Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Scotland

How could a forty-something-year-old man be so incredibly cute? Clint’s blush hadn’t faded since they’d stepped off the elevator, his eyes wide and his thoughts hopefully calm.

From the upstairs, no one expected what was in the basement. Hell, Scotland hadn’t expected it that first time, either. It was a high-end establishment with a bit of a front. No judgment here.

The smell of sweat was thick, despite the air circulation, the sound of fists hitting padding and flesh like an unstoppable rhythm. There were few actual fighters who trained in the two rings or on the bags, but there were many others who had no business being in a legitimate establishment.

“Maxim,” said Scotland, reclining his head at the enforcer who almost had more tattoos than he did. Scotland had done a few of them himself, including the manacles that wrapped around Maxim’s identical twin brother’s wrists. That had been well before he’d been part of Unkinked’s community.

Maxim inclined his head before nodding at Clint. Clint returned the gesture, not looking nearly as nervous as he should have. Maxim was a wild card who had only seemed to calm once he’d found his sub, Copley. He was still a dangerous sonovabitch.

“Haven’t seen you in here in a while,” said Maxim, grabbing his towel that he’d left on the bench before slinging it over the back of his neck. He was shirtless and dripping with sweat, his chest heaving.

“I’ve had a guest.”

“Hey, Maxim,” said Clint, circling around Scotland before touching the bag that was still swaying a bit from Maxim’s hits. “Good seeing you again. Are you taking care of Nikita for me?”

Maxim scoffed, wiping his face with the towel and tossing it to the side. “Copley takes care of him for me. Domestic bliss, baby.” His grin was enough to put Scotland on edge. He wasn’t exactly sure how a sweet guy like Copley managed to handle both of them.

“It’s good to see another kinky fucker here, though,” said Clint, pushing the punching bag. It wobbled with a clank of chains as Clint grunted, throwing his shoulder into it. “This thing is way heavier than I thought.”

Scotland covered his mouth with the back of his hand as Maxim raised one brow at Clint’s display.

“This isn’t some kinky gym,” said Maxim, stalling the punching bag with one hand.

“He’s right.” Scotland reached out, dragging a finger down Clint’s spine. He was already sweating, his shirt clinging to his back. “Besides Maxim and me, I’m pretty sure everyone on this level is straight and vanilla.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” asked Clint, panting as he tried to land a hit on the bag. When he failed to move it much, he put his shoulder to it again, seeming to attempt to pull it from Maxim’s grip. His voice was playful, as he let out a soft little growl, but Maxim looked anything but amused.

Waiting three beats, Scotland turned away, before settling with his back against the nearest wall. Shit wasn’t mirrored on this floor. Nobody wanted to see their own face bloody after a round in the practice ring.

“Sorry. Sir.” Clint looked over his shoulder, biting his lower lip.

Maxim’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth wide as he lost his grip on the bag. He dropped his gaze to Clint, furrowing his forehead a moment later. “Never took you for a sub.”

Clint cleared his throat, dropping his hands to his sides as he took a shuffled step back. There was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there a moment before, his biceps flexing for no apparent reason.

“We’re switches,” said Scotland, speaking up before Clint could say a word. He could sympathize with how Clint felt. He hadn’t expected judgment from a fellow kinkster.

If anything, Maxim looked even more confused. “What the hell is a switch?”

It was Scotland’s turn to be surprised. Maxim gave him the impression that he’d been around the block a time or two, but he looked genuinely confused.

“Someone who is both a Dom and sub,” said Clint, a professional mask slipping over his face. “If a person enjoys both roles or needs them, then they can often switch back and forth. Sometimes it depends on their partner or just the situation.”

Depends on their partner?Scotland swallowed, looking at the laces on his running shoes. He’d been in the Dominant role the entire time with Clint, and he’d hardly noticed. But submission was something he needed, too. Hopefully, that was something Clint realized. He couldn’t be in the lead all the time.

“Oh,” said Maxim, scratching at his chin. “Niki needs to explain some of this shit to me. Doesn’t matter, though. Nothing kinky in this gym—you got it? I vouched for Scotland ’cause he’s a cool guy. I don’t want to have to rescind his membership.”

