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[bodyoftheseus]

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Vince and Vincent somewhere quiet like an hour after sunset

[bodyoftheseus]

It felt like no matter how things went or how well Vincent was doing for himself it was only a matter of time before he felt himself stumble a few steps back. His mood always dipped and he pulled away from those he cared about and spent too much time in his head (which was, quite frankly, a dangerous place for him to be).

The question had surfaced in his thoughts and had sat like a boulder on his chest since it'd arrived. Surely Vince could feel it and had been waiting for Vincent to simply speak it and let it go. God knows why Vincent kept sitting on it and refused to speak it but he eventually sighed and let his hand rest on the beer bottle he'd been nursing, contemplating a drink.

"You got any regrets, Vince?" A pause, then he clarified and asked the real question on his mind. "Like, knowin' all you know, and livin' all you lived, would you go back and change anything?"

[disrupts]

Learning Vincent's ups and downs has been a labor of love for Vince. Knowing when the other man needs space versus when he just needs to be pulled into a hug hasn't been the smoothest of educations, but it doesn't matter. When all's said and done, Vince wouldn't choose to be anywhere else or with anybody else.

It's been days of something hanging over Vincent, and Vince has been biting his tongue, leaving plenty of space in conversations for the other man to fill when he's ready.

Which is apparently now.

Glancing over with a curious gaze, he takes his sweet time to think it over. Does he have regrets?

"Most people do, and I'm not sure the people who say they don't got regrets are on the level.

So, yeah, guess there's a few things I could label like that. But nothin' that would change things here and now.

Why'd ya ask?"

[bodyoftheseus]

Vincent glanced at Vince when he started to speak and it wasn't long before it was Vincent's turn to consider his answer. The tension in his body was already releasing. It didn't fully fade away but it really was a testament to how comfortable Vincent was around Vince. All the struggles were well worth it: Vincent trusted him with every fiber of his being.

"Yeah, think I gotta agree that anyone who don't got regrets isn't right," he admitted with a small, humorless chuckle. He paused long enough to sigh.

"Just curious, I guess. Been spending too much time in my head lately." He shrugged. "Been wondering what could've been."

He vocalized it in a way to try to brush it off and make light of the statement but it was pretty obvious that these what-ifs were what had been keeping Vincent up at night. For some reason, he'd started thinking about all of the misfortunes in his life and if only he could change something, save someone, stop that event. It had sunk its claws deep in him and had been slowly tearing him up.

[disrupts]

Shifting how he's sat, he purposely presses the length of his thigh against the side of Vincent's. A silent promise of support, of being present in this situation.

What Vince knows of Vincent's past is the small glimpses that the other man has allowed. And when they talk like this, sometimes he can see the energy and emotional fortitude it takes for the man to open up.

"Lotta wonderin'. Why'd ya think it's on your mind? Something happen?"

[bodyoftheseus]

Vincent glanced down at the touch. These little motions of affection from Vince still took him by surprise at times. He knew they shouldn't catch him off guard but even now he sometimes had to remind himself that it was a motion of affection and Vince cared for him and didn't want anything but to reassure him. His hand shifted from his bottle to rest gently on Vince's leg. His silent acceptance and his effort not to pull away.

"Turned 30 this year." He couldn't look up to meet Vince's gaze - not yet - but he watched himself gently rub Vince's leg with his thumb. "Already died twice. I shouldn't be here. I'm not sayin' that like my usual bullshit. I really shouldn't be here." He knew that Vince shouldn't be either but that was beside the point.

"Just makes me think what coulda been, you know? Like what would my life be if I could somehow go back and save my mom? Or what if I could..." He hesitated and his gaze lowered as he leaned forward and folded his hands together. "What if I could tell a younger me not to waste time on Gabriel? Or what if I could have managed to talk Jackie out of the heist?"

A random heist

[yondu]

One good heist and he'll have enough. He could afford a new Eclector, hire a whole new crew with out the history and baggage that burdened his old one. He could begin again, without being tied to bosses that he don't believe in and his life hanging by threads that don't matter much to other folks.

But he's only got the one guy what can help him. At least one he'd depend on not to skip out or turn on him, not that he'd admit that outright.

Everything about V's hardware's looked good compared to Yondu's hackjob mess. Someone did beautiful work putting that guy together, both the God that chiselled him out of stone and the tech designers that filed and polished it all. And here's Yondu, walking beside of him with his own nasty scalp scars and a face that looked like he tried to lean into a blender. Not that he'd trade it to look perfect- what was the use in that.

He's holding a tablet where V can see it, someone's public social media profile for that world emblazened on the page. A real pretty heiress bedecked in her finest, with plans to attend an event in the area. And she apparently brought some nice jewelry for the gala, not to mention a crystal-spangled dress.

"This is her," he comments idly. "She's that kinda rich where she might cry about it but the worst it'll do is make her put off her nose job."

[disrupts]

They're all huge what-ifs, ones that have even Vince momentarily holding his breath. As though if he breathes he's going to cause the slight disturbance required to change everything forever. Not hard to see how anybody can get caught up in this when stars align and introspection happens.

But he's always been a big believer in showing kindness, and that doesn't end with other people. What he'd give for Vincent to show himself some kindness ever.

"Can't say thinkin' about any o' that's wrong or... not worth exploring in your head, 'cause yeah your life might be totally different now if any one o' those things changed."

Acknowledging shit is important. Can't move on without doing that. He knows that, couldn't say anything else.

"We can do a lot, you 'n me. Came back from shit no human should be able to walk away from. Doesn't mean we got the power or control to change shit like that when we want to. You're talkin' about other people, Vincent. Other people with their own agendas, their own hopes 'n dreams. Talkin' Jack outta that heist... ain't your responsibility, ain't your biz either."

What he's trying to say, probably in a real messy way, is maybe both of them need to stop thinking they have the right to interfere like that.

"Ain't sayin' the desire to change things, to save people is wrong. 'cept takin' not bein' able to change it and usin' it to beat yourself with over 'n over... nobody wants that. Jack wouldn't 've wanted that. Didn't know your mom, but would she've wanted that for you?"

[bodyoftheseus]

Vincent listened quietly to what Vince had to say. There was a moment as Vince spoke that Vincent shifted his weight and took a breath in and was ready to be defensive and argue but he set his jaw and pressed his forehead into his thumbs and held his tongue. He focused on the cadence of his partner's talking and listened to his words and let the combativeness in him subside.

Asking about what his mom would want for him was like a hot knife on his side. It was immediately obvious how deeply that question dug into him as he exhaled heavily and looked up and over the view before the two of them. He hadn't thought about his mother in any meaningful capacity in such a long time and it was occurring to him that he couldn't remember her voice or what she particularly looked like. He used to have her eyes, too, but those were gone.

"My entire life's somethin' my mom wouldn't've wanted for me," he finally admitted softly. He knew that wasn't what Vince was asking but the truth was that Vincent had no clue what his mom would have wanted for him. Looking back now as an adult really forced him to recognize just how fucked up things had been. His mom didn't eat enough in a day to stay alive so what was her plan? He'd managed to figure out that he wasn't exactly something she'd planned for in her life either.

His voice stayed quiet as he spoke again. He was absolutely defeated in a way that he'd never actually allowed himself to express before. "I don't know what she would've wanted for me."

[disrupts]

Brow furrowing, Vince watches Vincent as he talks, and there's some fucked up mix of heartache and pride tugging at his chest. He knows Vincent struggles talking about this, understands that the energy the other man's using to explain his feelings must be immense.

And Vince is proud as fuck of him for it. Not that his pride helps with how his lover feels, but at least he's hoping finally being able to express it will help getting it out of his headspace.

"What d'you want for you?"

Their childhoods couldn't have been more different, and where Vincent was dragged up on the streets, Vince was nurtured as he grew in the clan. He understands the desire to go back, at least, because even the rough conditions of the desert and society shunning them didn't take away how supported he was. He'd go back and find Vincent, pull him into the clan and protect him with his life.

[bodyoftheseus]

Vincent could feel some pre-canned response about wanting to make money, to be at the top of Night City and be the best edgerunner there's been - or whatever - start to claw itself up his throat but he made himself stop and take a moment to really consider the question. He had never really given it much thought.

"I... Never really thought about it. When my mom died I didn't think I'd make it a year. When I started, uh, working... I didn't think I'd make it to eighteen. And twenty-one, twenty-five... I never really planned for more than just gettin' by for a day'r a week."

