He texted her a few days later to tell her yes. No matter what she said, he didn’t really believe that in two months of Thursdays she could free him of the guilt and angst he had been carrying around for years, but he was so tired of feeling so rotten that he was willing to try anything. Besides, he reasoned, it’s not as if whatever punishment she could cook up for him could possibly be worse than what he had voluntarily allowed people to do to him over the past weeks. Probably it wouldn’t help, he reasoned as he waited for her to reply, chewing on his thumbnail a bit nervously. But it couldn’t hurt either.
His phone rang, and he picked up before he could talk himself out of it. “Yes boss?” He answered, blushing a bit as he realised that he had let the nickname slip. He had heard Nile and Nicky call her that and it had sort of caught on with him, but he hadn’t said it out loud to her yet. If she noticed, she was kind enough not to say anything. “I’m glad that you’re willing to try,” she said. “We care about you, you know. All of us do,” and, well. He guessed at some level he knew that, knew they wouldn’t waste their time with him every week and occasionally more than once a week when they would meet up for dinner or drinks outside the club, but it still made his heart skip a beat to hear it. “And we all want to do what we can to help you, because we hate to see you hurting like this.”
“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, fighting down the urge to tell her how it was more than he deserved. “What do—what do I need to do?” She hummed, thinking. “Well, most things I’m going to take care of before I see you next Thursday, but I need to know your limits, both hard and soft.”
“I don’t have any,” he answered easily, and she couldn’t help a little sigh. “You know, I thought you might say that. Nile had an idea, actually, that she thought might help you articulate them,” and if Booker’s heart beat a little faster at the thought of Nile trying to think about what would be good for him, coming up with something to help him, well, nobody had to know about it. “I’m going to send you a sheet, okay, with a list of things. It’s the same one I normally use with people, where they can mark off what their kinks and limits are. Except that you get a special rule. I want you to mark a number between 1 and 5 down for every single thing on the list, where 1 is something that you would really rather not do and 5 is something that’s one of your favourites. And you must mark at least five things as a 1 and 5 things as a 2, understand?”
Booker wanted to protest, but he also wanted to start this off on a good foot, so he just nodded a little meekly, then realised she couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ll do my best.” That earned him a fond chuckle. “I know you will, Book,” Andy said, and her voice was so warm that Booker felt he could almost curl up into it.
“If you feel up to it,” she suggested, “I thought it might be nice to go do something fun tomorrow, all of us. We won’t talk about your form or any of this, just a friendly outing? It’s supposed to be nice weather,” and he knew what she was doing, she was trying to remind him that despite his confession, despite whatever she was going to do to him over the next two months, they were still friends first and foremost. He knew what she was doing, but he still appreciated it, and he had to pause for a moment before he could answer, a little choked up. “I would like that,” he replied carefully. “Just text me where to meet you.” “I will,” she replied. “And I’ll send you the form, can you fill it out and get it back to me by the end of the day?” He chewed his lip, nodding. “Yes bo—Andy,” he corrected swiftly, but not swiftly enough, because when she got off the line she added one last thing. “And Book? You can call me whatever you want,” she said gently, and he was glad that she couldn’t see him blush.
Filling out the form proved to be just as much a challenge as he had expected. He had it almost finished, then looked back at it and realised that he hadn’t marked anything as a 1 and only had a handful of 2s, and groaned, ripping the paper up and printing off a fresh copy to try again. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, trying to concentrate and think about what things Doms had tried that had made him feel even worse than his baseline misery.
The memories resurfaced, slowly, and he wrapped himself in a soft blanket as he shivered a bit involuntarily. Carefully, he started to pencil in things that he didn’t like, even writing some details next to the printed list to make it clearer what he didn’t like. Being left alone, especially if he was blindfolded, was a 1. Being called dirty names was a 2, fine in moderation, but he didn’t like it when it turned too mean and he didn’t like being called a whore. It was late in the night by the time he finished, and even harder than coming up with the 1s and 2s, somehow, had been coming up with the 5s. He felt almost embarrassed by them, how they were a strange mixture of hard kink (choking, knives) and sweet simple things (serving someone, being praised—that one he wrote 5++) but he told himself not to overthink it.
