"You little - "

"Did that make you angry?"

Zach was still smiling at him, saying nothing, but his eyes were no longer amused. 

"Well," Kit continued, watching for micro expressions on his controlled face. "How about we talk about...parents, then? You said your dad was a deadbeat asshole..." he paused before continuing.

"But where is your mom?"

He felt the grip on his upper arms tighten.

"Is she dead?" He read the flicker of Zach's eyes. "No, okay. Then,"

Rising onto his tip-toes, he breathed onto his lips, almost a kiss.

"Did she leave you?"

Zach threw him down without warning, dipping him and then catching him with a tight grip inches away from the floor, from the sharp glass shards glinting there.

"Oh, doc. You could push the buttons on a statue. But ask yourself - ask yourself - if you really want to."

He shifted one hand away from Kit's upper arm and wrapped his long, tan fingers around his throat, one by one slowly, not exerting any pressure.

"And if you do - pick a safeword right now. Because I've had a pretty long night - "

You're telling me

" - And I find myself a bit short on patience. So if you insist on trying to make me lose my temper, pick one. And if you won't, you had better head on home, little miss."

He sneered the last words, pronouncing them like the collector who'd chased him.

A thrill raced through Kit, a sudden sense of - yes, yes, this is what I was looking for - and he held himself back from pressing into those fingers.

Not yet.

"Red," he bit out. "Stoplight system. I'll say 'red' to stop everything. Yellow to stop what you're doing, but go on in general. Green to keep going. Got it?"

Zach's eyes flashed in the candlelight and he smiled, a wolfish grin. Kit didn't feel like the wolf in the room when the other man looked at him like that - he felt like the lamb.

His stomach swooped as Zach dipped him further towards the mess of razor-sharp shard littering the floor at their feet, holding him so that his balance was off, so that he'd drop if the stronger boy let go.

Would he really do it? Would he press him against the broken glass, let them dig into his skin? Did he want to see him bleed?

Why did that thought send another thrill racing though him?

Is he testing to see if I'll stop him?

One word, one little safeword and Zach wouldn't do this. And Kit might have to apologize for antagonising him, might have to go home right now, alone.

No.

So instead of speaking, he closed his eyes and waited for the sharp cutting press of glass shards, felt the cold radiating off of the floor right next to his cheek.

Then a whoosh of air and he was upright, trapped against the counter again, the grip on his throat moving to the back of his head, winging in his curls again, twisting.

"Hurt me," Kit gasped, eyes opening, commanding him. "I want - hurt me, Zach - "

The older boy dipped down to kiss him, long and hard.

"If that's what you want," he said, licking a long stripe down Kit's neck, mouthing a bruise over his throat, on top of one from earlier that night.

The dull, aching pain made the younger man groan and buck against him. He could barely move, trapped and bent backwards, but he wanted more friction, craved it.

They kept kissing, exploring, until the boy felt his own abused lips grow tender and swollen. Zach's hands were firm and sure, and Kit grabbed at anything he could reach, forgetting everything but the wet, hot, sliding heat of their mouths.

"You said you like being tied up?" Zach panted, finally.

"Yeah," Kit said, chasing his mouth and then staring at it, licking his spit-slick lips as Zach moved away from him, going to lock the front door and pull down the window blinds.

"Get up on the bar," he ordered over his shoulder, his look smouldering.

Kit didn't move.  He stood still next to the stainless steel counter this side of the polished stone bartop. 

Looking over at it, he saw a cutting board with some leftover pieces of lemon and lime on it, an open cocktail shaker, glasses and straws. He pushed them to the side, but otherwise stayed where he was.

Waiting, one beat, two beats, while staring at the older boy.

"Are you looking to be punished? Or...?" Zach raised an eyebrow, turning back towards him. Kit raised one right back.

"I'm not interested in taking orders. If you want me to do something - fucking make me."

He picked up his shoulder bag and flung it up on the high granite slab behind them, clearly visible, gaze fixed on Zach, whose eyes narrowed.

"Hm... Remind me again, what was it you were into?"

