Excerpt from The New Dungeon, Dungeon series book 5
He wasn't quite asleep at a little after three in the afternoon when Thomas crawled into the bed and curled up around him. "Cry, mamá del gato, you'll feel better if you let it out."
The endearment was an insult, but an affectionate kind of insult. Zach was mama cat and Dare was kitten, and Zach wasn't sure if that made Thomas the alley cat or the panther or what. He snorted. Duh. The Tomcat, probably. He was so dense sometimes. "I can't cry. I don't cry. Not for them. I have to keep my distance or I can't do my job."
"But you all locked up, lover. I can feel how tense you are. Tight in this curled little ball. Hurt. You need to break this silly no crying rule."
Thomas' fingertips pressed into the muscles of Zach's back, digging hard through his thin t-shirt, kneading ten small circles, at first so focused that it was painful, and Zach groaned out loud, gripped the edge of the mattress on his side of the bed, and started to pull himself away.
"No, mama cat." Thomas said with a stern tone. "You get more comfortable, maybe, stretch out on your stomach. Otherwise, you be still for me."
There was a sudden tension then, maybe in the room, maybe in Thomas' voice, and it was a the command of a Dom to a sub. But Dare is the sub, said a little voice inside Zach, though he let himself think about it for a few seconds, how nice it would be to just shut off his brain and obey. And so he rolled to his stomach, stretched out his legs, and waited.
Thomas straddled Zach's hips and started on Zach's upper back again, his strong fingers insisting the tightness away. Zach closed his eyes and hummed a little as Thomas moved on to the muscles of his shoulders, and then that particularly pained area in between his shoulders and his neck. The massage was so painful right there that he cried out, didn't know if he could stand for Thomas to continue, but Thomas shushed him, ordered Zach to move his arms from folded beneath his head to straight along his sides, fingers pointed toward his toes, and kept on with the massage.
"I thought a massage was supposed to be relaxing," Zach said through gritted teeth. "It feels more like you're killing me."
"Oh, you a regular comedian, Zach," Thomas answered. "This is deep muscle work. It doesn't always feel good, no. But you be loose like an overcooked chili when I'm done."
By the time Dare got home from work, Zach was definitely loose, almost dozing. Dare's voice from the doorway was soft, questioning. "Zach? Are you okay?"
Zach opened his eyes.
Dare stood at the bedroom doorway, his suit coat over his arm, his crisp blue dress shirt wrinkled, his tie already loosened. He looked more rumpled than usual. And, well, he looked stressed. Or worried. Worried about Zach? Or worried about Zach and Thomas having been together without him?
"Not okay," Thomas answered before Zach could get words out. "I got his body relaxed, but his head's still locked up, spirit's still gone. Our mama cat's not right at all."
Dare dropped his suit jacket on the floor and crawled onto the bed, cuddling in so that Zach was now surrounded by his lovers. Dare stared into his eyes. "What can we do? How can we help?"
Zach shook his head, and closed his eyes, shutting Dare out, shutting both of them out. He didn't know. He needed, he needed… sleep, or food, or sex, or laughter. But he didn't feel like any of that. He didn't feel like moving. He felt empty. Or what Thomas said, locked up. Frozen. Yeah, Thomas was exactly right. He couldn’t think what to tell them, much less make his brain formulate sentences that he could spit out his mouth. He tried to think. Nothing. I don't know. I don't care. I can't… I don't know. There was just… nothing. Blank. "Make me…" he got that much out in words, then nothing else.
"I can make you," Thomas said, and his voice was so strong, so sure.
"Make you what?" That was Dare. "Dinner? A drink?"
Zach shook his head. My head. My heart. So empty. But he found the right words all of a sudden. "Make me feel something."
Everything happened in slow-motion, then. Thomas, tugging his hair, turning his head. "Open your eyes, Zach. Look at me."
"Do you mean it? You want me to make you feel something? I have a beautiful flogger here, and believe me, chico, I can make you feel it."
Was that what he was asking for? Physical pain? For Thomas to take him like Thomas took Dare, bring him to submission, bring him, maybe, to tears? "Will it help me?"
Thomas shrugged, but when he spoke, his voice had the confident rolling cadence of the Hispanic gangster-dominant Thomas had been playing when Zach and Dare first met him. Arrogant. Dangerous. "We haven't done this before. It might. I think it would be good for you, chico, mi novio, but what do I know? I'm just a kinky bastard, and we all be different. Dare loves the flogger, you might hate it. And you never wanted this from me."
"But you want to do it."
Zach held his breath, staring into Thomas' eyes. Yes, Thomas wanted to flog him. And order him to his knees. And bind him, and scare him, and push him, and dominate him. All of it. Zach knew it. Thomas never made any real secret of his wish for both Zach and Dare to submit to him. But Dare's the submissive one. Zach let that thought spin around in his head for a few seconds. And Dare liked it. And Zach liked watching it happen for Dare, liked how it made Dare's eyes soft and his cock hard, liked how being submissive made Dare able to relax and stop thinking and stop worrying so much.
"Do you want me to flog you, Zach? Yes or no?" The Hispanic playact was gone, and now it was a serious question.
Zach pulled his head away from Thomas so he could look at Dare. Would Dare see the question that Zach wanted, no, needed, to ask? He'd never know, not exactly, because the moment he turned his head, Dare's lips were pressed against his, and Dare's hand cupped his cheek, and the kiss was sweet and tender. As Dare pulled away, he whispered, "Thomas is good. Don't be afraid."