He gave himself a few minutes to really think about it. He was originally going to give the answer that he wanted to be the best, to be at the top of Night City's elite but that answer stemmed from when he was younger: to make sure nobody ever fucked with him again. And even that answer came from a single urge: survive. He'd always assumed he would die long before he could really do anything with himself and now he was thirty. For all of his success, for all the money he'd earned before things grew too bad, he still knew he was missing something. His hand rested lightly on Vince's leg and he finally met his gaze.

"All I ever really wanted was to feel safe; have somewhere I belong'n call home." He paused and his gaze lowered again. "Just always wanted a family, I guess. Someone to wake up next to, a place together somewhere I don't got to hear gunshots all night."

He was being very earnest and it was obvious he was maybe a little embarrassed by it. It was also rather obvious that there was more to it than what he said but he didn't seem too keen on continuing.

[disrupts]

Even if Vincent had tried that explanation with Vince, the nomad would have nodded, let him for a time, until Vincent'd dug down deeper for the truth. It's not Vince's truth to uncover, and he's not here to force those kind of revelations whether that's new information or just unearthing what's already there.

But Vincent opts to do that work here and now, and all the scruffy nomad has in response for a moment is the way his fingers squeeze into the other man's. Night City will always be gunshots at night and both of them know that. He's just never thought about how Vincent would feel leaving it all behind.

"Want that for ya, too."

Of course he does, and he knows Vincent's aware of that. But he's here to be a sounding board, to listen and ask questions. He just doesn't want those questions to inadvertently be serving his own agenda, no matter how much he tries not to have one.

He's not going to ask the other man if he'd leave Night City. Not yet, anyway. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel deeply in his bones that it would be good for both of them to leave and never look back.

[bodyoftheseus]

Feeling that little squeeze of affection from Vince brought him a great deal of comfort. It pulled him back from his own head a little and brought him back to just sitting next to Vince and having a conversation. If anyone other than Vince (or Kerry, of course - though Vincent was disinclined to have this conversation with him) said they wanted it for him too he would assume it was disingenuous and his hackles would raise and his teeth would bare.

"Feels stupid to say out loud. The only goal I should have in Night City's to claw my way to the top, get rich, and look down on everyone. Night City's no place for a family when you're cut from cloth like mine."

The thought of leaving Night City hadn't even crossed Vincent's mind. He tried to leave once - he went to Atlanta for two years. For two years he was free of all of the Night City Arasaka bullshit and for some reason, he was stupid enough to go back to it all. As far as he was concerned if he tried to leave again then he would just end up crawling back to it. He loved the way the city moved and the feeling of it - the neon was in his veins as much as it lit the streets. He was addicted to Night City like he was his vices.

"Just... Always thought money'd let me be happy but it don't bring the dead back, and I don't have enough to buy security."

Maybe buying some peace of mind didn't matter being as lethal as he was but he just wanted to move on and live his life. He didn't want to spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder in his own home.

[disrupts]

"Ever heard that sayin' money don't bring happiness?"

Heard it more times than he can count, but somewhere along the way people started getting confused about what it actually means. Doesn't mean that the poor should stay in their poverty and be grateful for their scraps. Means that, at some point, wealth becomes intangible and whatever feeling that went with it becomes hard to grasp.

Doesn't mean he can't empathize with how Vincent's feeling right now. He doesn't explain his entire thought process, just shakes his head almost imperceptibly and then eventually nods his agreement. With Arasaka in pieces there's no philosophical question either related to Soulkiller.

"Dunno how that feels, bein' so tied to a place... and I know it makes it hard for me understand fully. People're my destination. What I think is this city gets its claws in as you're clawin' your way to the top."

[bodyoftheseus]

"Fuck off."

He didn't really mean it and his voice gave him away. It carried an annoyed affection in it - something he didn't want to hear but he was admitting that the point Vince made was correct. He knew that now but as a kid it was so easy to think that money was the answer to everything. Everyone who had money seemed to be successful and seemed to be safe and happy and comfortable. To a kid who was lucky to eat once a day? Money was definitely the answer. And, well, credit where credit was due: there were things now that Vincent didn't have to worry about anymore that were constantly consuming him when he was young. He was, in some ways, more content.

"Night City's the city'f dreams. Work hard enough, stab enough people in the back, kill enough'n you can become the king of it all. Can be richer than Ker if you play your cards right but damn the target on your back gets to be so big."

