Under Pressure Read online

  “Of course you didn’t. You made your interest in women—or complete lack of it—very clear. I’m not in the business of pursuing men, particularly ones who aren’t interested, so of course I wasn’t going to do anything about it. But you are very pretty to look at,” she added with a smile, her teeth white against her lip. “I won’t pretend I didn’t imagine you curled up at my feet.”

  Jack didn’t answer. The thought of subbing for Diana now was completely unthinkable. But in the brief period where he’d let Noriko tie him up, he could have been persuaded.

  Just as well those days were well past. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked out.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. But you can appreciate why I have some sympathy for Gwendolyn, and her infatuation with you.”

  Ah. Yes. That. “That’s a problem requiring a solution,” Jack said, pushing the rest of it away to deal with later. “Gwendolyn making life difficult for me is one thing, but—”

  “You won’t bear her bothering your boy, I know.” Diana gestured languidly at Kyle, who rose to his feet and backed away from the sofa, no doubt to fetch her a drink. “I’m not sure how to resolve it. She feels quite wronged.”

  “Because I rejected her?”

  “Because you don’t respect her,” Diana sighed. “The trouble is she can’t earn that from you, so she’s reduced to doubling down on her gripes. So petty.”

  “It’s childish. We’re adults. There has to be some way to get her over this. Did you know she said Alice could have Channon and teach him to kneel for her?” Jack snorted. “God, the thought of it.”

  “All Gwen wants,” Diana said carefully, “is for you to pay attention to her. So why don’t you offer her a spanking? Get it out of her system.”

  “Because it won’t get it out of her system. And I don’t want to. I don’t enjoy hitting women.”

  “Chivalrous…or chauvinist,” Diana murmured.

  “More importantly, it’s dangerous,” Jack went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Angry with her as I am, I’d beat her black and blue. I refuse.”

  “Safety first,” Diana agreed. “So, we’re back at square one. You can’t be around her, and she can’t bear to leave you alone. A stalemate.” She grinned, curling a dark braid around one long finger. “You might think of asking your funhouse reflection for advice.”

  “What?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Mac. He’s probably full of ideas.”

  And here they were again. “I’m sure none of them are safe for work.”

  “Maybe that’s what we need.”

  Maybe she was right. Jack found it hard to believe that Ewan might have anything useful to say on the matter, but filed it away under ‘things to consider later’.

  In the meantime he watched Ewan flirt with Channon by the bar—the two of them teasing Tig, the ease with which Channon fit up against Ewan’s side, content in himself in a way he so often wasn’t, beneath it all—and thought that Ewan might not be anything like Jack, but he was, at least, less of a terrible influence than Jack had feared. Good for Channon, maybe. And anything that was good for Channon, Jack approved of one hundred percent.

  Chapter Two

  Ewan, Channon thought, was incapable of asking for anything like a normal person. Either he hinted and sulked and was passive aggressive about it until you forced it out of him, or he was just straight up aggressive about it, demanding things as if you owed him money. Today he was aggressive, shoving into Channon’s space in the staff room with a scowl twisting his sharp features.

  “Eh, you hafta come to this Directions in Virtual Space bullshit. Go sign up.”

  Channon sat back in his chair, fixing Ewan with a level look. “Please,” he said.

  Ewan’s scowl intensified. “Please what?”

  “You forgot to say ‘please’,” Channon said. He ate a baby carrot for emphasis, though he chewed with his mouth closed because he had manners, unlike some people.

  Ewan, who did not have any manners (besides bad ones), groaned out loud, tipping his head back to implore the heavens. Well, the ceiling of the staff room. “For the love of fuck, will you please sign up for the DVS conference so I don’t have to share a room with that twat Simon.”

  “Calling him a twat is probably workplace harassment,” Channon pointed out, and he was rewarded with the full force of Ewan’s glare.

  “Fine! ‘Simon who hates me’, then,” Ewan grumbled, glowering balefully.

  Channon shrugged. “Okay. When I’ve finished my lunch.”

  Ewan made a face, but he flopped into the chair opposite, and set about picking through Channon’s fruit, probably looking for grapes.

  Channon let him. There was no point in telling him to stop and, anyway, Channon had started bringing more grapes just in case this happened.

  “Are you two finished?” Dana demanded, scowling at Ewan (who just scowled right back).

  Dana and Ewan didn’t get along, for no reason Channon could see except that, well, Ewan wasn’t the kind of person people got along with. And Dana could be kind of abrasive. So yeah, obvious reasons like that. But Ewan seemed to reserve a particular dislike for Dana and she for him, and it made sitting with the two of them over lunch a nightmare.

  Luckily, Rayyan was the kind of person who avoided conflict by ignoring it. Now she turned to Ewan. “I’m going to the DVS conference. Which seminars are you interested in?”

  Ewan blinked at her, and Channon could see him searching the question for some hidden barb. God, he was so difficult sometimes. “There’s some online community, social media type stuff I liked the look of,” he said slowly, still obviously suspicious. “And, like, the engagement and attention one. And the comms stuff, because, you know, relevant.”

  Rayyan nodded. “The user engagement session looks interesting. And comms. I was thinking about digital environments, too. I’ve been working on this Unity project—”

  “You use Unity?” Ewan sat forward, interested now.

  Rayyan smirked. “Yeah. I’m building this thing,” she said.

  “Oh, God, the thing,” Dana groaned. “Here we go.”

  “It’s an interactive experience,” Rayyan said, ignoring Dana. “It’s spooky.”

  Dana shook her head. “Ugh, you’re such a nerd.” She eyed Channon sidelong. “Do you really want to go to that conference? It’s not compulsory.”

  The Directions in Virtual Space conference was a two-day event with seminars and round-table discussions on future digital technologies, best practices, and innovations. JNNS had offered tickets and accommodation to the dev team as part of the Vocational Development Program. The idea of the VDP was that training and networking led to innovation, and devs were expected to sign up for at least one option per year, a course or a conference or a training package.

  Channon hadn’t signed up for anything yet this year, and he’d already got a note from HR to do better. So going to an overnight-stay conference with Ewan felt like a good solution to that particular problem. He’d have to clear it with Jack, but he figured Jack was going to be encouraging, as always.

  Now Channon shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of chicken-and-quinoa wrap. “What else am I going to do? I’m not qualified for most of the certificate courses. I don’t have enough experience.”

  “You could take Professional Literacy,” Dana said, grinning at him. “I’ve read your emails. You write like a teenager.”

  Channon ducked his head, struck by the fact that she was right. “I am a teenager,” he said, but the point stood. He should probably take Professional Literacy.

  “Yeah, but no-one needs to know you’re not old enough to drink,” Dana teased.

  He shrugged it off, but the barb stuck. After lunch, Channon sent a text to Jack: Dear Sir. May I please have permission to sign up for the Directions in Virtual Space Conference please see attached. I need a credit for vocational development and Ewan asked me to go with him. Kind Regards Channon.

  Almost immediately, his
phone rang.

  Jack.

  “Hi, Mr Nash,” Channon said, because he was at work and ‘Sir’ wasn’t a thing he should say at his desk.

  “Is everything okay? You haven’t been kidnapped, have you?” Jack actually sounded worried.

  What? “No? I’m fine.”

  “Really? What’s the name of our dog?”

  “We don’t have a dog,” Channon said. “I’m not kidnapped, I’m at my desk.” He waved at the near corner of the office ceiling. “Can’t you see me on the security cam?”

  “They’re not on during normal business hours,” Jack said, as if Channon should already know this, “and I don’t have a security feed on my computer. Did you think I was watching you?”

  Channon shrugged. “I mean…maybe?”

  “Maybe I should.” He could hear Jack relax, his voice going from tense to suggestive. “Get my voyeuristic kicks.”

  You’re an exhibitionist, not a voyeur, Channon thought. But what he said aloud was, “Okay. Enjoy watching me type and scratch my butt for eight hours a day.”

  Jack laughed. “Sexy. Okay. So, since you haven’t been kidnapped, why did you text me like you were applying for a job?”

  “Oh. Um. Dana said I write emails like a teenager,” Channon admitted. It made his gut twist, a shameful little confession.

  “You are a teenager,” Jack scoffed. “What does that have to do with texting me?”

  “I thought I should practice,” Channon said, hunching. “Since I’m, you know. Childish.”

  “I like your texts. And I don’t care if you’re ‘childish’,” Jack said firmly. “If you want to up your game with work emails, go for it. I can help you. But I want you to text me the way you feel comfortable. I like imagining your voice when I read them. And if that means you butcher the English language—which I know you do on purpose—then that’s fine. It doesn’t make you childish. It’s just you.”

  Channon breathed out. “Okay.”

  “And in answer to your question: yes, you may sign up for the conference. I’m guessing Ewan’s going.”

  “Yeah,” Channon said, grateful and relieved and just all around happy. “He wants to share a room.”

  “Then you should definitely go. Keep him out of trouble. No hanky-panky, Channon,” Jack teased.

  “What’s hanky-panky?” Channon asked. “Is that like necking? Canoodling?”

  “Cheeky. Be careful. We’ll talk about all this attitude when I get home from work,” Jack said, though he didn’t sound mad. He sounded promising.

  “Okay! See you tonight.”

  Channon hung up, feeling a whole hell of a lot better. Jack always had that effect on him, buoying up his confidence in ways Channon often didn’t realize he needed until it was too late.

  Jack made him feel comfortable, made him feel safe…and then pushed him out of that comfort zone to places he hadn’t realized he could go. Without Jack, Channon had no idea what he was capable of. With Jack? He felt like he could do anything.

  He coasted on this feeling for the rest of the day and all the way home. When Jack walked in Channon was on the sofa, working on his laptop. He stopped as soon as the door opened.

  “Sir! Welcome home!”

  “Hey, sweetheart. Good day?”

  “Pretty good. How about you?”

  “Good enough. They still haven’t fixed the stop sign on Cowell,” he said, frowning as if that bothered him particularly, but then he glanced at Channon and grinned. “Anyway, I have a feeling my day’s about to get a whole lot better.”

  Things like that always made Channon’s chest warm up. It was like Jack reminding him—You’re important to me. Spending time with you is a pleasure. I miss you when you’re gone. He did it every day, and Channon basked in it like a dog rewarded for good behavior.

  Now he put his laptop aside and knelt up on the sofa to watch Jack take off his shoes and socks, and hang his coat. God, he was handsome. Channon tried not to think it every time he looked at Jack but that was impossible. So fucking hot and his Sir.

  Or his Daddy.

  The word made him uncomfortable for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure about. He knew one thing—he’d said it, once, by accident, and Jack had pounded him like he was trying to fuck the breath out of him. So, as much as Jack said he didn’t care about it, there was a part of him that had cared a little.

  What did it mean? Did Jack want that? What did it mean about their relationship?

  Was it weird? But, what did they do that wasn’t weird?

  But that was for another time. He needed to focus on this moment, here and now. ‘Mindfulness’, Jack said, was important. Living in the past or the future made you miss the opportunities and pleasures of the now.

  And right now? Channon had his Sir all to himself, and Sir had a devious look in his eye.

  Jack came over, his feet bare on the hardwood floorboards. He reached out to drop a hand on Channon’s shoulder.

  “Have you been good, sweetheart?”

  “I’ve tried my best, Sir,” Channon said, knowing a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer wasn’t going to cut it.

  Jack smiled, just a little. “You’ve been getting cheeky, lately,” he said, his hand tightening on the back of Channon’s neck. “Maybe what you need is a reminder of who you belong to.”

  Channon’s knees felt like they might go out from under him. Those words in that voice, