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Master's Piece

Chapter Text

The intercom's harsh buzz pulled Michael from his reverie.

Irritation swelled within him as he blinked himself back into the present. He’d been so deep into the surface of his canvas it took a moment for his vision to clear and his gaze refocus. A soft growl rumbled low in his chest.

“Who the hell would that be?”

He had a schedule established with all the delivery services to prevent his studio hours from being interrupted. A quick glance at the clock high on the wall above the workshop’s entrance also told him the interview he’d set for his next applicant for a new studio apprentice wasn’t due for almost an hour.

After setting down his brush, Michael hefted himself up from his stool with a grunt. He grabbed his belt to hitch his paint-splattered jeans up below his big belly. A flex of broad shoulders sent a series of pops crackling down his spine as it realigned itself. Lumbering over to the intercom monitor by the door he peered at the screen. Dark brows rose when he saw the guy standing out on the stoop.

Michael caught himself darting his tongue over dry lips as his eyes traveled up and down the “interruption.” Despite the relatively low quality of the security cameras he was still able to easily see how long the intruder’s eyelashes were; the way they framed uncomfortable eyes, so large they rendered their owner’s otherwise rugged face decidedly pretty.

The pretty stopped there, however. Everywhere else the guy was the embodiment of an almost god-like masculinity.

Yeah, the young man shifting uncomfortably on the concrete steps below was a vision. Thick black hair clipped tight on the sides, long enough on the top to look sexily mussed. Clearly somewhere in his twenties, nonetheless, his facial features were all adult, alpha male: strong brows, high sharp cheekbones, and a deliciously shadowed chiseled chin.

The black leather jacket the stranger wore did nothing to hide the bulge of biceps or broadness of chest and shoulders. Gaze drifting lower, Michael’s hands tingled imagining how it would feel to slide them over the tight denim straining to contain wonderfully thick, well-muscled thighs. His sculptor’s fingers unconsciously clenched and a fresh pulse of heat quickened his dick when the man on the stoop shifted, body turning just enough to show a glorious swell of round, jean-clad ass.

It was hard to tear his gaze away from the sight, but Michael’s eyes finally dropped down lower to the scuffed leather of well-worn timberland work boots. He had just enough time to wonder what the feet inside them would look like bare before they began to turn on their heels, their owner apparently having decided that the lack of response his buzz had so far received meant it was time to retreat.

Immediately he jabbed a fat finger into the speaker button.  “Hold on there!”

The roughness of his voice surprised him. It worked though: rather than scurry away, the stranger froze. This instant obedience stoked the slow building fire now smoldering in Michael’s low belly.

“I’ll be right down.”

Pausing just a few seconds to ensure his initial order held, he shuffled over to where his current model lay trussed up on a raised platform in front of his abandoned canvas.

“Hey, Natalie, I’m stepping out for just a sec.”

Large watery eyes blinked up at him. The artfully tied ropes held her completely immobilized and she’d been sitting for him for almost two hours with barely a break.

“Come on, Sweetheart. I know you can hang in there a little longer for me.”

Michael knew that by now Natalie’s muscles must be on fire, all but screaming to shift. But he also felt confident that she could endure a little more. Or more so he knew that she would… for him.

“You’ll do this for me. Right, Nat?”

The bright-red ball gag in her mouth was slick with drool. It had been a bitch to get the glazing just right to match the shine in his canvas, but Natalie’s ‘sugar daddy,’ the patron who’d commissioned this piece, was a perfectionist. As was Michael. And given the amount of money exchanging hands for this painting, they both damn well should be.

A string of drool hung from the young woman’s bee-stung bottom lip. Michael’s brow dipped when he saw both quiver. Before Natalie broke down, he reached a large hand out and gave her head a gentle stroke. She pushed up into the touch greedily. It was just the reward she needed. She sucked the snot back into her nose, held back her tears, and gave a shaky nod even as he pulled his hand away.

“Such a good bitch for me, Baby.”

Her pain clearly pushed to the side now, Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at how her big blue eyes silently begged up at him. Desperate, in this moment she was no longer seeking freedom from her bindings but her better’s touch. Tears kept at bay in the hopes of a different kind of release, her whole body quivered, not so much with the strain of her bound limbs, but from her desire for him to deem her worthy.

Seeing Natalie like this filled Michael with the delicious heat of power and left him grinning.

While his patron had requested this particular scene down to the very knot, Michael knew the man wouldn’t much like the dynamic that had developed between him and his mistress. But he hated doing commission work, and although he generally preferred men, he figured he should be allowed to have some fun in the midst of this tedious process. And while there was no doubt he’d been enjoying Natalie more and more, fun was something he believed could always be expanded on.

Michael’s mind quickly jumped to what sort of fun might possibly be waiting for him now below, standing out on his stoop.

By the time the freight elevator delivered him to the ground floor and he made it to the building’s entrance, he half expected the fantasy man to have evaporated. Michael’s breath caught in his throat when he opened the heavy door to find the stranger not only still there, but even more gorgeous in person.

It was a beauty begging to be debauched.

Reeling back his desire, he drew a deep breath. He pulled himself up straight, knowing that his six foot five frame was imposing already, even without the almost four hundred pounds of hard muscle and soft fat it carried. He gave his unexpected visitor another once over, starting at his feet and coming to rest on his handsome face.


It was cliché, no doubt, but that was the word that popped into his mind when the stranger on his steps met his gaze. Solemn green eyes widened enough at his appearance Michael could see the warm, pale-gold rings that encircled the deep-jade pools of the young man’s irises. It struck him as both beautiful and strange, since generally the lighter color surrounded the pupil.

While the interloper didn’t take a step down and away from the door, he did lean back, body tensing.

The reaction didn’t surprise Michael in the least. His size notwithstanding, now in his mid-forties, he was bald on the top while the rest of his long graying hair was tied into a sloppy ponytail. His thick, full beard hung well down onto his oversized pecs, made swollen with hard work and too much rich food. And the paint-covered black tee that he wore left the violent, bold-colored designs of his two full-sleeve tattoos fully visible  

Yep, on a good day Michael knew he looked like a grizzled biker who’d seen too many miles of hell and hard road.

“You buzzed?”

The words were said without curiosity and just enough coldness to be off putting. Sure, the interloper on his step stirred a storm of desire in him he’d not felt for ages, but Michael was far too clever to throw caution away at the whim of his dick.

“Uh… Yes… Yes-sir. I’m looking for Michael McCray.”

Nice voice.

Lighter than the young man’s rugged appearance belied, it was still rich and wonderfully “straight” sounding. The thought of turning another het boy into an eager cock slut twisted hot and potent, deep in Michael’s gut. Equally stirring was the unsurety in the kid’s tones. It was immediately endearing, as was the blatant apprehensiveness in his wide-set eyes.

The unexpected caller’s jacket hung open. Beneath the black leather lay a crisp gray dress shirt noosed at the collar with a thin black tie. Michael’s “interruption” was dressed for success it seemed.

The stranger moved to stick his hands into tight jean pockets, but the moment strong-looking fingers grazed their seams he caught himself. His fists clenched uncertainly before they dropped open, stiff at his sides.

Someone had taught this boy manners. Still indistinct enough to sound purposely neutral, Michael gave a soft grunt of approval. With his fame, despite his looks, there were countless men and women more than willing to immediately bend over, open their thighs, and let him take whatever he wanted. But what he  wanted. What he craved. What he loved... Was something else entirely.

“I’m not taking new models right now.”

Short words snapped off at their ends: it was a tactic but at the moment it was also true. He had three months until his next show. And, from his stable of inspiring studs, he already had his committed “inspiration” for this exhibition.

It had taken him almost a year to mold Ben into a worthy muse.

He was surprised that upon hearing his words, rather than preen or pout, the young man’s eyes blinked even wider for just a split second before dropping away. Watching the reaction it was soon clear that either this guy didn’t know how fucking gorgeous he was (which seemed impossible) or that if he did, having it acknowledged embarrassed him. Either way, such a response aroused Michael’s suspicion.

It had to be an act. No one was this perfect.

Apparently, in trying to suss his visitor out, he stared a little too hard a little too long. But the reaction he got as a result of this, like most things he’d encountered so far, wasn’t what he expected. Dark head dipping just slightly under his gaze the stranger gave him a perfect view of the glowing tips of his ears.

And is that a fucking blush creeping across those cheekbones?

The thought he was being played eased. Intrigued, and against his better judgement, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out one of his business cards, and offered it.

“Give me a call in three months. I’ll be looking for a new muse by then.”

Those enticing green eyes moved over the card and then flew up to meet his again as he backed up and began to pull the door after him.


At the unexpected protest Michael stopped. He stepped back outside, crossed thick forearms across his chest, and tipped his head to the side. He arched a brow but remained silent. Clearly his body language was reprimand enough because the guy immediately fell all over himself apologizing.

“Sorry… I’m sor… I mean…” Drawing a deep breath the younger man breathed out in a rush, “I’m not here to be a model, Sir.

“Mr. McCray, I’m Derek Hale. I have an appointment to… to interview with you. We exchanged e-mails about you needing an assistant.”

Both Michael’s brows rose now. This was unexpected. He kept his face expressionless despite the fact that inside him something violent and primal was doing a freaking victory dance.

“You’re early.”

Taking the simple statement immediately as a critique, Hale’s expression fell. The color on his cheeks burned brighter. Michael wanted to purr with how quick the kid obviously turned this into some sort of personal shortcoming. He reined himself in just as quickly, however. There were still several tests Hale was going to need to pass before he was really sure.

