Drawn: A Hammer Novel Read online

  “Thanks.” He sat, stretched a little. “You have lots of friends here?”

  “I do. You will soon, too, I would hope.”

  “My life’s very busy.” He didn’t need many friends.

  “You can’t paint twenty-four-seven, G.” It was becoming a familiar refrain.

  “Silly man, of course I can.” He chuckled, winked across the table.

  “Well, yes. You can. That’s a lousy way to live, though.”

  “I’ve taken three whole days off. Almost four.”

  “Yes, well, considering how many of those paintings of yours wound up selling after opening night, I think you can afford to take a few days off.”

  He stuck his tongue out at Harrison. He’d talked to Marisa. Things had gone well, eventually. Harrison leaned in and snapped at his tongue. “Don’t stick that out unless you plan to use it.”

  “Maybe later.” He bit at Harrison’s fingers.

  “I’m counting on it.” Harrison turned as a little guy bounced over. “Ah, Happy. How are you this evening?”

  “I’m glorious, Sir!” The server beamed at Harrison, then him. “Hi! I’m Happy.”

  Giles chuckled softly. “You most certainly are.”

  “I think you served us the last time Giles and I came in.” Harrison gave him a warm smile. “So what are the specials today?”

  “Today there is a nummy chicken parm, there’s beef tips with risotto, and there are barbeque shrimp.”

  “That all sounds delicious. G? What appeals the most?”

  “The chicken, I think.”

  “And I’ll have the shrimps, please. We’ll share a bottle of house white with that.”

  “Yes, sir. Would you like salads?”

  Giles shook his head. He wouldn’t eat a quarter of the meal itself. Harrison had been feeding him for days.

  “We’ll save room for desserts.”

  “You will. Me, probably not.”

  “You will.” Harrison always sounded so confident when he said stuff.

  He rolled his eyes, chuckled, and the little Happy guy looked confused.

  “He’s new,” Harrison said, giving Happy a wink.

  “Oh... Oh, how exciting for both of you! Congratulations!” Happy bounced off and Giles watched. They did like new customers here.

  Harrison chuckled. “You look very bemused. You still don’t believe this is real, do you?”

  “This place? Sure. Obviously it’s real.”

  “I mean the whole BDSM thing. Subs and Doms. What we do.”

  “I... It’s a little weird, you have to admit.” A little unnerving.

  “It’s different. It isn’t weird.”

  “I’m not into it, though. That’s okay, right?” He needed Harrison a little.

  “Not into it... G, what do you think we’ve been doing?”

  He looked over at Harrison. “Loving each other. A lot.”

  Harrison took his hand and squeezed, smiling at him. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.” What did it matter if he didn’t think people really did leather and chains?

  “Okay, but it’s still real. We’re doing it. Everyone here is doing it.”

  He was beginning to believe they were talking in circles. “I’m not a sub, Harrison. I’m an artist.”

  “Being a sub isn’t your job, it’s who you are inside. You need the things I give you, G. I think I’ve more than proved that.” Harrison took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

  He chuckled but let it go. He was having too good a time to argue.

  “There’s a show tonight. A pretty boy is going to be tied to the St. Andrew’s cross on the stage and whipped.”

  His nose wrinkled and he pulled back from Harrison a little bit. “Whipped? Like, by a professional? Is there going to be a lot of blood?” He’d seen a lot of performance art -- a lot -- and it could get intense. Hell, it could get gross. If he was prepared for it, he could handle it, but it tended to make him nervous, blood flying around. Blood smelled bad.

  Harrison looked honestly surprised by his question. “Blood? No, not from a whipping. Certainly not from a demonstration by a man who knows what he’s doing.”

  He frowned. Well, that didn’t make any sense. The blood -- the marking of the ground, the walls, the sheets around -- that was usually the point. “Are you sure? That seems unusual.”

  “I’m absolutely sure. The master will want to mark his sub, to give the boy the pain he needs and wants. It’ll be intense, especially if it’s done by a committed pair, but it won’t be bloody.” Harrison shook his head, frowned. “What makes you think it’ll be bloody?”

  “I have to attend a lot of performances -- it’s expected. You know? If an artist invites you that you respect, you kind of have to. From what they’ve explained, the art’s in the blood. The sheets around the artist sell for a small fortune.”

  Harrison just stared at him for a long moment. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Well, of course. Bradley Mitchell, Anne Left, The Bob. They’re all acquaintances of mine. We were all there when Jaime Mars cut his hand off. It was...” Horrifying. Terrifying. Huge. “...intense.”

  Harrison took both his hands and held on, looked him in the eye. “What we -- the BDSM community -- do here is intense. Often very, very intense, which you’ve experienced firsthand with me. And pain is very often a part of it -- like it is with you and me. You need that intensity, the pain, to focus, to take you out of that part of your brain that would ask you to make that kind of sacrifice for your art.

  “But a good Dom will not draw blood unless it’s a part of the need of the sub -- and then it is most often done with a knife. No one loses any limbs. And whippings, floggings, spankings, all of it, is beautiful as well as intense. The marks that are left aren’t permanent, and looking after your sub -- your lover -- after you’re done, that’s just as important.”

  Giles looked away, uncomfortable and unnerved. Art, he understood. Art was his world, not anything else. He didn’t think he was big enough inside to do anything else.

  “G.” Harrison waited until he looked back. “You have to promise me that if you ever decide you have to do something like that, you’ll come talk to me first.”

  “Me?” Oh, God. No. No way. He. That. Whoa. Not hygienic. “No. No, I’m a painter. Not a performance artist. I just paint.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Very glad.”

  “Performance artists have a... hard gift. Very hard.” He shuddered, sighed, thinking of Jaime’s funeral, of how Brad spent hours in the hos... He stopped, looked at Harrison. “That’s not what the cutting’s about, you know that, right? It’s not about making art. I don’t want people to see that.”

  Harrison nodded. “I know. I just want you to always know that I know how to help you -- to give you what you need without you having to cut, to do it yourself. You remember that place you went to the other day? The peace? The cutting was about trying to get there. I have no idea if the cutting got you there or not, but I did. And I can. Every time you need it.”

  “The cutting was just to slow things down. Sometimes things get loud, big, you know? And I have to do something to make it quiet.”

  “Like I said, the place you went to the other day. It was quiet, peaceful, amazing. We call that subspace. There are some subs who can get there with a word from their master -- their Dom.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way. The men I know who can do it have been together for a good while and are very in tune with each other. It usually takes more effort, even for long-term couples. But most masters know how to get their subs there eventually.” Harrison leaned in and kissed him. “If you trust in it, it’s the most symbiotic, most rewarding relationship you’ll ever have.”

  He wasn’t sure about that. Hell, he was voted least likely to be in a relati
onship for any time at all.

  “One day you’ll trust me enough.”

  “I trust you. I sleep with you, don’t I?”

  “Yes. And you trusted me enough to let me put my hand inside you.” Harrison smiled. “And we got you to that place, didn’t we?”

  Giles twined his fingers with Harrison’s. “I’m not one hundred percent sure what that all was, but I know it was because of you. I know it helped.”

  “And we’ll do it again. And then again and again. I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to help you. We’re going to make a beautiful, wonderful life together.”

  “Promise?” He could believe in that, no matter about the rest at all.

  “Yes, Giles. I promise.”

  The lights went down, and Giles leaned into Harrison’s side. “That works for me.”

  End.