Maxim cracked his knuckles, looking far too intimidating.

A nervous chill raced through Scotland’s body. “No problem. But it’s not my fault if he gets turned on by a little pounding.” Scotland shrugged, the lie rolling off his tongue like molasses. A little fib never hurt anyone, and he was pretty sure Maxim was just talking out of his ass. He’d spent a good twenty minutes on the phone already with Maxim to set up this scene, so he wasn’t worried.

“Fair enough,” said Maxim. “Copley can come just from a little spanking, so I get it. Are you here to work out, then? I can help you get your hands wrapped.”

“Thanks, man, but I’ve got it.”

Scotland led Clint to the far end of the basement, passing about a dozen guys he knew. He paused at each one, starting up a conversation until Clint was shifting from foot to foot, flicking his gaze around the room. With every one, he introduced Clint as a friend, and Clint narrowed his eyes.

After grabbing some wrapping material, he sat Clint on one of the benches, grasping his hand as he started to bandage his knuckles.

“Friends,” said Clint, spitting out the word like it tasted foul. “This is why I stick with kinky shit. I feel like I’m back in the closet.” He jerked his hand as Scotland made another round.

“You’re sexy when you pout,” said Scotland, finishing off one of Clint’s hands and starting on the second. “You can’t go everywhere in life strutting your kink and expecting to be accepted.”

“Yes, you can.” Clint drew his hand back, placing it on Scotland’s chest to stop him. “There isn’t anywhere in the world where you shouldn’t be able to be yourself, and nobody is so much better than you that they can’t accept you for exactly who you are. I gave up hiding a long-ass time ago, and I have no plans to go down that road again.”

Scotland swallowed before glancing away. Maybe he’d been wrong to bring Clint here. But maybe Clint was right. He hadn’t realized it, but there were places where he hid himself.

“Not everybody has Unkinked all the time, Clint. This is the real world.”

“You know what?” Clint pushed himself off the bench, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fuck you.” He turned toward the rest of the gym, raising his voice. “Hey, assholes, guess what? I’m gay as hell, and I like BDSM. I’m not talking a little wax play, but full-on fuck me against the wall and choke me out, ’cause that’s what makes me come the hardest. This asshole here”—he jabbed a finger in Scotland’s direction—“is too afraid to get it on outside the house. Hell, he hasn’t been able to make me come in weeks.”

The sound of fists never ceased, but a few people glanced over to Maxim before they returned to their workout. Most of them probably had earbuds in, except for the two in the closest ring who had definitely heard and cared about Clint just as much as they did about getting an inevitable concussion.

“What did I say about making trouble?” called Maxim, stretching out a leg muscle as he glanced their way. “No fucking in the gym. Looking’s free.”

“I’m not making trouble.” Clint dropped his gaze before kicking at the edge of a mat. “I’m just doing a warmup. You know—letting all the frustration out.”

“Or, you think you can get your way by putting on a big pout,” said Scotland. “I don’t have a problem with being kinky, Clint, but these are my friends, and they didn’t consent to a scene in the middle of the mats.”

Clint bit his lip at that, his face flushing. “I may have gotten a bit carried away, Sir.” He didn’t look that apologetic. “But you can’t stop me from making dick jokes.”

“Go ahead.” Scotland shrugged, trying to squash the unease that remained. He was out and proud and didn’t give a crap what people thought of him. But there was a time and a place to be a brat, and this was not it.

I’ll just have to make that clear.

“Now let me finish wrapping your hands so we can get to that pounding we talked about.”

* * * *

He may have underestimated Clint a bit.

Maybe more than a little.

Scotland’s arm was currently pinned behind his back with Clint sitting on his ass and wiggling around like he was trying to hold on to a wild stallion. Scotland’s shoulder protested with each movement, but he was not tapping out.

“That’s fucking cheating,” Scotland ground out, trying and failing to get his arm free. Something in his back popped, making him go numb for a split second. Clint only writhed more, grinding his cock into Scotland’s ass. It probably seemed dirty as all hell to any onlookers, of which they had a few.