Despite this, he decided to cut the kid a break.“Eager beaver, eh?”

If only Hale knew all the potential meanings held in these two words. Right now though, ignorance was bliss, and the shy, uncomfortable smile offered in response left Michael’s balls feeling suddenly about ten pounds heavier.

“Yes, Sir.”

Gleaming white teeth flashed, the front slightly too large, the incisors slightly too long, but somehow the mix just made Hale look even more perfect.  

“Good.” Lust made his voice even gruffer than normal. Michael uncrossed his arms and reached down to casually adjust himself. His overactive imagination was already running rampant. God, he wanted to see that same smile while the kid’s face glistened with sweat, piss, and cum.

Despite the affirmation, a second later, the young man’s wonderful smile flickered and his expression became worried once more.

“Sorry. Am I too early?” Derek fidgeted slightly, hands clearly wanting to hide in his pockets again.

“I was painting.”

The look of dismay this answer elicited made Michael want to crow. Instead, he offered a light shrug. “But no, you’re not too early if you don’t mind waiting while I clean up.” He moved to the side and held the door open wide, inviting Derek in.

Yeah, he was taking it easy on the Hale, but the return of that tentative smile made it worth it. And, if all went well, he’d have plenty of opportunities to be hard on him later.

Chapter Text

“Come on in...”

Sweeping his hand into the dim hallway, Michael ushered Derek in. He remained in the doorway though, allowing just enough room for him to pass. He pressed forward once Derek got moving, so that their bodies brushed lightly.

As soon as they were both in and the door was shut behind them, Michael nodded urging Derek forward. “Elevator's up ahead, very back of the hall on the right.”

Dark brows dipped and a frown flicked on sensual lips, but then Derek nodded too and headed off. He made sure not to get too far ahead. It was still far enough, however, for Michael to be able to get a better look at his exquisite ass.

The way the round cheeks shifted in those tight jeans made his mouth fill with saliva. If he’d been up for the climb, he would have made them take the stairs. Fourteen stories with that view ahead of him: it would truly be a stairway to heaven.

“This way?”

Michael looked up quickly, just in time, as Derek cast a questioning look back at him over his shoulder. The kid’s caution was plain and incredibly exciting. Few things were more arousing than a challenge and so far Hale showed all the earmarks of what would truly be a well-won prize, if things worked out.

“Yeah, I know it’s a ways.”

A toss of Michael’s head indicated their goal, the horizontal slider of the freight elevator’s door ahead of them. Derek’s leather-clad shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“My apartment’s on the top floor…” Michael offered this once they were inside the lift, the button for the fifteenth floor pressed. “Penthouse, you could say,” his chuckle was all but drowned out by the rumble of old pulleys.

The building stood in one of the few remaining ungentrified neighborhoods of the city. It had belonged to his first patron, a man whose support he’d earned some twenty-plus years earlier at the start of his career. Though in truth, it had been his sexual talent more than his art that Ronald Baxter the third had been interested in.

Not that Michael cared, it had launched him and now Baxter was fifteen years in the ground; the building was his; and outside the few other artists he rented to, he had the whole place to himself.

“Well, half the top floor is my apartment. The other half is a gallery I use once a year for a very exclusive display.”

“The studio, where we’re headed, is the floor below that. The bottom three floors are other artist studios, their entrance is on the side. There’s ten floors between us.”

When Derek’s brow dipped at this math Michael gestured to the elevator’s panel showing that the thirteenth floor was missing.

“I’m having the other floors slowly renovated, but I’m not really anxious to fill them. I like having my privacy too much. Especially given the nature of my work.”

The elevator ground to a stop on the studio’s floor. Michael was surprised how easily the heavy outer door’s steel grating went up when Derek immediately bent and lifted it.


It was nice to know the kid would be able to do the physical lifting required of his assistant.

But there were other reasons this simple act pleased him. He got to see Hale’s jeans pulled even tighter over the swell of his ass as he bent, not to mention, the action it showed respect and an inclination for service.

Before they exited the elevator he set a hand lightly on Derek’s shoulder. Although the kid tensed beneath his palm, neither of them pulled away.

“I’m going to warn you, I have a model sitting for me right now. She’ll be in there.” Tightening the grip of Derek’s shoulder ever so slightly for emphasis and a better feel of such well-muscled flesh, Michael schooled his face into seriousness.

“So, before we go any further… You are familiar with my art… My subjects?”

He knew the answer already in the way Hale’s eyes had widened ever so slightly at the word "model" and the pink that had instantly lit up his cheeks at “she.”

The kid’s chin dipped in a gesture that made him look like he was trying to swallow an oversized bite before he cleared his throat and stammered out. “Uh.. Yes, Sir, Mr. McCray.”

Green eyes dropped and the color in Derek’s cheeks grew more hectic. His next words were offered softly, clearly an uncomfortable admission, “I’ve read quite a bit about it.”

“My work? Or the scandals around it?” There’d been many. Beyond the personal ones, Michael had lost count of the number of times he’d been attacked by conservatives and critics who’d labeled his pieces ‘obscene.’

“There’s a difference you know.”

The question immediately perked Derek up. “Your work, Mr. McCray, of course!”

Michael couldn’t help but smile. It was sweet, the way it sounded like a protest. Not to mention, that if Hale wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass, if he had truly been ‘following’ his work, there was a possibility he was interested in something more than just technique or aesthetics.

“Good. Good!”

He gave another squeeze, fingers sliding down just slightly, feeling a toned bicep beneath his shifted grip. It was hard for him to remove his hand, but Michael managed to do it. But not before giving a last hearty clap to Derek’s shoulder. God, but he was wonderfully solid.

Solid enough to for Michael to feel below him, when Hale would be overshadowed and smothered by his bulk. Solid enough to meet his thrusts and not fall. Solid enough for him to relish the weight when Hale writhed above him impaled on his cock.

“You’d be surprised how many assistants I’ve interviewed who didn’t know what I do. Couldn’t even be bothered to do a google search before they showed up.

“Quite the surprise for them then, even without a model present, when they got into the studio and saw my work for the first time.”

Derek followed him out of the elevator and into a surprisingly clean entry area that had been made into a foyer of sorts. A few sleek couches set on glowing hardwood floors. The light cream of the walls warmed the space that would have otherwise been quite stark.

“So… You’ve interviewed a lot of prospects?”

It was clear that the mention of other applicants had thrown Derek into a panic, despite the fact that this was New York and one couldn’t swing a bat without hitting a wannabe artist.

God, could this kid get any more adorable?

Michael couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss Hale or slap him. His blood grew hot in his veins at the thought that if he played his cards right today, he just might get to do both eventually.

“At least a dozen,” He offered this casually just to watch Derek wince as he opened the door to his studio.

It was clear by the way Hale’s shoulders rolled in just slightly he’d instantly put himself up against his imagined competition and found himself wanting. This was a key bit of information and Michael was pleased to have it so early: it helped him know just what knobs to twist to get Derek going.

He got another one when they entered into the painting studio where Natalie waited. Michael heard a sharp inhale the second they stepped in the door. It was true, the smell of oils and linseed were strong in the room, but when he turned to see Derek’s face flush, his nostrils flared, pupils enlarged within wide blinking eyes, he suddenly wondered if it was actually the odor of paint Derek was reacting to.

Michael’s cock throbbed, coming so quickly to life it pained him. Seeing Derek this way filled his imagination instantly with how much more intense his expression would be when he was being played with. How he would look being spanked, being fucked.

He couldn’t dwell on these thoughts however, as much as he’d like to. He had other things that demanded his attend to at the moment.

“Been missing me, Natty, baby?” Michael crooned softly.

Natalie’s glazed eyes pulled deep from subspace, flickered to life. She blinked her baby blues up at him and then immediately tears began falling, a soft sob sounding behind the ball gag.

“Shhh… Sweetheart. No need for that noise. I’m here now.” A large hand ran through sweaty blonde locks. “I brought a visitor too.”

This elicited a whimper and blush to tear-stained cheeks but Michael wasn’t worried. Natalie was an attention whore. Having someone here, watching him attend to her, would only make her more wanton.

Turning as though to loosen her bonds, he caught Derek watching them intently.

Yeah, a little show would be perfect here. Another test for his new prospect. He continued stroking Nat’s hair, the young woman pressing desperately into his palm. Michael murmured soft soothes to her but even as he did this, he only had eyes for Hale.

Derek’s eyes swept over Natalie’s bound body, transfixed, drinking in the tableau before him. Disregarding his blush, they lingered just long enough in all the right spots, confirming Michael’s earlier suspicions about Hale’s het inclinations. But he was surprised that rather than continue to make a visual circuit over Natalie’s exposed skin, Derek’s eyes stopped immediately at his hand in her hair and stayed there.


“Okay baby, I’m going to untie you now. You’ve been such a good girl for me…”

It thrilled Michael, the way Derek’s tongue flickered out to unconsciously wet his lips at these words. It was so immediately clear that Hale wanted to be good too. A good boy? Maybe a good girl? Or something else…

Michael desperately wanted to have the chance to tease the answer out of him. It looked like he might just get it too, the way the kid’s green gaze had all but attached to his hand. He tested this hyperfocus and was rewarded when Derek’s eyes followed his thick fingers as they slid from blonde hair, down pale bare shoulders, across the accentuated dip of spine and the curve of a blemishless backside.

Natalie’s legs had been bound together at thigh, upper calf, and ankle. They were bent and fixed to a coiled belt of ropes around her slender waist, keeping her heels locked down tight, pressed to the cheeks of her round ass. Her upper arms had been bound in a complicated pattern of knots holding them tight behind her back. Petite wrists wore looped bracelets of crimson rope that also connected to her ankles.