"You remember. Don't pretend."

"Right. Pain. Bondage. So what is it you have in that bag you always carry, other than breathalysers?"

Kit reached back into a pocket, pulling out a handful of long, clear plastic cable ties and holding them up, eyebrow arched.

He saw a gleam in Zach's eyes when he accepted them.

Then the older boy took him by the hips and lifted him onto the steel counter behind the bar, supporting his weight easily.

"Lie back and put your hands up."

Without waiting for him to respond he grabbed his hands, encircling both Kit's wrists in one of his warm hands and pulling them firmly up.

Zach was tall enough to lean forward over him, their bodies a hair's breath apart, to press his wrists into the bar taps - steel pipes firmly anchored to the granite bartop.

The wolf felt the cold metal against the sensitive skin of his wrists before Zach looped a cable tie around each one, tying them to two different taps.

"Why two ties on each wrist? Afraid I'll get out?"

"'Cause they're too thin, really, and will dig in. This'll spread the pressure out a bit - though you should probably try not to squirm."

He grinned, not looking the least bit worried. "Or they might break the skin."

Filling a cup of ice shards from the stainless steel container underneath the bar, he set them down next to Kit and left them there.

Once he had him fastened, stretched out over the uncomfortable granite and stainless steel with his legs dangling in the air, the older boy took step back and smiled, as if he finally had him right where he'd pictured him all along. 

"Good boy."

Kit growled, glaring. Zach laughed, low and melodious.

"So you don't like praise. Mhm..."

"I'm not good. I don't want to be called it."

He ran his hands up and down Kit's bared, slim legs, raising goosebumps, watching him.

"Slut."

The werewolf held still, but a slight tremor passed through him, and Zach felt it. He smirked, sliding a fingertip up the inside of Kit's thigh, slowly.

"A dirty, wet, slut. Coming here like this - in that skirt. Trying to pick a fight. Those handprints on your cheeks..."

Kit gasped when his hand brushed along the bottom of his boxer-briefs, his cock - tenting the front of the skirt now - twitching once.

"If I'm such a dirty slut, what are you doing here? With me?" he challenged.

"I happen to have a thing for dirty, sassy sluts. And you - you seem to have a thing for insults, doc. Are you a bad person? Do you want to be punished?"

He spread the boy's knees wide and stepped roughly in between them, his pants crotch pressing against the thin cotton of Kit's underwear, eliciting a moan.

"Why are you being such a fucking tease, Zach - "

Thrusting forward again, he gave Kit a hint of his size, letting him feel the pressure.

"Because you're so impatient, doc. It's really fun for me. You want to see me mad - I want to see you gagging for it."

Kit shivered, eyes closing. He kept his mouth pressed shut, feeling Zach's eyes on him.

"I'll punish you if that's what you're into," he promised, "But I'll make you beg me for it first. Just you wait."

He pulled back and regarded him, lips pursed, cat-like.

"What about oral?"

Kit rolled his eyes, tugging at the bonds. "How would you expect me to - "

Zach grinned, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Not what I meant."

Then he moved down, strong hands on the insides of Kit's thighs pressing them up and apart, and teeth lifting the waistband on his white briefs, pristine except for the spot of moisture forming on the front, tugging them down until his dick sprung free. 

Kit's mouth fell open. This was the last thing he had expected from the other boy. 

He gasped as warmth engulfed his cock, a hot tongue running up his length. He bucked, straining against the plastic ties, and the hands on his thighs pressed down, holding him still and spread open. 

Zach licked a long, hot stripe over his puckered hole and tight, drawn-up balls and then worked a finger into him after slicking it up with his spit, swallowing his length down again.

"You don't have to," Kit said through gritted teeth, bent back and spread out over the bar. "I can take it - I want it to hurt."

"Oh, doc, be careful what you wish for... Maybe I'll give it to you."

"Hurt me," Kit repeated. "Make me feel it."

Punish me, he couldn't say, even now.

"If you really don't want me to finger you, use your safeword."

