It had been a lovely surprise for Joe, when his old college friend Booker texted him that he had moved to the same city, and he invited Booker out for a few drinks to welcome him to town. Three beers in, they had regained all of their old camaraderie even though it had been nearly ten years and they had lost touch over the decade, and Joe had an arm slung loosely over Booker’s shoulder when all of a sudden something occurred to him.
He nudged Booker, lightly, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “So,” he asked. “You met anyone...special lately?” Booker knew immediately what Joe meant, of course—after too many late night confessions while they were roommates their last year of university, Joe knew about almost all of Booker’s kinks, and in return Booker knew way too much about Joe’s then-long distance boyfriend Nicky, who was a switch like himself. There was a surprising flash of sadness in Booker’s eyes, a genuine look of grief, and then he shook his head. “No, nobody,” he replied, sounding a little dejected, and, well, Joe couldn’t have that.
“Hey,” he murmured, slipping a business card into Booker’s shirt pocket and patting it a little sloppily. “My friend, Andy. She and her wife Quynh have a place, it’s a good place,” he insisted. “Andy and Quynh run a tight ship, a safe space that’s very welcoming. Give her a call if you want to stop by sometime, Nicky and I go every Thursday night and a number of our friends work there.”
Booker dialled the number a few days later in a fit of pique, and obviously hadn’t realised that Andy vetted everyone who came to the club, which turned out to be a mildly terrifying experience. She invited him to a cafe, sat outside with him, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. He felt like she was scrutinising every move he made, every tentative half-answer. She asked him seemingly innocuous questions about himself, then more personal things about what he was interested in—not the details, but trying to get a general sense. He squirmed under her gaze, equal parts terrified and turned on, and he had no remote idea what she thought of him, her face impassive, but the next day he had a text from Joe that was just a string of thumbs up emojis and then a follow up that said “Andy says you’re good people (obviously!) and that you should come by the club sometime sooooon.”
It took him a week to work up his courage to go, and he purposefully decided on Thursday night, when Joe had said that he would be there. It had been long enough since they had been out of touch that he didn’t know any of Joe’s friends except for Nicky (Booker hadn’t been surprised in the slightest that they were still together, now married for three years). Joe had tried to tell him about each of them, but Booker had been a bit overwhelmed and had forgotten some of the details. There was Nile, a baby Domme and killer bartender that Andy and Quynh had taken under their wing; there was Copley, who apparently had a career that nobody could talk about and liked to forget about the stress of his day job by getting whipped until he bled, and then there were a few more characters that Booker had forgotten. He hoped that they weren’t all as sexy and intimidating as Andy, or he felt like he would melt into a puddle by the end of the night.
Booker was so worried about showing up late that he showed up uncomfortably early, looking in despair around the nearly-empty club. He heard a soft chuckle from behind the bar, and looked over to see a young woman with a cute smile that he knew immediately would be Nile. “You’re the fresh blood, aren’t you?” She asked, leaning on her elbows on the bar. “Andy told me to look out for you.” He laughed, shrugging a little sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”
She grinned enigmatically. “I plead the fifth.” She quirked her head, as if trying to figure something out. “Your accent...French?” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well, monsieur, what can I get you?” She asked, and he thought to himself how cute she was before he pushed the thought away, forcefully. He didn’t need to alienate all of Joe’s friends right from the get-go. “Uh, a gin and tonic?” He ventured and she shook her head good-naturedly. “Only non-alcoholic drinks here, sorry. Andy’s rules.” She leaned over the bar a bit to whisper to him. “Privately, I can confess that Andy doesn’t always follow her own rules and sometimes she makes an exception for her friends too, but we’d better play it safe on your first night. I can mix something up that I think you’ll like if you like gin and tonics?” She suggested, quirking an eyebrow, and he nodded, looking around what he could see of the club while she mixed up his drink. There was what was clearly a main stage for floor shows, then a number of cozy nooks and crannies where people could be at least partially secluded and a hallway which he suspected led to private playrooms.