Such a pretty package and tied as she was, also completely helpless.

“You’ve been sitting longer than usual for me today, sweetheart.” A thick finger traced over the ropes holding Natalie’s heels in place. “So, it’s not going to be comfortable when I undo these.

“Remember when it hurts just how proud of you I am.”

Michael caught another flicker of pink from Derek. It reminded him of a serpent, using its tongue to taste the air. Oh, the things he was going to do with that tongue if Hale let him…

Within his jeans, beneath the press of his pendulous belly, his cock was fully hard now. Hiding his arousal, he bent back down. Focusing his attention back on his model, Michael made quick but careful work of the first knots, releasing Natalie’s hands and feet. Slowly he bent her long slender legs down, proficiently rubbing marble-pale flesh as he went.

Natalie’s breath hitched and she gasped behind the gag as the blood began to rush back into her limbs. Ankles were untied next, red, but not too chafed. Calves then received this same treatment.

As he untied her bound thighs, Michael slid one of his heavy hands between her tightly pressed legs. Just as he suspected, he’d barely gotten his hand wedged between them when he felt the little slut’s wetness. Being left alone, immobilized, and vulnerable had her sloppy cunt dripping even more than usual.

As soon as the ropes were loose enough Michael slid his hand up further and casually stroked her cunt. His slicked hand was doused even further when he brushed against her clit. Natalie groaned like a hog at the trough and came hard with just a few lightly rubbing touches.

“Messy girl…” Michael teased and gave a light tap to her ass in playful reprimand.

Suddenly freed, Natalie opened her thighs, revealing the soaked sheet covering the cushioned platform beneath her. Gasping heavily as pins and needles flashed into momentary pain, this didn’t stop her from awkwardly scrambling, arms still tied, to splay her thighs further and hike up her ass.

She pressed it up, presenting, desperately seeking more of his hand.

“Naughty girl too…” Michael’s voice was a growl now, followed with another smack this time, hard enough to spark pink against her pale flesh.

“Did you forget we had a visitor?”

So lost in the moment it was clear Nat had. She twisted her head back to look at her painter, eyes wide, begging, and wrecked. Michael clucked his tongue at her slutty display. Natalie’s face fell and she turned her stiff neck back to the front. She looked up then, seeking their visitor and her broken, lust-filled gaze met Derek’s.

That was the instant Michael knew Hale would be his.

Chapter Text

“Hey, guy...” Michael snapped his fingers until he caught Derek’s attention. “Uh, remind me of your name again?”

Of course he knew Hale’s name. It had been etched into his mind the moment it had fallen out of the kid’s plush mouth. But Derek didn’t need to know that. And pretending he’d forgotten it would just serve as a reminder of the “dozen” applicants his prospective employer had already seen.

The question had the desired effect. The dazed, lust-blown expression on Hale’s face erased the moment it registered. His whole neck turned bright red, as well as his ears, realizing, he, a stranger, had just been gawking like a pervert.

“Uh, Hale, Sir.” He coughed out each syllable, clearly unable to speak in a cohesive manner otherwise. “Derek Hale.”

“Well, Hale…” Michael shot him a smirk, not before dropping a quick glance at Derek’s crotch, his hardening cock visibly bulging along a thick thigh, further taxing the fabric of already too-tight jeans. “If you’re applying to work for me, show me what you’ve got.”

The way Hale’s face blanched at this was priceless. Michael pretended to be oblivious to the double entendre he’d just thrown out.

“Make yourself useful and bring me that robe over there.”

Maybe it was the gruffness of his voice or the fact Hale wanted to turn away to hide his obvious arousal, but instantly Derek headed over to the white terrycloth robe hanging from a hook on the wall.

As he walked away, Michael relished another long look at the kid’s beautiful, muscle plumped ass in faded blue denim. Once Derek grabbed the robe, he carried it in front of him like a shield, obscuring the view of his crotch. It  grieved Michael to lose sight of such a promising dick. The timid way Hale approached made up for the loss, however, acting almost like he was afraid to get too close.

 Michael left him there, holding out the offered robe while he untied Natalie’s arms. Derek didn’t drop his hands, but kept the robe out until he'd finished. Grabbing it from his outstretched hands at last, Michael draped it over Natalie, and helped her sit up.

Derek shifted uncomfortably, empty hands drifting towards his groin. Clearly he was wrestling with what would be less incriminating: trying to casually cover himself, or pretending he wasn’t hard.

It was going to be delicious to break him of such impulses.

Michael's own big paws shifted from rubbing the circulation back into Natalie’s reddened wrists, to easing the buckles of her ball gag. He cast his head back over his shoulder. It made his ponytail flop.

“See the kitchenette back there? Go grab, Nat a glass of water.”

His painting studio was huge, one side lined with a row of massive arched windows filling the room with bright southern light. Off to one side was the door to his office. Down from that was a wide long hall punctuated on one side with oversized doors that lead into other studio spaces, where he worked in his other mediums. The other side of the hall was solid and served as a temporary hanging space for finished canvases.

On the other side of this wall, across the back of the painting studio was a bar, behind this stood the kitchen (so large it was hardly a kitchenette). Above these, accessible by a flight of wood plank stairs and open to the studio was a loft, a large bed visible in the center of it.

Seemingly eager for another distraction that would take him out from under Michael’s eyes, Derek moved quickly, if stiffly, off to the kitchen to fill his order. When he returned, Michael took the glass from him, noting the barest shake in Derek's fingers.

Ignoring this for the moment, he helped Natalie drink, making a show of doting on her. But his apparent attentiveness didn’t preclude the covert glances he shot at Derek. The way the outline of  Hale’s cock continued to plump along his thigh, the kid was obviously shortless under his jeans. Tight as they were, Michael swore he still saw Derek’s dick visibly twitch at certain soft words or a particular stroke of fingers.

Clearly Hale was a closet comfort slut. Touch starved too, he imagined. Michael wondered just how far the young man might be willing to push himself for a little coddling… Time would tell. Right now though, he needed to find a  way to ditch Nat so he could get Derek interviewed and lock him down before someone else realized what a treasure he was.

“Say, Hale…”

There it was, immediate attention coupled with a deliciously guilty expression. Michael was hard pressed not to grin. “My office is right over there, first door. Why don’t you head on in there and take a seat.” He rubbed his hands over Nat’s shoulders as she sat, still too subbed out to say anything.

“I’m going to get Natalie comfortable upstairs, where she can rest up a bit from our sitting. I’ll be in to talk with you as soon as I get her settled.”

Derek ran his hands nervously along his outer thighs. “Yes, sir."

Michael knew he must be itching to touch his dick. As Derek turned and head over to his office, he wondered if the kid would dare to pull his cock out and rub one off while he was getting Nat squared away.  Wondered too if the paintings and photos he had hung on the walls of his office would encourage the impulse.

Damn, but he hoped so. It was so easy to picture Derek, legs splayed sitting in the chair across from his desk, playing with his hard dick as he stared at his artwork. The thought set Michael growling.

Natalie shivered under his hands at the sound and he gently “shushed” her. He sat still with her, absently massaging her slight shoulders, the picture of Hale jerking himself off building in his mind until the door to his office closed behind Derek’s gorgeous ass, blocking him from sight.

It took longer than Michael had hoped to escape from Natalie and her post-sitting neediness, but that was okay, it didn’t to hurt Hale to wait.

He had to admit he was disappointed when he finally entered his office only to find Derek sitting still, almost primly, in one of the chairs opposite his desk. The kid’s eyes were firmly fixed on the floor and the air was sadly free of the telltale smell of spunk.

As he took his own seat behind his sleek black desk, gaze sweeping over his applicant again, his disappointment ebbed when he realized the reason his applicant had his legs pressed so tightly together: there was a spot the size of a fifty cent piece visible between Derek’s closed thighs.

Hot damn, Hale was a leaker. What a delightful discovery!

Maybe it was from  peeping at the images around him while waiting. Or maybe it was residual from seeing Natalie. Whatever the cause, Michael thrilled at the revelation. After settling in with a grunt, he eyed Derek long enough to make him squirm, while taking care not to alert him to the fact he’d noticed his little ‘spill.’

Turning to the screen of his mac, he pulled up his application materials.

“Uh… Excuse me, sir?”

Glancing over, he caught Derek’s worried expression.

“Um, that woman… Is… is she okay?”

 Such earnest concern… clearly Hale hadn’t been in the city for long. Michael bit back his grin. “Natalie? Yes, of course.”

 He gave a loose wave indicating all the paintings and photographs of his sculptures. So many different bodies tied and contorted into objects of beauty.

“Given the way I work, sitting for me can be a very intense, emotional experience for some… But she loves it and I ensure she does.

 “I take care of my models." He stressed the word "care" and watched Derek's eyes go hazy for a split second. "Wouldn’t be where I am today without them...”

Michael allowed his words to drift while he further gauged Derek’s reaction. Now that he’d been given permission to look, Hale’s eyes couldn’t stop flickering between the pictures and his potential boss. His thighs shifted to press even tighter together. Finally the green eyes came to rest on a particular spot.

“Uh… Is that you, sir?”

How many intonations for the word ‘sir’ might he be able to pulls from Hale’s mouth? God, Michael hoped to find out. Tearing his wandering mind away from this enticing thought, his eyes found the image that had caught Derek’s attention.