And he took him so deep into his mouth that Kit's cock brushed the back of his throat - damn it but the man knew what he was doing - and he shuddered, feeling pleasure coil in his gut. 

"Bastard. Ngh - fuck - I'm - don't, I'll - "

Zach pulled off and squeezed his base, finding his prostate at the same time and crooking his finger, pressing down on it until Kit's eyes rolled back.

"Don't care. Come as many times as you like." He smiled. "Might as well get that first one out of the way."

"Cocky, aren't you ? Gah!"

Without warning, Zach had picked a shard of ice out of the cup he'd readied earlier and tucked it into Kit's mouth, dropping another into the dip at the base of his throat. 

"Hold onto that for me."

He left the ice cube in his mouth, trailed another up his legs as he sucked on him, letting pain and pleasure intermingle. 

Kit thought about spitting the stupid ice out in his face, but he felt too good... He'd been wound up for so long...

Eyes closing, straining against the bonds, against the hand holding him down, against the steel counter warming to his body-temperature, every thought except pleasure finally overrode his senses and he came with a choked-off yell.

Zach pulled away just in time, watching him stripe his shirt and stomach with come, pupils wide and dark, eyed hooded, mouth glistening. 

The werewolf whined when Zach moved away, leaving him spent and twitching in the empty air.

"I still need to put out the candles on the tables," he said. "Don't go anywhere."

Glaring at him, bound tight, Kit used the pause to breathe, to feel though his body as the last ice melted away, leaving his mouth numb and stinging. He felt...alive. Better than he had in a while. But still...unsatisfied, deep down.

When Zach came back, he held a lit candle stick nonchalantly in one hand, placing it on the counter next to the cup of ice shards.

"Any preferences?"

Kit swallowed and answered, voice harsh,

"Both."

Zach didn't hesitate. He dripped the candle wax over the bound boy's thighs, leaving red, searing stripes, then following them up with ice, pushing his finger back into him and pressing down on his sweet spot again and again.

Fuck, it was too much. And not enough.

His back arched again, tailbone digging into the unforgiving counter, and his breath came out harsh as Zach teased and teased, until he was up and aching again. 

After the heat, after the cold, his whole body shivered, and he ached. He was so hard, wound tight as a coil, ready to snap, his first orgasm already fading into memory.  

 God he wanted to be fucked. He wanted it. He was going mad over it, aching, aching.

Zach bent over him, swirling his tongue around one nipple until it was a tight little bud, then closing his lips around it and sucking.

"Ah..."

He bit down, just hard enough.

"Ah! Hah...fuck you."

"I think you meant to say, fuck me. Please fuck me."

"Mhm..." He wanted it. Wanted it. But he wouldn't beg. Couldn't.

"Do it," he panted. "Or - don't. I already got off, remember?"

Zach's eyes narrowed, regarding him, neither of them willing to back down.

Tied to the taps, on his back on top of the bar, Kit couldn't move. It was possible to get out of cable ties - just like it was possible to tear duct tape, if you had the right leverage and angle.

But with his feet off the ground, wrists bent and tied at an awkward angle above his head, Kit had neither.

He didn't want to get free anyway.

Gripping the steel taps, he wrapped his legs around Zach's hips, pulling him closer.

The other boy's hands slid up under Kit's skirt, which had fallen back down and felt rough against his sensitised skin, his touch light, teasing, up his thighs. Not touching the tent there this time. 

The bastard looked calm, but he was hard too, must be aching too, and his breath was coming out harsher, faster, more strained. 

"Ready to ask for it yet?"

Kit growled. 

"Aw, too bad. Let's look what more you have in here then," and he reached for the boy's canvas bag.

"Don't touch that!"

"I just want something..."

"Yellow!"

Zach stilled. Slowly he withdrew his hand...gripping a number three scalpel and a foil-wrapped blade.

He held them up in front of Kit's face, watched the smaller boy lick his lips.

"Colour?" he asked slowly.

Kit's eyes flickered up from the blade to his face, and his mouth felt dry.

"Green," he whispered.

