The Administration Series (268 page)

It annoyed him a little because he hated the uncertainty of not having a plan laid out ahead of him. Outside the game he'd got used to fucking with no rules years ago. Or almost. At least he could easily ignore the perfectly ridiculous twinges of unease it generated, the bizarre sense of danger he still sometimes felt when they were just being together and when, for a moment, it would be like walking on too-thin ice over deep, cold water. As long as he didn't think about it afterwards, which he never did, it was fine. The feeling would come and go, a hard, fast cramp of fear, and then he would forget it just as quickly.

The game usually felt safer than that. Today he'd set up what Warrick had wanted. What, in fact, he'd described in loving detail while Toreth had been fucking him into the very mattress they were now lying on, although in a different frame. It should be perfect, except that now they were here Warrick had promptly changed the script. Too late in the fucking day now the ropes were tied.

No, there really
was
nothing Toreth could do to —

Then, finally, he understood. Not whatever it was about the ropes that turned Warrick on — which was probably impossible — but that the ropes didn't
matter
, that at this moment they were absolutely not the point.

Relax, Warrick had said, but what he'd meant was surrender. Everything would be fine. In fact, everything would probably be absolutely fucking wonderful, but even if it wasn't, that wasn't Toreth's problem. Not his responsibility, not this time. Because, really, fucking wasn't so complicated that it needed two people in charge.

If there was one person in the world Toreth ought to be able to trust to do this, or anything else, properly, it was control-freak, perfectionist Warrick, who probably couldn't force himself to do less than his best with a gun on him.

So. Relax.

With the resolution made, it was easier to carry out than he'd expected. A lot of muscles he hadn't even noticed were tensed relaxed all together. His fingers ached from holding on to the bed, although he hadn't noticed until then, and taking the weight of his arms on the soft cotton rope around his wrists was actually a relief.

Warrick had had an idea once — more fantasy than serious intent — of making a Toreth-Yes in the sim. It had never gone beyond fantasy because he acknowledged that the concept was, frankly, deeply unhealthy. The corporate psychologists would not approve. But the one thing he'd most wanted to see, the one thing he would have happily spent hours working in the sim to create, was this.

Real surrender. Unspoken, implicit trust that was almost as much of a turn on as Toreth's closed eyes, the warm skin under Warrick's hands, the mouth open to his. He drank in the sight, touching Toreth gently, randomly, not quite believing the gift.

"Can you turn over?" Warrick asked.

"Mm-mh."

It took him a couple of tries, but Toreth managed it, ending up kneeling with his arms crossed. Warrick watched, not moving to help because Toreth looked so incredible — muscles sliding under his skin, so beautifully defined it was like looking at a computer generated image.

It's not real, he thought. The evening can't possibly be real. Maybe this is the sim.

Touching didn't actually prove anything about reality but he ran his hands slowly down Toreth's back. This time he didn't flinch away, didn't move at all, not even when Warrick trailed his fingertips lightly back up Toreth's sides. He simply waited, head bowed, breathing a little quickly, letting Warrick do whatever he wanted. Utterly perfect.

Now Toreth couldn't see him, Warrick allowed himself to smile, allowed himself to feel everything without reserve.

Now, they could begin.