He couldn’t tell quite what she had mixed together, but it definitely had that combination of pleasant fizz and juniper berries that he enjoyed in a good gin and tonic, and he tipped his head, impressed. “This is delicious,” he thanked her. “How much do I owe you?” But she waved away his wallet, grinning as she spotted Joe and Nicky coming in. “I think we can afford to treat you on your first night here. Consider it a welcome gift, on the house.”
For all his anxiety, Booker needn’t have worried—he fit into their little group nicely. He had always liked Nicky when he would come visit them in college, Copley was sweet and eager to please, Nile was a ray of sunshine, and Andy and Quynh were terrifying but surprisingly friendly. He had never seen anything quite as hot in his entire life as when he would watch Andy, Quynh, or both pick a sub out of the crowd, take them up onto the main stage and break them apart piece by piece.
Booker secretly always wished that they would pick him, but he never made a move himself, not with them or any of their friends, too afraid that it would mess up their burgeoning friendship if a scene didn’t go well—or if it went too well and he started to develop feelings. He had no shortage of people ready to give him what he wanted, anyway—especially once it became known around the club for being willing to try pretty much anything. It wasn’t...well, it wasn’t the greatest feeling to know that he had developed a reputation as a wanton slut who would take any kind of pain and degradation without complaint, but, well, at least it meant that he had a scene partner every Thursday night, meant that for a few minutes he could get what he needed and quiet the constant roaring in his mind, the rush of grief and unwanted memories.
He was willing to do anything, would stammer out “green” even when he was in agony and hating himself, but he usually asked for one of the private rooms. Bad enough he had to know the desperation he was capable of, he didn’t want his new friends to have to see it too. He caught a glimpse of pity or concern anyway sometimes, usually from Andy, when he would come back from a scene to curl up bonelessly on a plush velvet bench next to the others, usually still bleeding or covered in someone’s cooling release underneath his loose clothing.
It was going well, he thought, and if he wasn’t happy—wasn’t sure he could ever be happy again—he at least felt a little more settled, between his new friends and his Thursday nights filled with pain.
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timeasmymeasure
Booker/Nile, Booker & Team, BDSM Club AU (1/?)
Date: 2020-10-11 04:11 pm (UTC)Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3653.html?thread=998981#cmt998981
——————————
It had been a lovely surprise for Joe, when his old college friend Booker texted him that he had moved to the same city, and he invited Booker out for a few drinks to welcome him to town. Three beers in, they had regained all of their old camaraderie even though it had been nearly ten years and they had lost touch over the decade, and Joe had an arm slung loosely over Booker’s shoulder when all of a sudden something occurred to him.
He nudged Booker, lightly, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “So,” he asked. “You met anyone...special lately?” Booker knew immediately what Joe meant, of course—after too many late night confessions while they were roommates their last year of university, Joe knew about almost all of Booker’s kinks, and in return Booker knew way too much about Joe’s then-long distance boyfriend Nicky, who was a switch like himself. There was a surprising flash of sadness in Booker’s eyes, a genuine look of grief, and then he shook his head. “No, nobody,” he replied, sounding a little dejected, and, well, Joe couldn’t have that.
“Hey,” he murmured, slipping a business card into Booker’s shirt pocket and patting it a little sloppily. “My friend, Andy. She and her wife Quynh have a place, it’s a good place,” he insisted. “Andy and Quynh run a tight ship, a safe space that’s very welcoming. Give her a call if you want to stop by sometime, Nicky and I go every Thursday night and a number of our friends work there.”
Booker dialled the number a few days later in a fit of pique, and obviously hadn’t realised that Andy vetted everyone who came to the club, which turned out to be a mildly terrifying experience. She invited him to a cafe, sat outside with him, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. He felt like she was scrutinising every move he made, every tentative half-answer. She asked him seemingly innocuous questions about himself, then more personal things about what he was interested in—not the details, but trying to get a general sense. He squirmed under her gaze, equal parts terrified and turned on, and he had no remote idea what she thought of him, her face impassive, but the next day he had a text from Joe that was just a string of thumbs up emojis and then a follow up that said “Andy says you’re good people (obviously!) and that you should come by the club sometime sooooon.”