Vincent had more to say but he was relaxed enough to feel unhurried to arrive at his point. Times like this where he was alone with Vince for enough time allowed Vincent the luxury of slowing down - rare for someone so entrenched in Night City's bullshit. A luxury most of them would never know.

"Night City's the only thing that's been constant in my life. It's the only thing that I know. I know all the streets, I know all the gangs, I know the big players. I know the rules'f survival here. Night City's all I ever had'n it's all I know."

Vincent was a creature of habit - he'd lived over half of his life in fear and desperate clawing at the unknown to simply see the next day. To ask him to leave the only thing he really knew and could trust to remain the same was a rather large ask, and demanded of him a huge leap of faith.

nsfw~

[fixerbrew]

Cultivating a mysterious virtual persona is easier with the hindsight of experience and Hands is long in the tooth. It makes moving around Night City easier at times, harder others. This evening is a networking opportunity, one that doesn't particularly thrill him in terms of location but it hadn't been at his request. His client is, like the rest of this city, with a mind bent around pleasure of the carnal kind. And so he finds himself in the depths of a kink club. Exclusive, yes. But a kink club no less.

It's made conversation a challenge at times, practically impossible at others. He has no interest in fighting for more than three words strung together in a manner that makes sense. And so he's left the client enjoying herself with stilettos across the back of a young man, decides that a drink is the very least he'll look to get out of the next hour.

Luck - good or bad, it may not be immediately clear - has him running across a very familiar merc. Tied up and presented like a gift on a dark, sleek plinth. He takes a moment to appreciate the fine knot work from behind, even as the merc seems otherwise engaged orally. Whatever look he shares with the other punter seems to have him pulling free with a grunt and leaving.

"My my. Quite the presentation. Artful."

[bodyoftheseus]

Vhad a long history of sex work - starting too long ago and up until now, it was the gig that he just could never quite work out of his schedule. Sure, it supplemented his income less and less, but every once in a while an opportunity arose that he didn't turn down. This was one such occasion. A rather exclusive club - the type Vincent had heard of, but never had the polish to wind up in - in need of one (of many) display piece. He almost stuck out here compared to the others. He wasn't pretty, he was covered in tattoos, but it was obvious at a glance that he was rough and would have been dangerous if not for the ropes binding his limbs so that he seemed apparently harmless.

There was an allure in it, yes, he understood. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed choking on someone's cock and having no choice but to be at their mercy, or how rough some of the rich fucks here got with his cunt or ass. The people using him knew that in any other context seeing him likely meant death, and they all knew that in this context he was powerless against them. Well, physically at least. He didn't look or talk like a netrunner.

V couldn't see why his latest visitor seemed to leave in what he decided was a hurry but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the voice speak up and he placed it: Hands. It made sense that Hands would be at something like this rubbing shoulders, but the actual setting seemed so antithetical to the image of the fixer that V kept in his mind. There's an undeniable way his muscles pulled in his surprise. The tension that was snaking through V's body and coiling in his muscles was on full display for Hands to witness: a transparent honesty usually hidden under the casual clothes V wore. It took all of V's self-control not to try to crane his head to see Hands to confirm to himself who it was.

"Yeah? You like what you see?"

[fixerbrew]

"I like unique. One-offs. Limited editions."

Does he need to spell out that he's enjoying the view? No. It's V he's talking to, after all. The merc with more intelligence than the other 95% of his peers put together. Of course, his own peers have been enjoying this otherwise dangerous man in ways that make Hands want to roll his eyes.

The various different raised welts on the man's body is testament enough. He knows well enough that while powerful, rich magnates might have an eye for business, their creativity can sometimes be lacking.

"I hadn't expected to be greeted by such an exquisite sight."

He's still standing behind V, purposefully not rounding the little platform to walk into sight.

"My mistake for imagining you filling your time in other ways. How many different visitors have called you 'slut' or 'whore'? I expect, from this group, you've been left wanting."

He's close to the other man's ass, movement of the air likely easily felt at the exposed split between his legs. Not yet touching, but the threat of it remains.

[bodyoftheseus]

V wasn't particularly one that cared for flattery or honeyed words (especially coming from a corpo or ex-corpo) but the way Mr. Hands spoke of him now while he was so vulnerable and on display was a little different. It was antithetical to the image he worked hard to build and maintain, the one that Hands normally saw.

"Limited's right." This wasn't something that Vincent made much a habit of anymore, that was for sure. The money was right, though. "Got to admit that I didn't expect the pleasure of your company tonight."

