Chapter Text
Barclay guides the car up the small, northwoods road, relieved when the dark green cabin finally appears around a corner. The trees are snow-dusted, the smoke from the chimney is a welcoming curl, and there’s no sign of anyone for miles.
Just like he hoped for.
He pulls up next to the wooden porch, hurrying into the mud room and punching in the code the owner gave him. Waiting for him is an open living room with comfy chairs and couches, all in warm tones. The light from the fireplace casts amber across the walls, and the kitchen is as cozy and well-stocked as promised.
Footsteps on the stairs make him jump, and he turns to find a tall man with dark hair standing on the bottom step.
“You must be Mr. Cobb.” The man’s smile is polite, “I’m Joseph, the owner. I mean to be out before you got here, but the last visitors left a more chaotic mess than I expected. I’m almost done, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“No rush. And thanks for going the extra mile. I’m gonna go grab my stuff from the car.”
He brings in his dufflebag, manages to pull his snow boots off without making a mess, and looks up in time to see Joseph giving him a subtle once-over as he carries new towels upstairs.
“Is it just you?”
“Nah, my boyfriend is meeting me up here when he’s done with work. We wanted to get away from the city. Get some space, y’know?”
A small laugh, “Well you’ll have more than enough here. Usually I rent to family reunions and things like that.” He brushes his hands off on his slacks, “That was the last of it. My number is on the fridge and I live in town, so if anything goes haywire, give me a call.”
“Thanks” Barclay shows him to the door. As he rests his hand on the side of it, Joseph sets his own on top of his knuckles.
“I hope you two enjoy the solitude.”
“I think we will.”
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“Can I ask you something?”
Barclay looks up back from packing up the beard trimmer to where Joseph is perched on the bed, “Yeah?”
“Are you still interested in me being more…menacing when I’m roleplaying Sir?”
Blood heads south at the idea, but Barclay knows the voice Joseph uses when a hypothetical acts as foreplay, and this isn’t it.
“Fuck yeah.” He joins him on the bedspread, “but only if you’re fucking positive you’ll be okay with it. I think it’d be hot as fuck to be even more at your mercy, but I can also live the rest of my life with that being exactly that: a fantasy.” He takes Joseph’s hands, “what I’m trying to say is, if you wanna do it, we can. If you don’t, we don’t.”
His boyfriend raises his hand and kisses his knuckles, “That helps a lot. Thank you.”
Barclay rests his head on his shoulder, “Are you interested in it?”
A smile, sweet and earnest, utterly unlike the edge that enters Joseph’s voice as he murmurs, “You know, big guy, I think I am.”
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Barclay unpacks the groceries for the weekend into the fridge, then settles in with his knitting by the fire. Thacker’s been teaching him how, and he wants to make him a thank-you gift.
On the way to the kitchen to refill his tea, his phone buzzes.
J: Running late. There by dinner.
Snow falls gently outside the window, forming lacework on the roof of a small shed in the backyard. The storm wasn’t supposed to start until tomorrow. He wouldn’t mind–in fact, he thinks snow is romantic–but his boyfriend still has to make it here.
Barclay: Ok, drive safe. Love you.
He passes the rest of the afternoon reading, knitting, and napping. When he wakes up under a tartan blanket, the world outside is dark except for the occasional swirl of white past the windows.
Barclay: ETA? I can wait to have dinner until you get here.
While he waits for the response, wanders the perimeter of the living room, taking in the eerie view. There’s no light from any direction, and when he cracks the window the only sound is the storm.
Weird, the windows don’t have any curtains on them.
A flicker from the backyard catches his eye. He swears a light comes on in the shed, just for a moment. When he turns to look more closely, it’s gone. Maybe he should go look, just in case that’s a sign the breaker is about to go or something.
He nearly drops the phone when it vibrates in his hand.
J: Had to stop at a hotel to be safe. See you tomorrow.
Barclay looks at the message, then back out at the shed. Still no light. He probably just caught a weird reflection from the house. There’s no reason for anyone but him to be out here. He’s alone.
For now.
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The first time they try it, Barclay can barely walk the rest of the night. He’s exhausted, a kind of boneless he didn’t know a person could be, and been through such an adrenaline rush that even if his muscles can move him, his brain suggests staying flat on the bed.
