For Elijah

[bleak_midwinter]

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[bleak_midwinter]

It isn't often that he's contacted by someone not an actual client, but it happens. Usually as a gag, which he's learned to see through and politely decline, or by the occasional partner who can't fulfill some fantasy.

A friend slash assistant, though? Not often. Not when it's an actual booking, with money paid up front, and the promise of a very nice tip if they hit it off. Nothing complicated, Chloe has assured him. Just some light domination, humiliation if he's into it. Nothing sexual. Chloe says the man likes to be... stepped on.

Well. Tommy's brought his nicest, shiniest shoes along for the occasion. Normally he'd visit the client, but this time he's waiting for him in a lovely hotel suite. He's wearing a dark suit, black shirt buttoned to the throat, no tie. His hair got buzzed yesterday, and he's wearing those shoes. A discreet black briefcase is resting against the armrest.

He's only gotten the client's first name, but that isn't unusual. He reads, while he waits.

[biocomposer]

Elijah doesn't discuss his private nuances with his employees as a matter of course, obviously. But Chloe is by no means just an employee; over time, she's become a confidant, a sounding board and - well - a best friend.

And yes, apparently, he would divulge certain interests while three whiskeys deep at the end of a viciously demanding project. (The stepping is mostly metaphorical, he told Chloe, gesturing with a crystal tumbler. Mostly.) He vaguely recalled the conversation the morning after, and assumed no more would ever be said of it.

And now his birthday's rolled around. Chloe usually gets him something nice, the kind of practical things he forgets to buy for himself - a decent razor, or a new pair of sneakers. Not, generally, a cab that's taking him to a hotel, and a keycard that sees him ascending to the penthouse suite.

His things were delivered in advance, she's told him. All he has to do is be there, and be casual, and so he's in nothing more complicated than jeans and a t-shirt.

If she were anyone else, he'd have refused all this nonsense point-blank, but. Best friend.

[bleak_midwinter]

When he hears the keycard in the reader, he gets up. The client likely doesn't really know what he's in for yet-- hasn't seen Tommy's photograph (black and white, dark, sharp sensual angles, bright eyes) yet, doesn't know what he provides. And if the man is a first-timer, he'll need reassurance.

He waits in the doorway from the hallway to the seating area. It really is a very large suite, complete with jacuzzi overlooking the city, stocked bar, pool table. He suspects they won't be using the majority of it. Once Elijah sees him, he gives the smallest smile, and asks: "Elijah?"

He might recognize him in a second, once the door has closed and Elijah's features aren't backlit.

[biocomposer]

"....Yes."

He's seen his fair share of handsome men in sharp suits, of course. Even fucked some of them, experiences which usually end up on a spectrum of 'fine' to 'bland'. But this man - more handsome than most, and sharper in himself somehow, never mind the suit - has an air about him which say that blandness isn't going to come into this.

Whatever it is.

He shuts the door.

"I'm afraid I'm coming to this with...limited information. What can I call you?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"You may call me Tom," he tells him, straightening up from where he'd been leaning against the doorpost. He steps forward now he sees Elijah isn't afraid, and holds out his hand.

He recognizes him. Fuck, you'd have to be blind not to. That's Elijah Kamski, and thank God that he's a good actor, because that's quite something. He doesn't show recognition, just a mild uptick of his eyebrow.

"It's nice to meet you. No traffic, I hope?"

[biocomposer]

Over the next week, Elijah finds himself thinking often about his...gift. About strong hands on his body, hurting him, tending up him - touching him. Even if that last part wanders into fantasy.

His feedback to Chloe is minimal, but extremely positive.

Two weeks later, en route from the airport back into London, he sends a text.

Tom? It's Elijah.

[bleak_midwinter]

He receives a reply twenty minutes later. Elijah, it's good to hear from you. How are you?

[biocomposer]

Very well, thank you. I've just returned from a conference in New York.

He's smiling at his phone, in spite of himself.

How are you?

[bleak_midwinter]

Ah, ready for a jetlag?

I'm alright. Bit of a slow week.