“Were you not ready, Sir? I’m sorry.” Clint cackled, shifting his grip on Scotland’s arm. He was strong as hell, with a grip that seemed unbreakable. “But now that you’re a little stuck and I’m a bit hard, let me tell another joke.”

It was the joke that had caught him off guard in the first place. Scotland had laughed, letting his fists sag for just a moment, and Clint had been on him with surprising agility and strength.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, momentarily blinding him as his chest was pushed harder into the padded floor of the ring. Scotland groaned as his shoulder ached from the angle. I’m not tapping out.

“What’s the difference between a cock and a hundred bucks?” asked Clint, dragging his hips and grinding his semi into Scotland’s ass. He let out a laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls as someone let out a whoop.

Is that Maxim?Ah, what the hell. “I dunno.” Scotland gritted his teeth, scraping the nails of his free hand against the mat.

“Someone is always down to blow a hundred bucks.” Clint cackled, even as Scotland bucked, finally sending Clint tumbling to the side. He was on his feet as fast as he could, dragging his arm across his forehead to wipe some of the sweat out of his eyes. By the time he recovered, Clint was sitting on his ass, his lips split in a wide grin as he leaned against the ropes.

“I’ve got a better one,” said Clint, holding out his glove and fist bumping the closest onlooker. It was Felix, which just wasn’t fair. He’d always been the sweetheart at the gym, helping everyone else work out, even if it meant neglecting his own routine. His eyes were glowing with mirth.

Things were definitely going differently than he’d imagined.

“A cock is a lot like life…hard all the time for no reason at all,” said Clint.

Fuck, he looked good when he smiled, with his cheeks flushed from exertion. It was hard not to think about pinning him and jerking his loose track pants off right in the middle of the ring.

Keep in control. He took a slow breath, but it didn’t stop his own chuckle that rose in his throat.

Maxim threw his head back in a laugh, leaning against the ropes. “I changed my mind about you, Clint. You can bring all your kinky friends down here anytime. Maybe you can convince Niki to get his ass here more often. He’s packed on a few pounds with Copley’s cooking.”

That sounded nice—not only the kinksters in the gym, but also the part about gaining a few pounds from cooking. In his case, Scotland had been overindulging since Clint had arrived. That’s what happened when he tried to seduce someone through their stomach.

“One more round,” said Clint, taking Scotland’s offered hand and getting back on his feet. “No headshots. Concussions can cause severe and lasting neuro damage.”

Yeah.That was the third time Clint had said that. “I’m not gonna punch you, Clint. I’m just letting you win to gain your confidence and get you ready for what comes next.”

“Oh.” Clint wiggled his eyebrows. “I like the sound of that.”

Too bad it was mostly a lie. Clint had definitely won the last round fair and square.

“Show me what you got,” said Scotland, raising his fists to just below eye level. Clint did the same, hunching his shoulders in an automatic move that made him look like a natural-born fighter.

Moving first, Scotland feinted left, only to swing his right arm out, landing a blow on Clint’s forearm. The wrap and gloves took most of the hit, but Clint would probably have a bruise later. I’ll kiss it better.

Clint hissed, taking a step away only to dive right back in, his shoulder low as he collided with Scotland’s gut. The move sent Scotland right into the ropes as the air was driven from his lungs. Scotland stumbled, reaching for the rope to right himself as Clint withdrew.

“You can fight,” said Scotland, still not quite sure he could believe it. The Clint that he’d been wanting all this time spent his days giving people advice and mixing drinks, not taking down people in the ring. What the hell? He couldn’t even chop wood, for Christ’s sake.

“I can brawl,” said Clint, shrugging before he raised his hands in an imitation of Scotland’s pose after he peeled himself off the ropes. “Why do you think there is hardly ever anyone stirring up shit at the club?”

“Yeah, but…” He distinctly remembered seeing Clint wield a baseball bat once, but he hadn’t thought much of it. There were props all over the club, but he couldn’t imagine Clint hitting anyone if the opportunity arose.

Then again, he seemed to have no issue hitting Scotland.