Zach held up the scalpel slowly, glancing at the slices of lime pushed to the side of the younger boy. The salt shaker. Up to the bottle he'd offered a drink from earlier. His mouth stretched into a calculating smile.

"...Do you know how to drink tequila?"

Yeah.

"R-remind me." 

The older boy pulled the Hello Kitty T-shirt out of the skirt's waistband and stroked Kit's soft skin with his fingertips, before pushing the fabric up over his nipples. 

"Hold still," he warned. 

The scalpel dipped, teasing, light, trailing over his skin and raising goosebumps and shivers in it's wake. 

"First," Zach said, "Salt."

And the blade dipped down, stinging, quick enough to draw a sharp exhale from him -

"Hah - "

And he shivered in pleasure, looking down just in time to see tiny red beads forming along the long thin line, merging together and spilling over, filling the shallow cut. 

He held back a moan at the sight. 

Picking up the cup of salt, Zach emptied it over Kit's exposed skin, flakes falling off of his stomach and spilling out over the stainless steel on either side of him. The salt turned pink, soaking the blood, melting and pulling it out of his body.

It stung. God, did it sting. Searing, prickling, very different from a burn, more like the cut itself. 

Now Kit really did moan, head rolling back and forth and spine arching as he trembled. 

"Ah, yes - "

"Then the shot. Of course, there are better ways to drink this - "

He paused with the scalpel just above the skin of his belly button, letting it rest there, not pressing or moving.

Kit felt his breath catch in his throat at the trace of sharp, cold metal.

"No! This - Aahh..."

This time, Zach let him feel the sting as the blade dipped into his belly button, underneath the searing, bleeding first cut. 

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the tip of the scalpel slid across his skin, bringing a stinging, shallow bite.

Kit gasped, biting down on his bottom lip, fighting not to pull away, to hold still.

"Mhm - hah! Ah, fuh..."

Zach splashed the alcohol across it, hurting like antiseptic did, burning - and Kit glanced down to see tendrils of blood dispersing in it, tinting it red. 

"And lastly, the lime."

The last cut was deeper than the others and lower, beneath his belly button, and Kit closed his eyes, savouring the feeling. 

He longed to feel this pain, to feel like he was getting what he deserved for being such a shitty person. It was a relief. And at the same time, it hurt good, and maybe he didn't deserve that pleasure, but damn it , he would take it anyway.

Kit felt it when the blood spilled over and trickled down his sides, and he felt it when Zach trailed a cool wedge of lime over it, sharp sharp sharp pain, good pain, and he let another moan escape, higher this time, more like a whine. 

The acid lime juice stung, but the pain was faint in comparison to the salt.

Then he felt Zach's tongue on him, lapping at his skin, sucking on it, cleaning up the mess there and making the cuts ache worse. 

Suddenly there were lips on his, tasting of salt and tequila, lime and blood, and Kit opened his mouth to twine their tongues together, wrapping his legs around Zach to pull him closer again. 

He wanted it bad. Wanted it hard and fast and punishing, right fucking now –

When fingers brushed over his rim Kit tensed.

"No, don't -  no more," he panted, pulling on the plastic ties around his wrists, testing the bonds. "I don't need it."

"It'll hurt," Zach drawled, fingers moving over his butt cheeks, ghosting the flesh there, teasing.

"Good," Kit growled, tugging on the ties until he winced, the unforgiving material digging in.

He didn't want it slow or kind. Just wanted to be bruised and punished, just wanted -

"I want it to. I need it."

Zach's laugh rippled over his skin. "Ready to beg?"

"Zach."

He squirmed on top of the counter, peering up from underneath his thick, dark lashes. "Give me your cock...Give me..."

It could have been a demand, or a plea. The older boy growled - and gave in. 

Eyes on his, Zach peeled Kit's briefs the rest of the way off, throwing them aside. He watched him tug at his bonds, watched him shift on top of the counter, struggle, needy.  

"Pervert," Kit threw at him.

"Like you're any different. Who was the one with cable ties in his bag - who's the one tied to a bar tap right now?" Zach drawled. 

