G.G. gave Trevor another one of his careful studies. “DM?”
“Dungeon Master,” Trevor filled in.
G.G. arched an eyebrow.
Trevor wet his lips before opening his mouth to try again. “ADungeons and Dragons-type master, with an entirely distinct sort of dungeon from… other kinds of dungeons.” It occurred to him that G.G. had built additions to his house; therefore, there could be a dungeon only a few feet away from him, filled with whatever G.G. might be into.
They had leather demonstrations and scenes at certain bars and shops in the city, but Trevor had never had a chance to go to one. He mostly had porn and fanfiction to go on, and his brain shorted for a second at all the possibilities. He swallowed dryly and pressed on. “Thisdungeon, if the game being played has one, is on paper. With miniatures. And dice. And… party dip.” He swallowed again. “Miniatures are like statues or figurines to represent monsters and things like that.”
He wasn’t just a crap artist and inexperienced compared to G.G. He was also a geek who’d had one moment of sexiness and he’d destroyed it within minutes.
G.G.’s mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. Trevor would have accepted scorn, but this smile was gentle and felt like when Trevor’s niece handed him one of her prized stickers; not everybody got them, and it was rare enough to make Trevor feel special.
Miss Delilah jumped to the floor.
G.G. leaned back. “Yeah, you seemed a little too bossy to be interested in a master.”
Trevor hadn’t known G.G.couldbe direct. It was irritating that he was choosing to do it now. No, not irritating. Irksome. Chafing. And slightly embarrassing. G.G. had done it on purpose, as though he found Trevor amusing.
Trevor probably was. He frowned anyway.
“I suppose,” he began thoughtfully, not addressing the personal remark yet, “that a DM or game master, and another type of master can be similar. One involves more storytelling and dealing with a group, but both have to respond to what people want. They both involve some improv, I could say, although Sky would be indignant. Both are focused on the ultimate outcome, and providing a good time, and leading people gently, or not gently, to a satisfying ending. Which is good for me.” He stopped, but he’d already said it, so he continued. “It’s what I want. But I’ve never been sure about that term. I’m not a master, no offense to masters.” He met G.G.’s stare and had never been more grateful that he didn’t blush easily. “Dominating is technically correct. Sky usespushy, I think to make me feel better about it… or himself. He also usesconcerned, sometimes. Or my name, my real name, as a sort of title, to keep it discrete from day-to-day Trevor.” Not that Trevor was great at keeping them apart, as evidenced by his every interaction with G.G. “Sky’s very good at that, guessing what people want but letting them figure it out on their own. Instead of what I do. Which is probably why he’s a DM and I’m… pushy.”
Because he was already a joke, Trevor confessed the rest of the obvious truth. “Although I’ve never actually done anything serious. I’ve been bossy and forceful with people, but I’ve only really beenpushywith Sky.” So far, at least. “He bristles about calling me anything else… but he also does it on his own sometimes.”
Quiet, humiliated littleSirsthat Trevor had used to reward with kisses so Sky would know it was okay. The kind of thing he should have forced Sky to discuss when they weren’t playing, no matter how squirmy Sky got, but by the timeSirhad started to slip out Sky’s mouth, Sky had gotten the job offer and that had been that. They hadn’t played or anything like it for months after the move.
And now that Trevor had admitted to his limited experience and lack of cool dom appeal, he should hurry back to his grandmother’s house and his bedroom-slash-office and bury himself in sketches of horny dwarves and fairies.
“So you don’t like the master-slave dynamic.” G.G. didn’t ask it. He also didn’t move, watching Trevor with some lingering traces of color in his cheeks.
Trevor kept his frown. “No.” G.G. used directness like he used subject changes. But at the moment, Trevor wasn’t interested in why. “It doesn’t feel right, not for me. Like a misrepresentation. I’d probably look stupid in leather, but I don’t object to punishments or,” he wondered if it would be douchey to sayaccoutrements, “collars and toys and restraints. Some things I’m ambivalent towards. Others I like, or probably would like if I got a chance to.” He clenched his hands, then sighed and relaxed them. “It’s really only with Sky, who isn’t mine, not really anymore, so I can’t do what I could, or should. And then life,” and rampaging viruses, “kept me from exploring when I might have. So, it’s just what I do with him. Which is only when he needs….”
“Someone to take care of him?” G.G. finished softly. “Whatever that means for him.” He made a puzzled or unhappy face, then glanced away. “You must enjoy that.”
“I do,” Trevor answered, even though G.G. must think of him as young and dumb. Whatever Trevor had sussed out in the garden that morning didn’t really matter, since G.G. wouldn’t want Trevor fumbling around while figuring his shit out. Not that G.G. had ever once indicated that he might be interested in that, or Trevor.
Well, he had, in his way, but that didn’t mean a lot. Trevor had just briefly pushed his buttons. Despite that, G.G. had carefully admitted to nothing. Technically, he hadn’t even come out to Trevor. Yet he sat there, questioning Trevor about dungeons and… and… sitting there.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. G.G. was doing what Sky sometimes did, waiting for Trevor to do something but too embarrassed or uncertain about needing it to actually ask for it.
“Anyway,” Trevor said too loudly, bringing G.G.’s eyes back to him, “dinner goes in the oven. No using your left hand for anything strenuous.” That order had implications outside of dinner and he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was going to ask G.G. later if he’d beat off. But he thought G.G. wouldn’t, because he was a good boy. That could be a treat for himself; obeying Trevor’s orders in secret. “I do wrist and hand stretches, and I can probably find some information for different kinds of exercises for your injured hand for once the stitches have everything closed up. Unless the hospital already talked to you about that?” He paused. G.G. stared for a moment or two before shaking his head. Trevor nodded. “They’re overwhelmed right now. It is what it is. I can probably get you a good list of links and videos for exercises to keep things limber.” He would offer to send them to G.G.’s phone, but asking to exchange phone numbers was a firm boundary he didn’t think G.G. wanted crossed yet. “What skills are you worried about losing during recovery? What do you do?”
“I don’t do anything,” G.G. answered.
G.G. built garages and catios and possibly sex dungeons. But apparently, he didn’t consider that ‘anything.’
Trevor raised his head. “That did not answer my question.”
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” G.G. argued with his gaze steady on Trevor. His mouth was soft, his cheeks brushed with pink. He darted out his tongue to wet his lower lip.
Trevor went hot. He was being tested.
He mentally made the note:G.G. might like to be punished. Although he did not know yet what that would involve.
His voice stayed level and calm no matter how heated he was. “No, you don’t,” Trevor agreed. “But I can’t help you if you don’t let me know what you need, and I’d like to help you. If you could give me that, it would make me happy. If not, I will be disappointed.”
G.G. might not want to make Trevor happy. But he was still in his seat as though Trevor had ordered him to stay there. If G.G. wanted to know what Trevor did when disappointed, he’d have to ask. Or push back again.