After helping him up long enough to shower, Joseph indulges him with glee. He’s wrapped up and tucked in, caressed, pet, and kissed whenever he asks. Plied with nice tea and even nicer bourbon, brought a meal from his favorite New American place in town on a tray.
“I have to remind you how I really feel.” Joseph murmurs at one point, kissing the bruises from where Barclay fought the cuffs.
“Mission fucking accomplished. But, uh” he catches Joseph's hands, holding them between their chests, “this whole night has been that. It means so fucking much to me that you trust me to do this with you, and that you’re the kinda guy trust enough to let it happen. I love you so fucking much. And I know you love me, too.”
Joseph looks at him, relief burning bright in his eyes, and leans in for a kiss.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Barclay goes to bed around 9:30.
At 10, he hears something in the house. Disoriented, he sits up, listening as close as he can. Maybe it was just snow sliding off the roof, or a breaking branch.
Just under the howl of the storm, he picks up the scuffs and quiet creaks of someone moving around downstairs.
It’s impossible. There’s no one here, no way for anyone to even get here given how blanketed the backroads must all be. He can relax.
Another noise. Maybe footsteps. Maybe the house settling.
“Fuck it” he groans, pushing away the blankets and climbing out of bed. He’s 6’3 and plenty strong; if some random person is breaking into the building, he likes his odds of chasing them off.
Not that there’s anyone here.
He creeps down the stairs, flicking on the lights in each room. There’s nothing weird in sight, and the doors and windows are all locked, just like when he went to bed.
Relieved, and somewhat annoyed, that it was his imagination, he heads back to bed. It really was ridiculous, thinking anyone could be in here but him. Hell, the only people who know he’s here are his boyfriend and the owner.
His steps slow as he reaches the bedroom.
The owner, who knew it’d just be two people here. The owner who wouldn’t need to break a window or find an unlocked door to get in.
The owner who said goodbye this afternoon, only now that he’s thinking back, Barclay doesn’t remember hearing a car pulling away.
“Fuck” He hisses, turning and ready to bolt out of the house and into his car.
The bedroom door swings closed, and Joseph leans against it with a mildly pleased expression as he watches Barclay jerk to a stop.
“I wouldn’t leave if I were you. It’s dangerous out there.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Aggressively as he dares, Barclay steps toward him. The other man has traded his cozy sweater for a black, long-sleeved shirt, and his hair is slicked back instead of loose.
“You tell me. You strike me as smart. Enough.”
“I’m sure as fuck smarter than you. If anything happens to me, you really think the owner of the place isn’t gonna be a prime suspect.”
“I agree. Which is why I’m not actually the owner. They live all the way in Chicago, and rarely send someone out to check on this place unless a large group just left.”
His heart slithers up his throat, “My boyfriend knows I’m here, too. He’s getting in later tonight.”
A casual shake of the head, “We both know that’s not true.”
Joseph reaches into his pocket and tosses a phone Barclay’s way. He recognizes the case, dotted with silhouettes of bigfoot, instantly.
“What did you do to him?” Barclay whispers.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” A cruel glint enters his eye, “and it’s not polite to lie, big guy.”
Barclay fights the urge to throw the phone at him and instead rushes the door. Joseph does jump aside, but before Barclay can even touch the nob, his back slams into the wood and a knife is at his throat. The blade feels suspiciously like plastic, but he freezes just to be safe.
“It’s not polite to run, either. Not when I’ve gone to all this trouble to plan an evening for you.”
“Fuck you” he gasps as Joseph’s other hand fists into his hair and pulls.
“Let me make one thing very clear. This is happening, no matter what you do. But how it ends depends entirely on how well-behaved you can be for me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” He whimpers.
The hand leaves his hair and the knife disappears,“Good boy. Go stand by the bed.”
He obeys, unable to take his eyes off Joseph as the intruder strolls to the closet and pulls out a small, black briefcase from behind the laundry hamper. Setting it on the dresser, he turns back to Barclay with a calculating look, then strides over and pulls his sleep-shirt roughly over his head. Instead of removing it entirely, he twists and knots the fabric until Barclay’s arms are trapped behind his back.