In between the artworks and photos he also had a few of his more prestigious awards and articles posted. Personally he didn’t give a shit about such things, but the evidence of his success seemed to bolster the confidence of some of his more tentative clients.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

It was an early and very positive review from one of his first solo shows. Amidst the text was a picture of him posing next to some of his pieces.  In the photo he wasn’t too much older than he supposed Hale was now and given this, Michael could understand why he would question. He’d been fresh-faced and leanly muscled back then. As he was today, he was completely unrecognizable from that former self.

Derek’s gaze flickered between the now and the then. He worked hard to keep his expression neutral, but couldn’t quite make it work. Michael noted the flash of disgust, watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tried to swallow his distaste. The reaction from someone in his prime and so obviously body conscious didn’t surprise him. It did, however, fan the fire of his lust and make him want to conquer Derek all the more.

Turning away and clicking a few keys he opened the portfolio Derek had sent along with his other materials. The kid’s work was an abstraction of himself: potent, dark and brooding. Sculptural mostly, it showed Hale had not just a good eye, but also some pretty keen technical skills.

“So you have a BFA…”

“Yes, sir.”

“CSU Sacramento, huh? Not too bad a program.” His chair groaned under his bulk as Michael shifted and resettled back into it. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes, sir.”

While his tone was polite, it was clear Hale wasn’t going to elaborate. Michael wondered if he was always so terse. Not that a guy needed a lot of words when his face was so expressive. The dip of those dark brows and the spark of discomfort in Derek’s eyes convinced him “home” likely hadn’t been a placid place.

He needed to know more. It was time to go fishing.

“So what brought you East?” Pulling open a drawer in his desk, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He didn’t smoke often but this guy was stirring up all his vices, sitting there looking so sad and pretty.

He tapped out a smoke and fat fingers fumbled for the lighter. “There’s plenty of art scenes in Cali. Other scenes too, if one’s interested.”

Unconsciously Derek’s gaze was pulled back to the images surrounding them. This wasn’t lost on Michael and when their eyes met next, Derek knew this hadn’t gone unnoticed. His sudden blush was a beautiful thing to behold and Michael would have given anything to be the seat of Hale’s chair with the uncomfortable way he wiggled his lush ass in it.

“I wanted a fresh start.”

Less than half a dozen words, but all so weighted Michael knew there was a long story hanging heavy behind them. Derek seemed to sense he’d revealed himself somehow and now struggled to deflect. “Besides, my sister is here. Studying law at Columbia.”

Michael fought to hide the annoyance that flared at this new knowledge. He’d have to find out how close Hale was to his sister. Depending on what direction he decided to take with him, family could be a huge complication.  “Columbia… Huh? Must be a smart cookie.”

There was a flash of something in Derek’s green eyes. They looked a bit lighter all of a sudden. “Yes, she is…”

“And what about you?”

The lightness flickered and went out. Derek dropped his eyes and looked away. Beautifully veined hands clenched at the legs of his jeans but found no hold in the tight denim. “I’m better with my hands… I guess.”

Michael knew there was some self-deprecation in Hale’s quiet assessment. The kid’s application had been articulate and polished. Concise but with a lot more elaboration than the young man in front of him offered. If it hadn’t been for the list of academic clubs and awards in Hale’s resume, the way the kid was acting, Michael might have wondered if his sister had written it for him.

But already, Hale didn’t strike him as the type to ask for help. Even if he needed it.

“I see by your application, that you’re proficient in a variety of media. Worked as a lab assistant too,” Michael commented in between puffs of smoke.

Derek nodded, but his nose twitched as the air in the room filled with the scent of burning tobacco. The smoke obviously bothered him. Michael ignored this for now, after all, Hale was going to quickly need to learn how to deal with discomfort.

“Looks like mostly 3-D stuff. You ever build a canvas stretcher?”

Derek’s nodded. The simple motion filled Michael’s mind with the most glorious images. He wanted to see that dark, tumbled head locked like that on repeat between his meaty thighs. Unfortunately the fantasy was disrupted by his applicant’s next words.

“I used to build them for my girlfriend all the time.” No sooner had he uttered this than Derek’s eyes widened and his face took on an expression of extreme discomfort. “Ex-girlfriend,” he added not losing his grimace. He rushed on as though wanting to leave these words behind as quickly as possible, tone slightly anxious,“but if there’s something I don’t know, I can pick it up. I’m a quick study…”

Michael fervidly hoped so, but not in any way Hale likely imagined.

He ran through a dozen other questions, making sure to keep a completely professional appearance even though his mind had been made up the moment Hale had said he was there to apply. The kid was polite, gave good answers, though never offering more than was necessary to answer despite his clear desire to impress.

Michael glanced up at the clock on his computer screen. He could have kept Hale in his office for hours. Maybe someday he would. But for now, a driver would be coming to pick Natalie up soon and he had a few other matters on his calendar that afternoon still needing to be attended to. It was time to bring out the big guns.

“Look, Hale…” He stubbed his second cigarette out in an onyx ashtray on his desk. “I’ll be straight with you.” He made a point to make eye contact and hold it steady. “I’ve got a lot of people who want to work for me. Most because they think the connection to my name and my studio will give them a leg up in their own game.”

Holding Derek’s gaze Michael leaned back in his chair and brought both hands to rest lightly behind his head. “But when someone works for me… I come first.” A bright heat curled in his oversized gut at the truth of this statement.

“I’m not easy to work for. I am a perfectionist and an asshole, and I own these things. Wouldn’t be where I am now if I’d played nice all these years.” The intensity with which Hale was listening to him stoked the heat in his groin even higher.

“When someone’s on my clock, they’re basically my studio slave.” Michael watched to see how the kid responded. Outside a slight flare of nostrils, Hale’s face betrayed nothing.

“So, it doesn’t matter if I want them to build me a crate, help shave a model for a molding, or send them out to get coffee. Hell, if I ask my assistant to clean the crapper here, they do it quickly and without question. I’m telling you this right now, because if you don’t think you can handle some guy ordering you around, it would be a waste of my time to go any further.”

There it was: that tiny flicker of pink tongue that was so enticing. No sooner had it slipped back between Derek’s lips then he dropped his gaze.

“I… I can do that… I mean, I would if it meant I got to work with... an artist of your caliber, sir.”

The kid’s voice was huskier than it had been and it seemed like he struggled to get the words out. A quick glance at Hale’s jeans betrayed at least part of the reason for this: his dick was still hard and the wet spot where he’d leaked before had spread.

Clearly Hale didn’t find the idea of being a “studio slave” off-putting. Michael wanted to leap up from his desk and do a victory dance, but he knew they weren’t at the finish line yet.

“And because of my clientele and my subject matter whoever works for me needs to have the utmost discretion. That means whatever goes on in the studio stays in the studio. And…”

He fought not to grin at how well his rules had been adapted to suit all his purposes. “If I ever catch one of my employees breaking that confidence, or trying to work a client, or a model, for their own purposes, They’re out on their ass in a second.

"There's release forms my assistants have to sign too. Given the nature of my work you'll see all kinds of things, be asked to do all kinds of things that are unorthodox to say the least and the last thing I need for for an employee to suddenly get 'sensitive' and sue me for some nonsense in the name of harassment. ”

Unlocking his hands, Michael reached out and laid his palms down flat on his desk. He leaned forward, rising just enough to highlight his size. “You have a problem with any of that?”

Rather than shrink back as many would’ve done, Derek stayed planted, spine straight in the chair. His eyes, however, were wide and earnest. “No, sir. No problem.”

It pleased Michael, the way he reacted: agreeable, but not intimidated. This made Hale just the kind of challenge he loved. He had one more point to make, however. “It does, however, appear you do have at least one problem we need to address, that is, if you’re going to be a viable applicant for me.”

 Dark brows rose is question. When Michael leaned just a bit further forward and lifted his hand to point a meaty finger at the wet spot on his jean’s, the expression on Hale’s face was priceless.

Michael schooled his features into something good-humored and made sure his voice sounded understanding. “Look, I get that you’re young. You probably still have to fight getting hard every time the wind changes directions. And, though not my usual choice for a model, Natalie’s a ‘piece’ to be sure. 

“Now, I don’t know all the directions you swing… It’s none of my business. But what is my business is bodies, and what can have a negative effect on my business is employees walking around with hard on and dick juice on their pants.”

If they made a paint the color of Hale’s blush, Michael would have ordered it by the crateful.

“So, if you get this job… And I am saying ‘if’. .. When we get a model in here, you’re going to have to keep yourself under wraps.” Michael grinned slyly and gave Derek a wink. “If that means you have to take care of yourself in the morning before you get to work… rub one out in the john at lunch… I don’t care.” He quickly added, “as long as you clean up after yourself.

“The important thing is that you can keep yourself handled.”

The kid looked like he might actually swallow his own tongue in mortification, which would have been a terrible shame. But after making a couple open and closed guppy mouths, Hale finally coughed out, “of course, Mr. McCray. Please be assured I can be professional.”

The pained expression on his face as he waved a hand vaguely towards his crotch was delightful. “Sorry about this… It’s not something I expected to happen.“

Michael gave a light snort that could have been interpreted as assent or disbelief. When he hired Hale, he imagined Derek would find himself experiencing quite a few ‘unexpected’ things.

“Good to know. And I’ll hold you to that.” The expectant and hopeful look on Derek’s face crumbled deliciously when he continued. “I’ve got all your info. You’ll hear from me in a few days, after I finish all my interviews.”

At least the kid was smart enough to understand their appointment was over. Some of his applicants weren’t so astute. And he didn’t wheedle or try and ingratiate himself by attempting further fruitless conversation. Instead, Michael watched Derek rise stiffly from the chair and shrug out of his coat. He gathered it, holding it in the front of him just like had with Natalie’s robe at first.