Clint smashed into him again at high speed, his arms open in a tackle as Scotland tried to recover. Maybe we should have worn mouthguards? Scotland’s head struck the mats as Clint’s weight hit him, the remaining air in his lungs whooshing out.

Don’t give up. He twisted, taking Clint by surprise and catching his arm in a grip strong enough to throw him off. He doubted the move would work a second time from the way Clint sent him a feral grin as soon as he stopped rolling.

“You gonna stop playing around?” asked Clint, wiping a bit of spit from his lips. “Or is that really all you’ve got.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, little subby,” said Scotland, hauling himself back onto his feet. Mustering up every bit of courage, Scotland stalked ahead, raising up his arm as if to strike as soon as he closed the distance between them. Clint landed a punch of his own—a light tap on Scotland’s shoulder that barely zinged off his muscle.

Clint must’ve meant to hit hard, though. His eyes went wide as he stumbled, his weight off balance as he shuffled his feet. If Scotland hadn’t been training at the gym for a while he wouldn’t have noticed the opening it created for the brief flash of a second.

Scotland swept out his legs, catching both of Clint’s ankles and sending him tumbling. He hit ass first, letting out a soft gasp as he fell back, sprawling across the mats with his arms thrown wide.

It had never been so good to pounce. Scotland pinned Clint’s wrists above his head hauling them straight and high so Clint could barely struggle. When Clint tried to move, he straddled his hips, settling his full weight on Clint. Scotland felt his own arms bulge as he leaned in, refusing to let Clint move or escape.

The corner of Clint’s shirt rode up as he squirmed, their groins coming precariously close. The trail of blond hair on his belly was dark with sweat, his skin slippery with it. Scotland could almost taste it on his tongue, and on his breath, every sense filled to the brim with Clint.

“Got you,” said Scotland, unable to stop himself from leaning in and licking a stripe along Clint’s neck. He was salt and sweetness and every other good thing that Scotland knew. When he closed his eyes he could smell the hit of his own laundry detergent and soap. Home.

“It was a lucky shot,” said Clint, his struggles going weak as he let out a soft moan. “Let me up, and I’ll show you.”

Scotland shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think so. I like you like this—so vulnerable and soft.”

“You two need a minute?”

Scotland drew back at Maxim’s voice, flushing as he realized that he had been seconds away from making out with Clint like teenagers in the middle of the gym. Most of their audience had already taken off, although Garry was looking pretty darn invested in the outcome.

“We’ll hit the showers,” said Scotland, releasing Clint and offering him a hand as he rose to his feet. “I think there were a few guys done for the day, so we’ll keep it clean.”

Clint’s face was just as flushed as his own felt, his lower lip between his teeth as he stared at the ceiling, with his chest rising and falling fast. Scotland was going to fucking ruin him.

“Go ahead, baby. I’ll just have to ask Maxim about the schedule, then I’ll join you.” Scotland leaned down to drag his thumb over Clint’s lips, giving him the only kiss he could at the moment.

“Okay, Sir.” Clint staggered a bit as he rose to his feet, his gaze bleary and lost when he stumbled through a door clearly labeled ‘showers’.

“Can you keep everyone out of there for the next hour or so?” asked Scotland, giving Maxim a pointed look. “I’ll owe you a favor.”

Maxim cracked a smile, throwing an arm around him as Scotland ducked out of the ring. “An hour? You’re spoiling him.” He glanced at the closed door. “I’ve been thinking of a tattoo for Copley. You do that for us, and I’ll keep everyone out of there for the rest of the day.”

Scotland grinned, doing nothing to hide his semi. It was pointless. Besides, it happened all the time during workouts. Once the blood was flowing, the rest was a write-off.

“But what’s the schedule you’re talking about? I don’t know shit about that,” said Maxim, withdrawing his arm and wiping it with a towel. Okay, so, I’m a little sweaty.

“Nothing, man,” said Scotland. “I just didn’t want Clint to know the coast is clear. He’s gonna think someone is going to walk in on us at any time. Nothing like a bit of risk to spice things up. And hey, Maxim, one more thing…”