“Lay down. Good boy.”
Barclay wishes he didn’t blush at the pet name, wishes Joseph didn’t notice. He braces to be insulted, but all the other man does is trace a finger over his reddening cheek.
“Such a gorgeous specimen.” He pulls on black, latex gloves and climbs onto the bed. The hunger in his eyes makes it clear what he’s after, and so Barclay doesn’t bother fighting him when he pulls down his sweatpants and sets them aside.
“I’m starting to see” a gloved finger teases up one thigh and down the other, “why your boyfriend didn’t even hesitate to get out of the car when I blocked the road. He was too busy thinking about this to even wonder if it was a trap.” His palm glides up Barclays dick, wrapping loosely around the tip as Barclay groans and forces his hips to stay still.
Joseph studies his face as he strokes him again and again, mercifully not commenting on how quickly Barclay got it up.
“You don’t have to keep still, big guy. I want you to enjoy this.”
“N-no you don’t.” Barclay whines is a thumb rubs the tip, “this is some fucked up game that’s all for you, you don’t give a fuck about me.”
“On the contrary.” Joseph shifts positions, drags his tongue along Barclays shaft, “you’re a captivating specimen.”
Barclay moans, the noise going embarrassingly high as Joseph takes his cock into his mouth. He works deliberately, expertly, as if his only goal in life is to make Barclay cum down his throat. Logic tells him to twist away, to not give in, but all he can do is spread his legs wider and make pleading sounds as Joseph plays with his ass, thighs, and balls.
“Fuck, oh fuck” his shoulders and hips jerk as his orgasm barrels toward him, “sir please, please-”
He cums, shaking and bucking into Joseph’s mouth. The other man is unbothered, happily sucking him through it until he softens.
The intruder sits back, carefully wiping his lips, “What do you say?”
Being polite seems the path to safety, so he pants, “Thank, thank you, sir.”
Joseph stands, returning to the briefcase. Barclay can’t see the contents, but silver catches the light and he shrinks back.
“Are you thinking that now that I’ve had my fun, I’m going to remove it?” The tone is too businesslike to be comforting.
He nods, panicked, and tries to squirm backwards on the bed.
“I won’t say I’ve never done that, but it’s not my plan for you.” Joseph turns, revealing a pair of satin, blue, lacy boxers, “I want to put my favorite toy in an appropriate case.”
Barclay feels the blush run from his toes to his scalp, sighs happily in spite of himself as the fabric slides into place.
“Color?” Joseph helps him sit up, undoing the knots in his shirt enough to remove it the rest of the way.
“Not sure I could be greener.”
A sweet kiss to his shoulder, “Me too.”
The next kiss is followed by a scrape of teeth on his skin, “Let’s go downstairs. This next part will be much nicer by the fireplace.”
“N-next part?”
“I didn’t go to all this trouble to just fuck you once.” Joseph stands, tossing him a flannel shirt, “you can put that on if you’re cold, but don’t button it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He wishes Joseph had put him on a leash, so he’d have some excuse for following someone who will probably kill him through the house like a puppy.
Barclay stands patiently on the rug as Joseph stokes the fire back to life, wondering if he’ll burn him and hating how his cock twitches at the idea.
“Get on your stomach, on the rug.” Joseph stays kneeling, waiting for Barclay to fully comply before getting up and roaming around the room. The rug is sheepskin, and between it and the fire he feels luxuriously warm. If his brain wasn’t so intent on tracking Joseph’s movements, he’d just fall asleep right here.
Blues music drifts over from the speaker in the kitchen as Joseph returns and straddles his hips. There’s a click and an acrid smell, then the tip of a marker tracing an abstract shape along his lower back. The hand not busy drawing runs along Barclay’s spine and into his hair, petting him in idle swoops and swirls.
“What’re you drawing?” Barclay asks as the marks start on his thigh.
“It’s force of habit more than anything else, but here, set your arm out and I’ll show you.”
He lays his right arm out. Joseph brings the marker up, tracing thin, black lines along his hands and up his arms. It feels nice, almost tickles, and he lets his eyes fall closed until Joseph is done.
“That should give you the gist of it.”