Rising from behind his desk Michael stretched out his hand. Derek shifted the hold on his jacket and stepped forward to take it, leaning just slightly over the desk between them. In the split seconds their skin met, Michael had memorized every callous. It was a good shake, firm but not too hard, though he sensed Hale was being cautious in his grip.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. McCray.”

The tone in Derek’s voice let Michael know the kid figured he’d lost out on the opportunity already. Still, he had no doubt, despite this, Hale would jump every time his phone rang over the next couple days.

“You remember the way out?”

Derek nodded and thanked him again. Michael sank back down into his chair and made no attempt to see him out. Instead he settled back in his chair and watched on the building’s multiple security monitors as Hale exited the building. The kid held himself tall until he got into the elevator, then he slumped back against the wall, shoulders hunching in as he ran a hand through his bangs.

Once Hale was out the front door, Michael opened his calendar and sent a note to his answering service to call out and cancel all his remaining applicants’ appointments. Then he shifted a few things making sure he’d have several hours that night for research. He was going to find out everything he could about Derek Hale.

Flipping back through the tabs to Derek’s application he tapped out one more cigarette. It had been a long time since he’d found a subject that made him feel so inspired.

Chapter Text

Despite the blackout shades on his bedroom windows Michael’s mind flipped itself out of slumber promptly at seven. It didn’t matter that it was Sunday; he had studio work to do. Eyes still closed, he grimaced as his mental gears started turning. The ache that immediately pulsed in his temples reminded him last night he’d imbibed more heavily than he’d intended to.

Great, it’s going to be a coffee and aspirin day.

Michael grunted in annoyance. Beneath the impossibly high-count cotton sheet covering him, his hand lazily scratched over the fur of his mountainous belly. There were numerous reasons he should have been able to cut loose, not the least of which he was a couple weeks ahead of schedule for his upcoming exhibit.

Yeah, hiring Hale as his assistant had proven to be one of the best decisions he’d made. In so many ways.

Stretching his long legs out from under the tumbled bedclothes one of his ankles brushed stubble. Blinking his eyes open, once they cleared, Michael peered around his gut. His still sleepy mind sparked instantly brighter seeing the snoring figure at his feet. He spent a few moments allowing his sharpening senses to take in the broad shoulders and well-rounded ass of the muscled body below him, naked but for a thick black leather collar at the neck.

Reaching over to the nightstand Michael picked up an open pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. He wasn’t so hungover that a smoke first thing was going to make him sick. Besides, nicotine always seemed to do wonders for his headaches.

As soon as he’d lit up and exhaled his first puff, his foot nudged the dark head of the man sleeping soundly at the foot of his bed. It took a few bumps before he was greeted with a growl.

He growled back at the tone of his waking pet. “Time to get up, bitch.”

There was another soft growl that turned into a groan. A moment later however, muscular arms stretched and propped. The dark head rose and the collared man glanced at the clock on the nightstand before fixing his gaze on Michael. Green eyes still hazy with sleep squinted in disgust.

“What the fuck? It’s 7:00am on a Sunday!”

The voice was all wrong, too high and fey. It shattered the early morning fantasy Michael had been crafting since he’d woke and having the illusion disrupted that it was Derek at his feet wasn’t something he particularly appreciated.

“Is that how you greet your dom?” The early hour made his voice gruffer than usual.

The sub’s eyes, close in color to Hale’s but not nearly as large, widened nicely at the question. A tongue flickered over lips still red from use.

“No… Sorry, Daddy.” The dark head dropped for a moment before the young man looked back up, his expression schooled into flirtatious contrition. “Good morning, Sir.”

Michael couldn’t remember the name of the bitch at his feet. What he did recall was picking the guy up at Dungeons , bringing him home, and domming him to tears half a dozen times before fucking him into the mattress, pretending all the while his trick was his newest assistant.

After the restraint he’d been exercising having Hale working for him, God, he’d needed it.

Now though, without the blur of alcohol, it was all too clear, outside coloring and build, just how much the guy presently batting dark lashes at him, Trevor or Terry… Something with a T... didn’t really look like Hale at all.

It pissed him off and Michael wished the kid had at least had the decency to have kept his head down in deference. Quickly he stubbed his smoke in the bedside ashtray and hefted himself up enough to grab a handful of dark bangs. He flipped the covers off himself and shoved ‘T’’s face into his groin.

“I can think of better ways for you to use that mouth of yours to tell your Master ‘good morning,’ slut.”

The bitch gave a startled huff at being grabbed and stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, after a few seconds he giggled into Michael’s crotch and uttered a muffled “yes, Daddy.” Then he began to eagerly nose at his soft cock.

Hale would never giggle. Hell, the kid hardly ever even smiled. That it wasn’t Derek between his thighs just infuriated Michael further.

“Get your mouth on me!”

He twisted the fingers in the sub’s hair to underscore his point. The bitch got the hint and this time stayed silent, quickly slurping his cock into his mouth. Though Michael’s dick was a good size even flaccid ‘T’ took it easily to the root since it wasn’t hard yet.

Shifting in his bed Michael pulled the hole on his cock along with him as he resettled himself higher, propped to half sitting. The sub’s head was completely obscured by his pendulous belly, but from this new position he could see the rest of T’s body.

On his knees, waxed ass in the air, the guy was something to behold, though Michael had no doubt that once revealed to him, Hale’s body would be even better. His gaze scanned tanned hairless skin. Hale would be hairier too, and it would be his pleasure as his dom to denude him.

“Like that, slut?”

Leaning back Michael enjoyed the sweet tension of his dick hardening. It was made even sharper by the pressure built up in his bladder during the night. “Can you still taste that filthy pussy of yours on my cock?”

Below him there was a muffled hum of assent and the mouth on his dick became even more ardent.

He’d barely wiped down after fucking… Todd’s? cunt before falling asleep. Lounging as he was, Michael could smell himself, he reeked of smoke, sex, and sweat but now the alcohol he’d consumed last night was coming out his pores too. It was potent from where he sat, so he knew it had to be rank downtown. But “T” had said he was into that and the way he was going after his cock showed it.

“You like that don’t you, bitch? The flavor of a real man… A seasoned, ripe dick, filling that mouth pussy of yours. Choking you.”

Michael closed his eyes imagining again it was Derek on him again and his sluggish dick woke up immediately. He released ‘T’’s hair and pulled an ipad out from under one of his pillows. A few quick swipes brought up what had become one of his favorite videos.

In his research on Hale before he’d hired him, he’d found a YouTube compilation of sports moments from Derek’s high school days. The kid had been quite the athlete and had played on Beacon Hill High’s werewolf teams in lacrosse, basketball, and baseball. Seemed to have had quite the fan club too, given all the fangirling comments posted under the video.

Michael didn’t give a shit about these though, not right now. Instead he set the ipad up and started the video rolling. It didn’t matter the activity, without actual porn of Hale to watch (yet), this had become his go to spank bank. Hale’s muscular calves and thighs flexed as he ran, his bubble ass filled out all his uniforms perfectly.

There were a couple basketball clips he'd found and favored, taken from what was obviously a practice. He'd opened one of these.

Derek’s team was ‘skins.’

“Open your throat, slut!” Michael’s balls had drawn up and the familiar buzz in them was building. He thrust his hips up, rewarded by the gagging sounds of the sub fighting to swallow him now that he was fully hard. “Come on… Open that mouth pussy of yours and take your Daddy in.”

Someday, Michael promised himself, he would be saying this to Derek. He wouldn’t just  be Hale’s dom, he was going full alpha on that kid… Fuck, the things he was going to do to him.

“No hands!”

He’d felt ‘T’’s fingers graze his sac as the sub tried to help his dick further down his throat. “I want to feel your tongue on my balls, boy!”

Below him, his cock was suddenly cool as the hot mouth slipped off him to draw a deep, gasping breath. Michael reached out and grabbed bangs again, pulling his current cocksleeve back on. The sub choked around his dick, but he held him in place. “Come on, show me what you can do.”

Even as he growled this, Michael’s eyes never left the screen. The skins scene was quickly coming and so was he.

Footage of Hale, bare but for his shorts, shoes and socks flashed at his side. A deep growl churned in Michael’s chest at the sight of a torso Michelangelo would have wept over. The way Derek’s abs rippled as he ducked and ran, the flex of his hair dusted pecs.

He was fouled by an opposing forward as he went up for a shot. Called on it, the teams regrouped and Derek stepped up to take his free throw. The arch of his back as he bent down to bounce the ball was gorgeous. His shorts hung so low on his hips, at his waist the white flash of his jock winked as he moved.

“Harder,” Michael rumbled, thinking about the slick, bare skin of Hale’s ass hidden by the thin sheer of his red-striped, black shorts.

The look of concentration on Hale’s face as he lined up his shot was delicious. The flick of pink tongue, nervously wetting his lips. Even in practice, it was clear he took every moment seriously. Michael couldn’t wait to see that same seriousness directed at him as his master.

Lean well-muscled arms lifted the ball. Derek shot and the basketball arced beautifully. Three things happened at once then: the ball fell into the basket touching nothing but net; ‘T’’s tongue began to lap at Michael’s balls while his cock was embedded deep in his throat; and Michael shouted and came.

It was breaking nine by the time Michael headed down to his studio. It took him longer than he’d planned to get rid of his trick. Tye turned out to be the guy’s name.

Michael knew he was partly to blame for this. After all, once he’d come, he gotten up and dragged Tye after him by the collar into the bathroom. Here he’d shoved him into the shower and blessed him with his morning piss and shit before turning on the water and telling him to wash himself up.