[bleak_midwinter]

They have a time, and a place- Saturday, seven p.m., Elijah's house. Tommy's assuming that Elijah is taking care of the food, so he's brought a bottle of wine (he can afford, luckily, to buy something nicer than a three-pound bottle) and his own shining personality. He's not a jeans man, but he's in slacks and a nice button-down, aware he'll probably still look overdressed next to Elijah.

He did have the expected freak-out about who the hell he's going to date, but remembering Elijah in the ropes, or coming for him from the needleplay, makes that anxiety die right down. Besides, he's had a busy week, with barely any time to start overthinking this.

[biocomposer]

Elijah has cleaning staff in weekly, and Chloe is here almost every weekday - but it's just him today, answering the door in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He's barefoot, and his hair is loose and a little damp as if he's recently showered.

If he's having any kind of freakout about dating, period - he is, a little - it doesn't show.

"Tommy. You're right on time."

[bleak_midwinter]

Overdressed-- but Elijah with his hair down and a little damp is just, well. Very nice.

"I aim to be. You look good."

[biocomposer]

"So do you. Come in. I ordered our food to arrive for quarter past," he says, ushering Tommy through to the living room. It's a large space, with a high ceiling and tall windows to get the most of the light.

"How was your week?"

[bleak_midwinter]

A week after that first heady date, Tommy gets hired by someone he comes to understand is also in tech- robotics, specifically. It's a coincidence that he privately remarks on, and then forgets about. Their first appointment is a little awkward on Tommy's end- he's wearing a mask given to him by the client and just has to berate him for a half hour while the man cleans his floor and weeps, occasionally stepping on him- but it isn't bad. And he gets asked to return in a few weeks, so apparently the feeling wasn't mutual.

His job isn't officially confidential, but there aren't many people who would be willing to talk about hiring a professional dom to step on them and call them names. So when Elijah's texts get shorter and shorter over the week after that appointment, he has no reason to connect the dots.

[biocomposer]

The thing is that even among competitors, gossip abounds. It only takes a few pay grades down from the top before people lose most sense of corporate loyalty - and PAs are notorious, in particular. Elijah knows that Chloe's lips are sealed, when it comes to him; she's the closest he'll ever have to a best friend. However, she's never seen a problem with passing on what she's heard from other people - for example, one of the small flock of PAs hired by a London roboticist, Sam Reyes.

Because he hasn't made her aware yet that their relationship has progressed beyond the professional, she sees no problem with telling him that a handsome young pro-dom from Birmingham has been engaged by one of his more annoying competitors.

He can't fault Chloe, but he wishes he didn't know. Thinking of Tommy putting his hands on that man, putting him on his knees, saying the same sorts of biting words, watching him get off - it makes his gorge rise. But then, how is it any better for him to ask Tommy for the exact same things - for money or not? For a weird, sickening moment he sees himself from the outside - the pathetic cliché of a powerful man who has to pay to give up that power just for an hour or two.

(Does Tommy know who this man is? That they have a professional relationship, of sorts? Elijah would have paid him double simply to turn him down-)

He can't help that his texts get shorter, and take longer to come, while he's tending to a downward spiral of shame and paranoia. Eventually they dry up altogether.

[bleak_midwinter]

Tommy spends his preciously spare free time looking at his phone and remembering their moments together so far-- wanting to kiss him from the first time he'd laid hands on him, the way Elijah flushes when he gets close to orgasm, the jokes he makes, the way his thighs had tensed under the rope. It feels like an endless expanse of memories, that at the same time should be getting fuller, not stagnating in size.

He isn't needy. He's in his thirties, for fuck's sake. He could fuck anyone. But he knows it wasn't just sex for Elijah. They have a connection, he'd explicitly said he didn't want to stop what was growing between them. The texts grow sparse, and then they stop, and Tommy... feels a little bereft. He feels silly for having put so much stock in their one date, and the time spent before that. He won't go begging for some rich man's attention, making Tommy the cliché, making Tommy helpless like he never wants to be.

Still. He still has Chloe's number. After a week of no contact at all, he sends her a quick, polite message, inquiring after Elijah's wellbeing under the guise of... professional care. Worried he might have overstepped and harmed Elijah. Is he okay?