Barclay turns his head and brings his right hand in toward his face. His stomach twists; the marks aren’t random. They’re the outlines of tendons, muscle groups, and veins.
Before he can scramble back or try to throw Joseph off him, a hand closes around the back of his neck.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Try to keep you from fucking carving me up like a fucking stake?” He yelps as Joseph hauls him up and back by his hair, forcing him to kneel.
“I’m not going to cut you. Unless you forget your manners again, in which case I may find some minor muscle to slice.” Joseph growls in his ear, “I do this out of habit and, when it comes to you, to show you what I’m capable of. What I’m choosing not to do to my perfect specimen. Now, are you going to go back to being my sweet, obedient Barclay?”
“Yes, sir.” Tears prick his eyes as Joseph gives a final tug on his hair.
“Get up and take those off. Then come sit in my lap.”
Barclay shakily pulls down his underwear and wobbles to the chair Joseph is waiting in. The instant he sits down, there’s a pop of plastic and Joseph is dripping lube onto his gloved fingers.
“Sir? Oh, oh fuck, fuck!” He groans and rests his head against Joseph’s shoulders as fingers work into him with rough, precise presses.
“Yes? Use your words, big guy.”
“Wh-why are you doing this?”
“Because I can” the fingers push deeper, “no one can stop me. No one ever figures it out. And, in your case, because taking you apart makes me feel like this.” He drags one of Barclay’s hands down to his crotch, where his cock is fighting against his zipper.
He presses Barclay’s hand closer, grinding against it, “Get my cock out.”
Barclay barely manages it with his shaking fingers. Watches, rapt, as Joseph slicks himself up before unceremoniously pulling Barclay to him and shoving him down, moaning as Barclay yelps and writhes at the intrusion. The action is so unlike his precision the rest of the night, and Barclay is flattered that the thought of fucking him is what drove it.
“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll give you a moment to adjust. I still need to finish” he produces the pen, setting it against Barclay’s chest, “you know, this makes it all the easier to appreciate your body. To see the tantalizing shape of these” he follows the path of Barclays pecs, pinching each nipple when he’s done, “and to find the muscle hidden by this wonderful forest of fur.” He cards his fingers through the hair on Barclay’s chest and stomach as the marker continues its movements.
Barclay is going to cry; something about the way Joseph is talking, the way the detachment in his gaze is giving way to wonder and affection. The way he feels like he’s burning at every spot where their bodies meet.
“Then there’s all this” the pen traces over his navel in calculated strokes, “it’s not the only reason I decided to keep you alive, but I suspect it’s what will help you stay that way down the line.” He caps the pen, tapping it roughly against Barclays still-soft cock.
Barclay sobs, which turns to a cry halfway through as Joseph holds him down by his hips and fucks up into him.
“It’s okay, big guy, cry as much as you want, I don’t care, I’ll never think less of you for it. How could I? You look so, ohmygod, so pretty when you do it. And you like when I make you do it, don’t you?”
“Yes!” He catches himself, “yes, sir”
“Good boy. My Barclay, my perfect specimen, god, from the second I saw you I knew this is where you’d end up, victims are a dime a dozen, but a specimen, a real prize, how could I do anything else but make sure you’d only be mine from here on out, ohshit, ohmygod, Barclay” Joseph pulls him down into a kiss, cumming into him with a muffled moan.
Barclay tries to pull back for breath and nearly topples out of his lap. Joseph loops his arms around his waist, laughing quietly, “Careful, big guy, at least let me pull out first.”
“Sorry. Can’t help it. Some super hot guy just blew my mind and I forgot how muscles work.”
He manages to get out of Joseph's laugh, but they only make it as far as the rug before both sitting down. Joseph flops into his arms, and Barclay cuddles him close.
“Seriously, I cannot stress how fucking hot that was.”
His boyfriend grins up at him, “Oh good. I was a little worried you’d get bored during the day. That little shed office really is quite cozy. I finished two of my TBR pile.”
“You’ll have to show me tomorrow. Now c’mon, let’s try to make it upstairs” He scoops Joseph almost into a bridal carry before they both dissolve into giggles. Eventually they do make it to bed, talking until they fall asleep, cuddled up together beneath the snowy roof.vig