Once the guy had scrubbed down, he’d let Tye fix him breakfast too. Apparently kneeling at his feet while he ate, Tye decided he’d died and gone to sub heaven. Michael might have even entertained letting the little slut return to paradise if the prick hadn’t thrown such a bitch fit once he’d made it clear their play date was over.

Heaving a sigh he pressed the elevator button. As the doors opened to the floor of his studio, he brushed a meaty hand over his wrinkled T-shirt. While he might have ordered Tye to clean up, he’d taken no such care himself.

Entering the studio, a subtle grin pulled at his lips. It was clear that Derek had arrived punctually at eight, despite the fact it was the weekend, and had carefully prepared the studio for him as usual.

Michael stepped over to the easel where the canvas of most recent creation sat, glowing wetly in the morning light. All his brushes had been cleaned and sat in neat order. Paints and glazes too had been arranged, tubes rolled and smoothed. Michael’s grin grew wider at how anal Hale was and at just how much more anal he intended for him to become.

He drew a deep breath to cover his excitement and over the scent of oil and turpentine his nose picked up the welcome aroma of coffee. Moving into the studio’s kitchenette, he saw the coffeemaker percolating his preferred blend. On the counter next to it was a pink pastry box from his favorite bakery.

Opening the lid greeted him with the sight of all his choice Sunday confections. A warm glow filled his belly, wondering just how long Hale had stood in line to fill his order. Saliva flooded Michael’s mouth at the treats, but he swallowed it back and let the lid of the box fall closed.

Everything in due time.

And right now there was something else delectable he needed to locate first.

As he traveled down the hall his ears picked up the sounds of movement coming from inside the mold room. Knowing how sensitive Derek’s ears were, he moved quietly. He had amazing stealth when he wanted it, despite his bulk.

Cracking the door to the mold room open, Michael realized he hadn’t needed to be so quiet. Hale had his earphones on. Between whatever music the kid was listening to and the beats of the mallet he was using on the end of a thin chisel in an attempt to tap open the seam between the two halves of a new plaster mother mold, it was unlikely he would have heard him anyways.

Still, Michael stepped carefully up behind him: he enjoyed watching his assistant when he wasn’t aware of being observed. Otherwise, Hale tended to be remarkably self-conscious. Derek was crouched low on the ground, prying away at the mold’s seam. Absorbed in his work, it gave Michael the chance to take in the play of the muscles beneath the tight, plaster coated t-shirt he wore.

Dark eyes drifted down from Derek’s broad shoulders and followed the curve of his back. Heat bloomed in Michael’s gut noting how the shirt had ridden up to reveal a stripe of tanned skin. If it wasn’t for the dust mask Hale wore, Michael had no doubt that, beyond his already cultivated reek, his were-assistant would have surely scented his presence by his arousal.

Fortunately, the mask muffled these enough he was able to move in even closer still. Close enough to make out the wonderful detail of fine dark hairs that made a thin line down the base of Derek’s spine, a back version of a paradise trail.

Michael’s eyes drifted lower.

Ever since he’d started working at the studio, Hale had worn much looser jeans. While much more practical for work, (and for hiding any wayward erections) Michael had been disappointed at this initially, since they didn’t do the same justice to Derek’s glorious glutes.

Now though, even with a belt, the looser waistband gapped a bit, and with his shirt riding up and the way Hale was bent, if Michael craned his neck, he could peek right down the back of his assistant’s jeans. Far enough to see Derek’s white-banded, black jockeys. The briefs had slipped down too and the crack of Derek’s delicious ass was visible. His treasure trail split at its crest into two enticing small dark swirls, like an arrow of sorts, identifying one’s arrival at the ‘promised land.’

Michael could have stood there admiring his assistant’s ass all morning, but it seemed one way or another, Derek had at last become aware he was no longer alone in the room. He cast a glance over his shoulder and, seeing his boss so close, immediately dropped his tools and stood up.

“Mr. McCay…”

The words were muffled, and Derek quickly lifted plaster-dusted hands to pull the mask down. Michael experienced an unexpected pang at this. Seeing those wide expressive eyes while Derek’s lower face was covered had sent his imagination running with just how great he would look muzzled and gagged.

The moment the mask came off was priceless. Michael wished he had a video recording of the look on Hale’s face when the were’s sensitive nose was met with the scent of his last night’s debauchery. Michael had even had Tye spit his spunk out, once he’d shot his load rather than swallow it. He’d wiped the sub’s spit and his spend all over his belly. The scent of his jizz was something Derek needed to get used to.

The face he pulled was precious, but too quickly Derek schooled his expression into its usual careful mask. As soon as he got this under control he pulled his earphones off too, unminding of the white prints left on their surface by dirty fingers.

“Sorry, sir… I didn’t hear you come in.”

With most of his past employees, after a few weeks, Michael usually allowed a less formal address. Not with Hale though. He’d kept their exchanges crisp and the studio hierarchy rigid. It was part of his subtle training for now.

“Ben’s going to be in shortly to sit.” Michael made sure to keep his voice gruff. His model for his upcoming show had been coming to the studio almost daily for the last few weeks since Derek had started working. “I’m going to want your help arranging him today.”

Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbed only slightly at this news before he nodded. This was the first time he’d been called on to help with the setup of a sitting. It had been clear from the start that he was far less comfortable with Ben than he’d been with Natalie, but outside some initial awkwardness, he’d been nothing but professional.

“Keep your ears open for me. Okay? I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”


Information communicated, Michael headed back out towards his studio. He stopped by his office to check his work e-mails. When he saw notification from the private detective he’d hired, he was quick to open it.

Seeing the documents the PI had dug up, Michael’s excitement mounted. He knew it was the right decision to hire Jethro after his call to one of Derek’s references, a former studio professor. The guy had let it slip that the reason Derek hadn’t finished his MFA was because of some trouble he’d had at the University.

Of course the prof was quick to point out that what had happened wasn’t Hale’s fault, and everything had since been resolved. That he wouldn’t elaborate further had only served to kick Michael’s curiosity up to a fever’s pitch.

He only had a few minutes to glance at what Jethro had sent him before Ben arrived, but perusing the information on Kate Argent, the philosophy professor Derek had apparently had an affair with, undoubtedly the “ex” he’d mentioned in his interview, was enough to set him grinning.

“Oh, Hale… You know how to pick ‘em. Don’t you kid.”

At Ben’s buzz at the building’s front door Michael reluctantly closed out of his e-mail. It was going to be hard to wait until tonight to really dive into the files on Derek and now, Kate. But from what he’d seen already it was going to be worth it.

Juicy stuff, and his future sub right there in the middle of it.


Chapter Text

By the time Ben made it up to the studio Michael had relocated. Seated on a wide stool at the bar of the kitchenette, coffee in hand and the open pastry box before him, he was still ruminating on the bits of information he’d skimmed from Jethro’s report.

“Good morning, Sir!” Ben called carefully from the door.

Michael gave him a nod of acknowledgement while pulling a cream-filled confection from the box. Still in the painting studio’s entry Ben immediately started stripping down. This was one of his rules for both his models and his subs; they weren’t allowed to be in his spaces clothed.

Watching the lean, well-muscled body revealed always gave a thrill. But while all his models were exquisite physical specimens, it wasn’t their flesh that aroused Michael as much as their obedience.

Illustrating this, once naked, Ben waited quietly to be acknowledged again. Michael let him stand just inside the door longer than usual today while he made a lewd display of sucking the filling from his pastry and licking the cream from his fingers. Once he was done he finally beckoned.

There was no doubting the extra sway of his ass as Ben moved towards him and Michael knew it was purposely done to entice. He kept his expression blank, blatantly ignoring, acting as though the glazed cruller he’d just picked up was far more interesting.

This would only make Ben all that more eager to secure his attention.

The thought made Michael grin internally, his mind slipping back to when his current muse had originally showed up, answering his ad for a model.

Cocky, full of himself, only too aware of his good looks, and straight as an arrow…

How he had enjoyed stripping him of each one of these annoying qualities, molding Ben into the humbled, eager, cockslut he was now. A young man who no longer looked to the mirror to see his reflection but instead into the eyes of his master.

Standing just on the other side of the counter, Ben shifted from foot to foot, clearly anxious. It was to be expected after all, today was his last sitting. The show would open in two weeks and past the initial reception and Michael’s traditional ‘exclusive’ after party, he’d be done with him.

“You may sit.” Michael nodded to another stool. Just as Ben began to lower himself however, he stopped him.


Ben froze mid motion.

“Did you clean yourself out?”

Given the nature of his current painting’s composition and the props they were using, he had specified Ben take an enema before each sitting. Not to mention it made it more convenient if he decided to use his muse afterwards.

“Of course, Sir.”

Michael didn’t appreciate the indignant flare of Ben’s nostrils.

“How long ago did you clean yourself out?”

The immediate look on Ben’s face, his pinking cheeks, told Michael everything. Not only this, but it knocked the sass right out of him. Ben had made some beautiful progress under his tutelage, but the boy had a lazy streak a mile wide. Too often he lingered in bed and rushed his douching at the last minute.


Ben’s blue eyes dropped down.

“Did you give yourself two hours like you’re supposed to?”

The shake of the curly blond head was not an adequate answer.

“Words, Ben.”

“N-no, Sir.”

Normally this would be grounds for punishment, but it was Ben’s last modeling day and since Michael had other things on his mind at the moment, he decided to be lenient. He grabbed a hand towel from where it lay on the counter and tossed it over, disregarding his model’s stunned expression.

“Put that under your ass. If it leaks I don’t want you ruining the leather.”