At the bottom of the page, right before he sent it back to Andy, he wrote, in slightly shaky letters, “I just want to be good.”
Booker/Nile, Booker & Team, BDSM Club AU (4/?)
His phone rang, and he picked up before he could talk himself out of it. “Yes boss?” He answered, blushing a bit as he realised that he had let the nickname slip. He had heard Nile and Nicky call her that and it had sort of caught on with him, but he hadn’t said it out loud to her yet. If she noticed, she was kind enough not to say anything. “I’m glad that you’re willing to try,” she said. “We care about you, you know. All of us do,” and, well. He guessed at some level he knew that, knew they wouldn’t waste their time with him every week and occasionally more than once a week when they would meet up for dinner or drinks outside the club, but it still made his heart skip a beat to hear it. “And we all want to do what we can to help you, because we hate to see you hurting like this.”
“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, fighting down the urge to tell her how it was more than he deserved. “What do—what do I need to do?” She hummed, thinking. “Well, most things I’m going to take care of before I see you next Thursday, but I need to know your limits, both hard and soft.”
“I don’t have any,” he answered easily, and she couldn’t help a little sigh. “You know, I thought you might say that. Nile had an idea, actually, that she thought might help you articulate them,” and if Booker’s heart beat a little faster at the thought of Nile trying to think about what would be good for him, coming up with something to help him, well, nobody had to know about it. “I’m going to send you a sheet, okay, with a list of things. It’s the same one I normally use with people, where they can mark off what their kinks and limits are. Except that you get a special rule. I want you to mark a number between 1 and 5 down for every single thing on the list, where 1 is something that you would really rather not do and 5 is something that’s one of your favourites. And you must mark at least five things as a 1 and 5 things as a 2, understand?”
Booker wanted to protest, but he also wanted to start this off on a good foot, so he just nodded a little meekly, then realised she couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ll do my best.” That earned him a fond chuckle. “I know you will, Book,” Andy said, and her voice was so warm that Booker felt he could almost curl up into it.
“If you feel up to it,” she suggested, “I thought it might be nice to go do something fun tomorrow, all of us. We won’t talk about your form or any of this, just a friendly outing? It’s supposed to be nice weather,” and he knew what she was doing, she was trying to remind him that despite his confession, despite whatever she was going to do to him over the next two months, they were still friends first and foremost. He knew what she was doing, but he still appreciated it, and he had to pause for a moment before he could answer, a little choked up. “I would like that,” he replied carefully. “Just text me where to meet you.” “I will,” she replied. “And I’ll send you the form, can you fill it out and get it back to me by the end of the day?” He chewed his lip, nodding. “Yes bo—Andy,” he corrected swiftly, but not swiftly enough, because when she got off the line she added one last thing. “And Book? You can call me whatever you want,” she said gently, and he was glad that she couldn’t see him blush.
Filling out the form proved to be just as much a challenge as he had expected. He had it almost finished, then looked back at it and realised that he hadn’t marked anything as a 1 and only had a handful of 2s, and groaned, ripping the paper up and printing off a fresh copy to try again. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, trying to concentrate and think about what things Doms had tried that had made him feel even worse than his baseline misery.
The memories resurfaced, slowly, and he wrapped himself in a soft blanket as he shivered a bit involuntarily. Carefully, he started to pencil in things that he didn’t like, even writing some details next to the printed list to make it clearer what he didn’t like. Being left alone, especially if he was blindfolded, was a 1. Being called dirty names was a 2, fine in moderation, but he didn’t like it when it turned too mean and he didn’t like being called a whore. It was late in the night by the time he finished, and even harder than coming up with the 1s and 2s, somehow, had been coming up with the 5s. He felt almost embarrassed by them, how they were a strange mixture of hard kink (choking, knives) and sweet simple things (serving someone, being praised—that one he wrote 5++) but he told himself not to overthink it.
At the bottom of the page, right before he sent it back to Andy, he wrote, in slightly shaky letters, “I just want to be good.”