It took him a week to work up his courage to go, and he purposefully decided on Thursday night, when Joe had said that he would be there. It had been long enough since they had been out of touch that he didn’t know any of Joe’s friends except for Nicky (Booker hadn’t been surprised in the slightest that they were still together, now married for three years). Joe had tried to tell him about each of them, but Booker had been a bit overwhelmed and had forgotten some of the details. There was Nile, a baby Domme and killer bartender that Andy and Quynh had taken under their wing; there was Copley, who apparently had a career that nobody could talk about and liked to forget about the stress of his day job by getting whipped until he bled, and then there were a few more characters that Booker had forgotten. He hoped that they weren’t all as sexy and intimidating as Andy, or he felt like he would melt into a puddle by the end of the night.
Booker was so worried about showing up late that he showed up uncomfortably early, looking in despair around the nearly-empty club. He heard a soft chuckle from behind the bar, and looked over to see a young woman with a cute smile that he knew immediately would be Nile. “You’re the fresh blood, aren’t you?” She asked, leaning on her elbows on the bar. “Andy told me to look out for you.” He laughed, shrugging a little sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”
She grinned enigmatically. “I plead the fifth.” She quirked her head, as if trying to figure something out. “Your accent...French?” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well, monsieur, what can I get you?” She asked, and he thought to himself how cute she was before he pushed the thought away, forcefully. He didn’t need to alienate all of Joe’s friends right from the get-go. “Uh, a gin and tonic?” He ventured and she shook her head good-naturedly. “Only non-alcoholic drinks here, sorry. Andy’s rules.” She leaned over the bar a bit to whisper to him. “Privately, I can confess that Andy doesn’t always follow her own rules and sometimes she makes an exception for her friends too, but we’d better play it safe on your first night. I can mix something up that I think you’ll like if you like gin and tonics?” She suggested, quirking an eyebrow, and he nodded, looking around what he could see of the club while she mixed up his drink. There was what was clearly a main stage for floor shows, then a number of cozy nooks and crannies where people could be at least partially secluded and a hallway which he suspected led to private playrooms.
He couldn’t tell quite what she had mixed together, but it definitely had that combination of pleasant fizz and juniper berries that he enjoyed in a good gin and tonic, and he tipped his head, impressed. “This is delicious,” he thanked her. “How much do I owe you?” But she waved away his wallet, grinning as she spotted Joe and Nicky coming in. “I think we can afford to treat you on your first night here. Consider it a welcome gift, on the house.”
For all his anxiety, Booker needn’t have worried—he fit into their little group nicely. He had always liked Nicky when he would come visit them in college, Copley was sweet and eager to please, Nile was a ray of sunshine, and Andy and Quynh were terrifying but surprisingly friendly. He had never seen anything quite as hot in his entire life as when he would watch Andy, Quynh, or both pick a sub out of the crowd, take them up onto the main stage and break them apart piece by piece.
Booker secretly always wished that they would pick him, but he never made a move himself, not with them or any of their friends, too afraid that it would mess up their burgeoning friendship if a scene didn’t go well—or if it went too well and he started to develop feelings. He had no shortage of people ready to give him what he wanted, anyway—especially once it became known around the club for being willing to try pretty much anything. It wasn’t...well, it wasn’t the greatest feeling to know that he had developed a reputation as a wanton slut who would take any kind of pain and degradation without complaint, but, well, at least it meant that he had a scene partner every Thursday night, meant that for a few minutes he could get what he needed and quiet the constant roaring in his mind, the rush of grief and unwanted memories.
He was willing to do anything, would stammer out “green” even when he was in agony and hating himself, but he usually asked for one of the private rooms. Bad enough he had to know the desperation he was capable of, he didn’t want his new friends to have to see it too. He caught a glimpse of pity or concern anyway sometimes, usually from Andy, when he would come back from a scene to curl up bonelessly on a plush velvet bench next to the others, usually still bleeding or covered in someone’s cooling release underneath his loose clothing.
It was going well, he thought, and if he wasn’t happy—wasn’t sure he could ever be happy again—he at least felt a little more settled, between his new friends and his Thursday nights filled with pain.