Michael snorted before stuffing his mouth with the cruller, observing, despite Ben’s contrite demeanor and humiliated blush, his cock had clearly plumped from their exchange.

The way humiliation aroused the young man now was thrilling.

No sooner had Ben situated himself then Derek turned the corner, entering the kitchenette. Still covered in evidence of his plaster work he’d taken his orders to heart: keeping his ears open for Ben’s arrival and reporting immediately. It was one of the many things Michael loved about his new assistant, he was great at following orders.

“Morning, Ben,” Derek greeted, his voice low but polite.

Noticing that Michael’s coffee cup was near empty he automatically grabbed the pot and refilled it. Plus, this activity allowed him to keep his eyes averted from Ben’s nudity. Even after all these weeks he still was clearly uncomfortable with the other man’s nakedness unless Ben was up on the modeling stand and posed.

Ben started to return Derek’s greeting but Michael cut him off. He lifted another pastry from the box, this time a sweetened ricotta laden cannoli. He stuck his thick tongue into the roll and moaned like the filling was orgasmic as he sucked it out.

“God, I love Bertrand’s pastries. And this creamy center…” He smacked his lips loudly, “Delicious!” He looked pointedly at Derek. “It’s really a travesty that you pick these up every day for me but never try them.”

Derek still stood close to him, coffee pot in hand.  He dropped his eyes and muttered, sounding apologetic,  “I’m just not much of one for sweets.”

Michael was hard pressed not to laugh at the understatement here. From what he’d witnessed of Derek’s eating habits, he wasn’t much for most things. Seriously, he couldn’t recall ever meeting a cleaner eater. Everything in Derek’s packed lunch sacks looked like he was on some sort of Paleo diet: organic fruits and vegetables, salads, nuts and lean protein… Lots of it.

Looking like he did, if Derek had been human, this would make sense. He’d need to eat like that to maintain his physique, keep those sweet muscles pumped. But as a werewolf, his musculature was common to his breed. And from what Michael had learned in his research about werewolves since he’d hired Derek, they had amazing metabolisms; meaning, Derek could eat pretty much whatever he wanted and his body wasn’t likely to change too much.

For a man who lived for all manner of indulgences, this made his assistant’s ascetic eating habits all the more infuriating.

“Come on, taste it.” There was steel underlying Michael’s teasing tone. “I swear, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

He had gone to great lengths since they’d been working together to both subtly and overtly position himself as the alpha. Rejecting an offering, particularly of food from a senior pack member, an alpha in particular, went entirely against wolfish impulses.

The conflict in Derek’s face was beautiful to behold. It was so pretty, from the dipped dark brows over wondering eyes, the hectic color in his cheeks, the way his top teeth worried his bottom lip.

Derek didn’t accept the pastry, yet , but he unconsciously he leaned in closer.

“I’d like a bite, Sir.” Ben’s quiet beg shattered the spell Michael had cast over the moment.

Or maybe not.

Michael’s brows shot up and Ben almost fell off his stool at Derek’s sudden, unexpected growl. Seeming just as shocked as they were, caught in this animalistic response, his cheeks lost some of its color.

“Whoa there, tiger!” Ben exclaimed, wide-eyed with alarm. “I’ll get my own.”

When he reached towards the box however, Michael smacked his hand away. “Oh, no you don’t. I don’t want any distorting carbo-bloat when I’m touching up your abs in the painting today.”

He looked back over at Derek, his expression one of carefully arranged concern.


“I… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me.”

Michael did.

Some part of Derek had recognized him as his alpha, at least here in the studio, and wasn’t about to lose out on an alpha offered favor to a lower pack member. Yes, Derek’s reaction had been perfect. But it was positively adorable how large his stunned green eyes were right now, how awkwardly he stumbled over himself as he continued to apologize.

Both reactions delighted Michael proving all the painstaking groundwork work he’d been laying these last weeks, his gentle grooming, was finally paying off.

“Well, clearly some part of you wants this.”

He held the cannoli out innocently. Meanwhile, pleasure coiled rich and deep in his belly at this statement’s double meaning. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ben pouting, but he didn’t bother to reprimand, too entranced by Derek’s struggle.

Clearly not wanting to create any additional offence, Derek reached out to take the pastry. Michael pushed his hand away as he had Ben’s, though much more lightly. Derek drew back, startled.

“Look at your hands, Derek. They’re filthy.”

Looking down and Derek’s blush returned full force. His hands were coated with plaster dust, little bits of gypsum had hardened and was caught in the hair on the backs of them, as well as his forearms. He frowned realizing he still had the handle of the coffee pot clenched in one of his hands and that it was tarnished white from his fingers.

“Sorry, Mr. McCray. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today. I’ll go wash them.”

“Nonsense.” Michael reached out waving the cannoli just inches in front of Derek’s mouth; he eyed him slyly. “Unless you’re worried about my germs ?”

The proposition was ridiculous, since outside a few very rare circumstances, human pathogens had no effect on werewolves. The emphasis Michael put on the word “germs” however, made it quite clear he wasn’t referring to something transmissible.

A man of the age, Derek picked up on the challenge and was too PC to allow Michael’s subtle homophobic charge. Given how private he was about being a wolf, he also wasn’t about to start explaining the intimate implications of handfeeding among pack members.

Instead he leaned forward, mouth just slightly open.

Michael’s intense, dark gaze was locked on Derek’s lips. Not too thick, but lush and framed by his tight-shaved, smoky stubble; his bottom one reddened from nervous nibbling. Slightly overlarge front teeth extended, there was a flash of pointed incisors, and the crunch of floured shell as Derek carefully nipped off the end of the cannoli where so recently Michael’s own mouth had been.

At the triumph of this first indirect kiss, he wanted to crow.

Derek chewed carefully, the tic of the muscles in his angular jaw mesmerizing. What was even more enjoyable was the way his eyes rolled back just slightly, long lashes fluttering and then there was a wholly unexpected low, throaty rumble, just shy of a purr.

Derek’s eyes popped open when the sound escaped him. Michael swore the kid’s pupils were dilated, his expression slightly drunk.

“S-sorry.” Derek moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but then remembering the plaster he let it drop and dangle at his side. “It’s good,” he admitted when it became clear to him Michael was waiting for him to say something more.

“You need to take another bite.” Michael pretendedlike he hadn’t heard the purr, but damn the weight that happy growl had added to his balls. He was going to do anything possible to get Derek to make that sound again.

Derek shook his head, but after his little display, clearly embarrassed. Michael wasn’t about to take no for an answer, however. Especially not when Derek was still leaning over as he had to take the offered bite from his hand, not realizing he was instinctively waiting for permission to rise.

Instead of release, Michael hooked a meaty finger in the collar of Derek’s dusty tee-shirt, imagining it was leather under his finger and not merely cotton. He pulled Derek towards him even more.

“Nonsense. That tiny bit you took hardly constitutes a bite. And you barely got any of the filling. That’s where all the flavor lies. Tucked inside.” He wiggled his bushy brows in a playful manner, “Come on, now. You said it was good. Make it better.

“Take a man-sized bite and then we can get on with our morning.”

Throughout this, Michael kept his finger hooked in Derek’s shirt collar. It had been a risky move to pull with someone as reserved as Derek. Especially so close to his throat, a particularly guarded area among werewolfs. But over the weeks he’d been plying his assistant with increasing amounts of strategic touch and gauging his reactions.

The thrill of Derek’s submission went straight to Michael’s cock when he didn’t pull away but remained as he was, his body slightly bowed, his head lower than his own.

Obediently Derek opened his mouth. When he went to bite, Michael pressed the cannoli forward, carefully, shoving more of it into Derek’s mouth than he intended to take. In the process his fingers brushed Derek’s lips. The sensation of his fingertips against such cunt-silky skin was electric. He couldn’t help but grunt when a bit of the filling toppled out from the remaining pastry and Derek’s tongue slipped out on autopilot to catch it, lapping against the back of his thumb in the process.

Green eyes flickered up at him, Derek clearly conscious of the contact. Michael kept his face carefully composed and once Derek assumed he hadn’t felt it, the blissful expression took over his face again as the sugar hit his tongue.

Waiting until Derek was almost done chewing Michael offered him the last bite. “You want this?”

Months from now Michael envisioned himself be able to ask the question at a higher pitch, a master offering his pet a treat. The pet being Derek, naked and kneeling and eager.

The possibility of this increased tenfold at the undisguised longing evident on the handsome face in front of him. After a few seconds though this faded, Derek becoming solemn once more. He shook his dark head slowly.

“No… Thank you.” He eyed the last bit pinched between Michael’s fat fingers in a way that was undeniably wistful. “It was good though. Thank you.”

“Of course."

Michael made a show of popping the cannoli into his mouth, humming as he down it and then after lustfully licking his sticky fingers. His inner dom delighted in the way Derek’s eyes followed his every move. He hoped the kid was taking notes, because he had no intention of  being the one to lick his own fingers clean in the future.

Chapter Text

An angry huff caught Michael’s ear. He turned to Ben, realizing he had been so caught up in Derek’s oh so fuckable mouth he’d completely forgotten about his model.

Ben had been sitting there, silent, caught up too in the intensity of the moment. He clearly hadn’t remained untouched by their interactions either. A peek over the counter revealed his cock was fully hard. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t jealous as hell, angered by his artist’s attention being given so completely to another.

Plus, having been schooled, though much less subtly by Michael, Ben knew just what he was doing. As a result, his usual obedience was felled by his ire. He crossed his arms over his waxed chest.