[biocomposer]

Chloe calls him back an hour later.

"Mister Shelby? It's Chloe. I wasn't expecting your text."

[biocomposer]

Everything seems to go...well, even perfectly, for another couple of weeks.

Nothing at all comes of their outing, not a whisper on the gossip sites or social media, so they chance another - this time to a sushi place, small and exclusive, the kind which looks like nothing from the outside but inside features chefs with knives which could split an atom, doing incredible things with raw fish and authentic wasabi.

This time, Chloe alerts Elijah to a short story that makes it online by morning - famously reclusive tech millionaire Elijah Kamski spotted in Soho with mystery dinner date. They've been photographed leaving the restaurant, getting into a cab together, their body language and expressions all wrong for anything professional.

Elijah feels sick.

He drinks a glass of water, then goes back into his bedroom, where said dinner date is just about waking up.

[bleak_midwinter]

He's not really tuned in to gossip magazines or much social media at all, and isn't used to grabbing his phone first thing after waking up. He's still stretching, yawning- and turns to Elijah with a dopey little smile when he walks in.

"Morning."

[biocomposer]

"Good morning," Elijah says, and despite the churning in his stomach he can't help but mirror that smile. "Did you sleep well?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Like the dead," he tells him, pushing himself up, hearing something in his back pop. Last night was... athletic. "Yourself?"

[biocomposer]

For a few days, things seem like they might be...improving. The fact of a well-known technocrat having a boyfriend is simply not that interesting compared to other, more revealing scandals. The story is buried under more current affairs within a matter of days.

Then Tommy's occupation makes it to the press.

Either his previous clientele were too high-profile or too worried about backlash that none of them come forward; it's one of his former colleagues at the Birmingham dungeon who chooses to sell their story. Now the story is 'well-known technocrat dating professional dom' it is, of course, newsworthy.

Then someone tracks Arthur down at work and asks how he feels about a future brother-in-law.

It doesn't surprise Elijah that Tommy returns to Birmingham for whatever damage control he needs to undertake. It wouldn't surprise him, either, to learn that all but one of his graduate job offers are withdrawn due to his 'complicated position' - but he doesn't know that yet.

[bleak_midwinter]

It's blow after blow after blow. It's being outed in the news, which is embarrassing even though he's not ashamed of his profession, and then getting a call from Polly saying Arthur might have blabbed a little, and then the professional but curt e-mails from three companies while he's on the train up to Birmingham.

It feels like his life is slipping through his fingers. And now, away from Elijah, it becomes harder to remember what for. For- fucking someone he likes, for once? For what? Elijah's bound to bore of him at some point, is bound to want someone with some actual power of his own.

Everything Tommy's worked for. People keep finding his e-mail address and e-mailing him increasingly vicious messages. Ninety percent of his clientele has messaged him that they won't be needing their regular appointments. So now he has pretty much no prospects for after graduation, and he can't even fall back on his current job. What's left?

He knows he has to rally around his core, and that's his family. Polly asks him if it's worth it, and he thinks- likely not. Not when his whole livelihood and the happiness of his family is at stake. He sends Elijah a message before he leaves Birmingham, telling him they need to talk.

[biocomposer]

We need to talk.

Elijah knows his response to that shouldn't be nausea, but he feels his gorge rising all the same. How long a conversation is it going to be, he wonders. All the mockery and cruelty in the press is aimed at him, of course - the ridiculous cliché, the rich man paying to be degraded, even though nobody has any reason to think Elijah ever engaged him professionally - but that's not the point. People know who Tommy is and what he does.

Are they past the point of managing this?

He sends back a text that's more professional than affectionate, telling him he'll be home by 9PM and Tommy's welcome at any time.

It's not as if he anticipates getting much sleep tonight regardless.

[bleak_midwinter]

He's there a quarter past nine. He's sick with it, but the time has let him steel his resolve. It has to happen. His feelings for Elijah are not more important than his career or his family.

He rings the doorbell, dressed simply in dark jeans and a white t-shirt. We need to talk is never good. The expression on Tommy's face will just confirm it.