he takes a cookie. "Are you going to spend any time today working, or are you just pampering me?"

"I'm always ruined, the day after."

He confesses, with a very quick little smile, one of his more vulnerable ones.

"It happens to both sides. Bottoms, more often, but tops too- emotional swings in the hangover period. Me, I play, the next day I don't focus. And I end up fretting, making sure you know I'd never really hurt you."

He twitches a wry little smile, smoothed a thumb around that smile.

"No one has ever taken care of me like you." So he didn't hurt him, would never consider that. But he bites his cookie: he doesn't mind.

"I've been fucking high all day, Alfie. How much sleep did I get? Three hours? Last time I was this focused was two weeks ago."

"Three hours. So there's a crash coming."

He predicts, gently.

"Let me pick you up from work?"

"Hm. Yes, please." Dropping his hand to Alfie's shoulder, then his elbow.

"Good. I'm going to go catch a movie."

Is the thing he decides.

"I'll stay here and make some money, then," he says, but his grin is wide enough that it's clear he doesn't mean anything by it- as if it was ever about the money, for him.

"Breadwinner."

He says, and winks back, and that's trust for you. He gets to his feet, and heads on out, with their lunch things, and one last kiss.

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lunch hour

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