“Am I going to sit for you today or not? I didn’t get up early on a Sunday to spend the whole damn morning watching the two of you stuffing yourselves.”

While Michael understood Ben’s reaction, it took an enormous amount of control not to slap his pretty mouth for his insolence. Not just for being a brat but also because at Ben’s accusation of indulgence, though he’d barely taken two bites, Derek immediately straightened, pulling carefully but firmly out of Michael’s finger-leash.

There was no mistaking the look of shame on his face.

“Well, Derek may be finished, since he’s not fond of sweet things.” Michael dipped into the pastry box and pulled out an eclair. “Personally, I prefer sweet to bitter.”

He took a bite, eyes on Ben, and watched him wilt beneath his stare. He wasn’t about to start having any part of his life dictated by a bitchy bottom. Once Ben’s face assumed the proper level of chagrin Michael glanced over at Derek.

“I’m not done indulging yet. Hale, go wash your hands. I told you I wanted you to help me with set up today but since Ben’s so impatient to get his final sitting over with, you can get started without me.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. McCray.”

Derek dipped his head in ritual deference. It was only natural. To be expected when one’s alpha had his hackles raised. He set the coffee pot back into the maker, wiping its handle down with a paper towel before heading silently off to the studio’s large bathroom.

Michael listened and heard the tap turn on, not difficult, since its entrance was a doorless archway. He sucked the pudding out of his eclair rather hoping he might get to listen to Derek piss as well. He’d heard it a few times now. The kid pissed like a racehorse and the sound of his powerful stream was thrilling.


Michael allowed Ben to repeat this one-word beg three times. It was only on the fourth when Ben whispered “Master” in a voice so low and desperate that he decided to take pity on him. He looked up without speaking.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Please. I don’t want Derek to set me up. I’ve been waiting for hours to have your hands on me again.


Downing half the hollow eclair shell in one bite, Michael chewed thoughtfully before answering, “And whose desires are paramount here, Ben?”

Blue eyes dropped. Ben’s voice was soft and he sounded on the verge of tears, “Yours, Sir... Always.”

“Should have thought of that before you sounded off then. Yes?”

Muscled shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes, Sir.”

Michael hummed in approval. Partly at Ben’s return to a proper mindframe but also seeing Derek emerge from the john with his hands and forearms clean and still shiny wet.

“You can think about it some more then while Derek sets you up.” Decree made, Michael inhaled the rest of his eclair.

Clearly still upset but too chastened to object further, Ben stood and slowly made his way to the modeling stand. Peering over the counter again Michael saw he’d been correct in handing Ben the towel: the pristine, white, terry sported an amber wet spot where residual fluid from his enema had leaked out.

“Throw that towel in the wash bin, will you, Hale.”

The order was perfect, not just because it would humiliate Ben, but because he could watch Derek’s reaction to something scat-ish. The flush that rushed to Ben’s cheeks when he looked back and saw what he’d left behind was perfect.

Even more so though, was Hale’s reaction. There was no doubt the way his nostrils flared his sensitive werewolf senses were affronted. Still, while his brows were mightily furrowed, he carefully picked up the towel without a word and removed it to the bin.

Ben had placed himself beside the tableau Michael had arranged. On the modeling stand a golden metal, crescent moon had been erected. Bolted to the wooden platform, the piece had been specially fabricated. Water-lasered cutouts gave it the appearance of being covered with mystic symbols. Back lit, the play of positive and negative shapes made beautiful shadows and would cast the model in rich, moody chiaroscuro.

Over the wooden base, a rich blue satin had been draped. It pooled in sensuous folds whose highpoints shone in the light. The color was perfect for highlighting the pale beauty of Ben’s skin and brought out the gold in his hair and the blue of his eyes.

Derek was just a few feet from both Ben and the stand when Michael called out to him.


“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want you dropping plaster all over my set.”

Looking down at himself, Derek frowned. Although his hands and arms were clean now, his t-shirt and jeans were both laden with plaster bits and dust.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me today.”

“Oh?” Michael pretended he hadn’t noticed the absence of Derek’s bag by the door. “Not hitting the gym today?”

The expression on Derek’s face looked far more like Michael had just asked him if he enjoyed drowning kittens, rather than skipping his daily workout.

“I was…” Derek cut himself off and then reluctantly admitted, “things got a little hectic at home this morning. I guess I forgot my gymbag…”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Michael picked up another pastry to quash the look of sudden hope on Ben’s face. “But about the set up…” He took a bite to illustrate to both Ben and Derek how not done ‘stuffing himself’ he was.

“Be creative. That’s why I hired you.”

Like every other exchange that had passed between them since he’d started, Derek took the charge seriously. He looked between him and the stand, gears clearly turning. Then with reluctant determination, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.

Michael was fortunate Hale did this rather slowly, clearly trying to minimize shedding dust. It gave him a chance to covertly grab his phone and pull up the app he had allowing him to set his studio cameras shooting. He timed the frames for flashless photos- one every ten seconds. His cameras were the latest models and silent enough that it was unlikely even Derek would hear them.

Setting his phone aside, knowing that with the empty high-storage cards he began with every morning, he’d soon have a wonderful archive to titillate himself with later. But for now, he wasn’t about to miss the live show taking place before him.

As the hem of Hale’s shirt lifted, the first thing visible, other than the firm scales of Derek’s packed belly, was the delicious treasure trail that ran between them down the center of his torso. It disappeared under the band of Derek’s briefs in a way that taunted terribly.

Eyes following the progress of Derek's shirt as it rose, Michael shoved more sweet into his mouth. Nipping at the crust, mouthing the flesh of his pastry, he imagined it was Hale’s skin between his teeth, on his tongue. When an exquisite example of washboard abs was revealed, he

When an exquisite example of washboard abs was revealed, he envisoned it covered with cane welts and hickeys. He wondered with Derek’s healing, how long such marks would endure. His cock plumped, considering how frequently he might be able to re-apply such marks.

Once Derek reached his pecs Michael had to grab the edge of the counter to keep from applauding and swallowed his groan. Hale’s man tits were perfect in size and firmness. The buds of his areolas were just slightly larger than a quarter, but the tips of them were fairly plump; begging for clamps, clearly made to be pierced.

His fingers longed to pinch them red and swollen until Derek begged for mercy. He’d salve them with his tongue then, turn Derek into such a nipple slut he would learn to cum on such attentions alone.

Over his pectorals, Derek’s chest sported a beautiful coat of dark hair. Not as thick as one might think, given the strength of his stubble, but still lush. It was a lovely pelt, perfect to scratch through. Michael experienced a momentary pang at the thought of making his future pet lose this. He consoled himself with the knowledge of how much more sensitive Derek would be once he was bare, how silky that skin would feel beneath his fingers.

Derek emerged from the shelter of his shirt, dark hair sexily disheveled. He casually folded it and carried it over to the stool Ben had vacated and draped it over its railed back. This close, Michael could smell the musk of the man freed from the confining cotton. It was rich and salty. The clean, fresh sweat from Derek’s laboring over the molds was a potent intoxicant.

Combined with the perfection of the kid’s torso, from exposed collarbones to his still clothed cock, Michael couldn’t imagine anyone but a divine sculptor making such a wondrous work of flesh.

He needed to see more.

“Well, you’ve solved half our problem,” he kept his voice casual but holding a bit of praise and an equal amount of challenge.

He grabbed another confection from the box, aware it was quickly emptying. The melting frosting on his tongue didn’t register at all, however. The pastry was tasteless in comparison with the visual feast before him: Derek stripped to the waist, his belted jeans hanging low on his hips, far enough down to see the top of their crease, the fine cut of them.

Derek hesitated clearly wrestling with what his boss was proposing.

“Hale, there’s a naked dude behind you. Waiting… You think one more body is going to be a big deal here?”

The goad was just enough. Derek cast a glance back over his shoulder at Ben who reacted perfectly, tapping his bare foot in feigned impatience. Clearly unhappy, but uncomplaining.

Without saying anything Derek toed out of his work boots and stripped off his socks. Unbuckling his jeans and popping the buttons on his fly he started to shimmy out of them.

Michael grinned around a bite of baklava noticing how, even with much looser jeans, they caught on Derek’s round ass and he had to work them down, almost losing his black briefs in the process.

It was like David stepping out of a block of marble, watching Derek emerge from the denim. Thick, muscular thighs, well defined calves, dusted with coarse, dark hair. Even Derek’s feet were a marvel, toes perfectly shaped and the nails remarkably well maintained. They were beautifully veined and the tops every so lightly furred.

It was a sin for a body like this to be clothed but, if Michael had his way, he’d eventually keep Derek as sinless as possible. As Derek added his jeans to the back of the chair, he looked down at himself and suddenly paused.

Michael saw it immediately.

Not the bulging front of Derek’s jockey’s that was poorly concealing a sizeable and not entirely flaccid cock from him, but the barely visible stain, the wet spot, where his cock had obviously leaked when Michael had fed him.

He made a mental note immediately to add ‘hand feeding’ to his list of rewards for the future.

“Ummm…” Derek shifted uncomfortably. One hand slipped to hide the incriminating evidence of just how much he’d enjoyed his treats. His cheeks pinked and his blush dripped down from them all the way to the base of his neck.

Cocking his head lightly to the side, Michael arched a brow in question.


“So the set up…” Derek was clearly at a loss. “What should I do now?”

Michael cast his gaze over to Ben who stood, pale with jealousy but silent still, obviously not wanting to upset his better further. His exercise in obedience did not incline Michael to mercy, however. He snorted at both these boys cluelessness.

“I would have thought that clear, Hale. You prepare him.”