Well, I can't argue with that.

Without warning, Zach reached over and roughly flipped him over, making him hiss as the bleeding cuts on his belly rubbed spilt salt and booze, making them sting again. 

Kit crossed his forearms over each other, still tied to the taps, plastic ties digging in. In this position his ass was exposed to the air, only covered by that flimsy piece of skirt fabric mostly bunched around his waist.

Turned over on his stomach, arms up over his head, head hanging down, plastic digging into his wrists, cheeks spread open, he felt Zach's fingers there again, covered in something slick...

"What's - you've got - lube?" he panted, head hanging down between his arms.

"More surprised you don't, since you seem to have everything else in that bag."

I probably should carry some...no, there's no room, gotta prioritise the medical supplies.

The lube made filthy wet noises as he fucked his finger in and out and Kit panted, the sounds making him hotter, more impatient, and he lost his train of thought, mind going blessedly empty. 

 Finally he felt the head of a cock there, blunt and hot and thick, forcing him open.

Zach's warm firm hand pressing into his lower back to keep him in place while he writhed against the pressure instead of relaxing and pushing out to make it easier, feeling Zach thrust slowly in, hard and unyielding.

Finally it was enough. 

Finally, everything else faded away - he couldn't think of Charlie, couldn't think of Kitty, couldn't think or feel anything except this excruciating pain and this sense-overriding pleasure.

"Yes, yes, yes," he moaned as Zach took him hard, nothing gentle now, hips slapping against his ass, grip on him bruising, fucking him into the counter like he couldn't care less if he hurt Kit, whose arms were still bent up around the tap, cable ties digging into his skin.

It was perfect.

"Ah, ngh, yes, fuck!"

Everything hurt, he was stretched out, hip bones digging into stainless steel, gashes on his stomach rubbing into droplets of lime juice and scattered flakes of salt, burning and stinging.

"Hah...ah..."

Kit twisted, writhing against the bartop, moaning with abandon, smeared with tequila,  come, and blood, salt flakes on the counter rubbing into the shallow cuts on his stomach as he struggled.

His feet dangled in the air, hands still bound with the cable ties to the beer taps, the counter's edge digging into his hip bones. He was panting.

Zach slid his hands up his thighs from knee to buttocks, pushing up his pleated skirt and thrusting in to the hilt.

"Enough?" he asked, voice low and gravelly. 

"Or do you want more?"

Before Kit could answer Zach gripped his hips and flipped him over once more, facing him, thrusting in again and grabbing his hips, so that he felt the hot branding pressure there, the stretch and ripples of pleasure making him gasp.

His chest heaved. His cock was leaking, precome smearing the skirt, standing straight up against his stomach. 

The pink tee was stained and pushed up and his cheeks were flushed, hair in disarray, make-up smudged and eyes glazed over, hands still trapped over his head.

"More," he whispered, eyes meeting Zach's.

"Hurt me more."

Zach grabbed him roughly, restraint gone, as he angled him just enough to hit that bundle of nerves deep inside him and started fucking him again, harder, faster, until Kit felt himself tightening around him, heat pooling in his lower abdomen, pleasure coiling tight inside, the crest of another wave approaching. 

Suddenly the world went monochrome as his eyes shifted - 

Oh shit - 

But he was too far gone to rein it in, hold back, he dug sharp claws into numb palms and there his head back, nearly howling as his orgasm took him, Zach following him over the edge with a cut-off groan. 

After, they lay plastered together, filthy, panting. 

"What happened there?" Zach asked finally, reaching for Kit's face as he used the scalpel to cut though the cable ties, freeing the wolf and catching his weight so that he didn't slide down onto the floor.

"What?"

"Your eyes...looked weird for a moment."

Kit looked away. "Must've been the lighting."

He blinked, and the sharpness faded, colours coming back as the edges lost their unnatural focus. 

When the ties fell away, Kit saw that the translucent plastic looked red and crusty and noticed that the ache in his wrists wasn't just bruising - the ties had broken the skin. He let Zach lower them both to the floor and settle him on his lap - the wolf's legs weren't feeling that steady yet.