Especially from the vantage point Hands had, it was easy to tell V was already clearly aroused, glistening in the artfully placed light meant to accentuate such things. Part of it was that V'd already met a few patrons and enjoyed their company, but far more of it was the man hovering behind him, close enough that V's skin prickled with awareness. When air did pass over his hungry slit there was an automatic contraction of his muscles within trying to grip on nothing, hungrily and greedily trying to pull something that didn't exist deep inside while there was a faint tremble along his spine as the muscles tightened then released in a wave that started at the base of his spine and ran up to and through his shoulders. Most would find the display shameful but V's dignity had never been tied to something so fragile.

"Pretty milquetoast, this group," he said in agreement. "Most here're pretty typical." Present company being the exception, of course. But Hands knew that. The statement was heavy with an expectation, too: if Hands was going to comment on V's disappointment then certainly he would do better. Be better.

The way Hands was carrying this conversation and staying out of sight so that V couldn't actually see what was going on was so very typical for the fixer, and V was finding that it was working. He'd perhaps had some idle fantasies regarding Hands, but they were just that: idle. He'd never had intention on even attempting to see them through. That they were both here was something neither of them could have expected, and the way that Hands was conversing with him as if they were in his office talking about a job while V was on full display just made V more aroused. The restraint that Hands must have, and how would that translate into sex? V was so badly starting to want to know.

[fixerbrew]

"Ah. We both know 'pretty typical' isn't what men like us are looking for."

Phrased like this, Hands hasn't tipped hard into the likely crass displays of dominance some of his cohort have haphazardly spilled at V. He prefers a more quiet approach. An invitation rather than a demand. A game that more often than not results in Hands getting what he wants, something that isn't necessarily clear to his partner ahead of time, and with a 'thank you' at the end.

"And you are looking for something, V. I can see it in the way you hold yourself--"

He's momentarily interrupted as a man strays towards the two of them, cock already out as though he's ready to plug it into the merc's mouth. Whatever Hands does behind V, it's clear there's a moment of hesitation in the interloper. A 'fucking whatever' as the man diverts quickly after. The air doesn't move again and apparently the fixer hadn't moved a muscle seeing his competitor off.

"Some less observant individuals might not realize just because you're tied up so neatly that you aren't making a choice how to carry yourself. But you're aching for something, aren't you?"

[bodyoftheseus]

V's attention turned toward the stranger when he was noticed, lazily watching him as he started to approach. As the man started to meander closer V caught on to the man's intention and he did wonder what Hands might do with the stranger intruding on their conversation and foreplay. There was an automatic reaction from V where he slightly shied away from the stranger, far more interested in even just the presence Hands held behind him. That Hands could turn not one, but two people away with what must have only been glares had V's body tense with anticipation (to avoid a tremble, granted).

"We're all achin' for somethin', Sir." As a piece on display he wasn't allowed to use names if he knew them. V shifted a little - it was a movement of anticipation and perhaps a slight impatience in his want, though that was not so readily apparent - and the ropes shifted as his body strained against the knots, muscles tensing against the restraint out of habit before relaxing again.

"I ache for something surprising and unforgettable," he said as a way to get around answering more directly, though the hungry slit before Hands could very much answer the question without words as the longer they idled the wetter V found himself. His selfish body would betray all of his words despite his best attempt, his hips shifting slightly to present himself just a little more. Whether it was intentional or accidental was up to interpretation. "The better question is: what're you wanting?"

Multi-edged, as always. V often found a way to cut to the heart of things: what did Hands want in this moment, what would happen after this. There was also the lingering question of biz - what did Hands want for Pacific and beyond - but while that question did hang in V's mind, it was not the question he was asking here.

[fixerbrew]

Humming his response - it sounds like approval - the air moves again behind V, and Hands moves closer. They're still not touching, but the fixer's patience for interruptions has waned. The sound of metal fingers against the plinth are easy enough to pick out, sharper than the thick and heavy thud of bass.

"Many things. Though, in this moment, I find my desires reduced down to one point. Something surprising and unforgettable is what you ask for, and I'm not surprised. But perhaps that requires something of a cheatsheet, when it comes to you."

When all is said and done, V isn't like other mercs that Hands works with. A consummate professional. A terrifyingly talented netrunner. A Heywood native. Not easily steered without proper respect instilled first. And soaking wet at his current predicament. If Hands had to guess, V wants something he doesn't get in his usual day-to-day.

"Are you going to allow yourself to truly submit? I very much think you want to."

i give up on icons i plan on redoing them soon so just. pretend they're appropriate expressions lmao

[bodyoftheseus]

The course of this conversation and the way Hands had lingered had made V hypersensitive and hyper-aware of what was going on around him (as if the vain attempt could help him track the older man's movements). When the air shifted and rolled over his exposed skin he felt his hair raise - not quite getting goose pimples, but close - and as it rolled over his slit the fingers of one hand curled tightly. It saved him from trembling before Hands; as if the fixer needed another testament to V's self-restraint.

The sound of Hands' fingers against the stone cut through everything else - V hadn't quite realized Hands was this close - and it was finally now that V found himself starting to grow uncomfortably warm. V knew that at this point if he were in any other position his thighs would be a wet, sticky mess of his own arousal as it dripped to the floor. His mind was growing muddled enough that the fact Hands had paid him what he would consider a compliment - being as apparently hard to read as Hands himself - wasn't going to register until later.

"Yes, Sir. For you, I will." The hand that V had clenched relaxed, as well as all of the tension in that arm finally released. The tension that was coiled in his body, in each of his muscles, finally began to dissipate as V made himself let go as much as he could. Some still existed in his thighs from pure, greedy want, but overall he did what he could to show his surrender.

Were it any other context and person there would have been a much more drawn out battle of wills, something far more aggressive on each side. Mr. Hands, however, had this very subtle dominance about him. Every conversation between the two of them was a subtle dance and shifting of power as they limit tested each other, pushing at boundaries to see what they could get away with. V knew that Hands understood the weight of this concession, and he surely could feel the weight of V's expectation building.

So all of them hot then

[fixerbrew]

The response is fascinating, a discordant moment that ricochets through the memories of their recent meetings in his office. The other man had been professional. Coiled. Holding himself tight. Their conversation had been cordial enough, even as he'd tried to charm the younger man with well-deserved praise. It hadn't been misplaced. V really is a cut above.

But here and now he's agreeing to a different sort of contract between them and it's miles off the usual. Perhaps V can hear the cogs turn in Hands' mind in the few moments of silence that follow.

"...I'm pleased to hear it."

Unlike many others, he understands that this isn't an invitation to tug his cock out and sink it deep, but to hold up his end of the contract. To surprise. He's still contemplating that as he brushes surprisingly warm metal fingers over the curve of V's ass, barely there but definite touching as the smoothness skims towards the back of a thigh.

tbf with vincent when aren't they

[bodyoftheseus]

V could only imagine what was going through Mr. Hands' head in the silence before he spoke again. He was well-aware of what his normal affect was - he worked fucking hard to curate it and present it - and he knew just how contrasting this was. In those precious moments he wondered what Hands thought of his submission when he'd never reacted the way Hands had hoped to the praise he was intended to bathe in.

He inhaled sharply at the first light touch, slightly pulling away as if he expected the metal to be cold. V tensed under the light, barely there touch. The sensation sent a shiver up first into his lower back, but it would cascade up his spine in a rapid wave to break at his shoulders. His breath released in a light sigh, his breathing not quite regaining the calm, even quality it had before despite V's best efforts.

With this he finally let his head rest on the platform he was on, the cold surface a relief against his hot skin. His gaze was forced out because of how he was tied but Hands still wasn't in his vision. He probably could crane his head to see the other man, but he didn't bother. It felt a bit like cheating to do so: if V's role in this was to submit, then Hands was the one in control. If Hands wanted V to see him, V would be able to see him.

[fixerbrew]

"Do you have a safe word you'd like to share with me?"

The chrome hand follows the arc of V's posterior until thigh meets calf. There it keeps tracing downward, over the slight swell of muscle at the back of lean, long limbs. It travels smoothly down the taut line of his Achilles tendon where it pauses, dallying as though in anticipation.

His other hand is still pressed against the smooth, solid surface of V's stand. All sleek lines and, more realistically, easy to wipe down. Hands is sure there's not a single bodily fluid that hasn't been spilled on these on any given day. But in terms of his own preferences, the product of V's arousal, slick enough to glisten, dials into his interest perfectly well.

He doubts anybody else inquired about a safe word but his question isn't completely altruistic. As always, there's a purpose behind his asking.