His limbs were aching and jelly-loose, relaxed and sated for the moment. It had been nice to let everything go for a little while...

They were both sitting on the bar floor, sticky, and covered in alcohol, blood, lime juice, salt, and come. 

"Can I smoke?" Kit asked. 

"Naw, smoke detectors."

"Right, shit."

"Mhm... Wait, I got something else."

Zach twisted around and pulled out a brown paper bag out from a shelf underneath the counter, balancing Kit on his lap with one arm around his waist, and then dropping the bag in his hands. 

"What the...mini donuts?"

"Yep. The other bartender usually leaves some. Want one?"

Kit pulled one out, crusted with sugar and cinnamon, and bit into it. He groaned. 

When was the last time I ate something?

"Good stuff," he mumbled though a mouthful. 

"Right?"

Swallowing, he asked, "How come you're being all nice?" 

"It's called aftercare."

"Yeah? Well, I don't need it."

But he was just tired enough to rest his head on Zach's shoulder and close his eyes, chewing the last piece of sugar-crusted dough.

"Why not? Besides, it's about comfort, stuff like that."

"Do I look like I need comforting?"

"Naw, you look like shit. In a sexy way."

"Sweet-talker."

"D'you want coffee? There's always some on..."

"....Coffee sounds pretty great, actually."

"How do you take it?"

"Any which way. Just like, the biggest cup you can find." 

He felt the other boy's chest rumble as he chuckled, shifting Kit carefully onto the floor before getting up and pouring the two mugs full of black coffee and adding sugar. 

"Need something sweet, after all that."

He pulled Kit back against him, lifting his cup.

As they sat there, chewing and sipping the coffee, Kit's back pressed to Zach's chest, his aching butt braced on his thighs instead of resting on the hard tiles, the older boy spoke up, saying,

"I could...ask my grandfather about that guy. That guy chasing you. He might know what's to be done. How to look into it."

"Your grandfather? He can do that?"

Zach shrugged. "He can do a lot of things. Has a bunch of bars and nightclubs. My dad's a drunk, like your uncle. Maybe worse," he told him, ripping another piece off the stale donut.

"Tough luck."

"Yeah, he's a goner. So now I'm going to take over my grandfather's business in his stead - once I get my degree."

"And yet you work here?"

"Builds character, apparently. It's good to get to know this side of it, somewhere I won't be recognized. And I like making my own money."

He looked thoughtful.

"Anyway, I could ask him to look into that one guy - or maybe it's more than one?"

Kit said nothing.

"The old man's got contacts everywhere, he's been around so long. On both sides of the law."

"Why would you help me?"

"I like you, doc. You've got spirit. A little something-something. It's entertaining..."

"Fuck you."

"Feel free. Though I think you'll find, I'm the one who fucked you. And I'd be willing to bet we both prefer it that way."

The teenager thought about it. Maybe he could use some help - but a favour was never free. What would the bartender want from him in return?

"I don't wanna owe you, Zach."

Getting to his feet slowly, wincing at the ache, Kit started gathering up his stuff, pulling his underwear on again as the other man watched him, staying seated.

"Suit yourself."

"Thanks for the donuts," Kit said, offering Zach the greasy paper bag back.

"Keep 'em."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You look hungry. Want the tequila too? I can't really put it back."

Kit shrugged, and picked up the half-empty bottle they had left on the counter, tucking it into the brown paper bag next to the last bits of fried dough before putting on his shoulder bag.

"See you around, Zach."

The older boy was still slumped shirtless on the floor, sipping his coffee. He raised one hand in a silent farewell, dark eyes on Kit as he set out on foot in his ruined outfit, hoodie slung on over it, hood up, walking out into the pale, misty dawn.

Outside on the pavement, he paused, lighting a cigarette and wondering what to do next. Go home? Wait?

Just then, his phone rang. He held it up before his eyes with an incredulous expression. Biting his lip, he answered.

"Charlie? Where are you?"

"...Kit. P-Please come find me..."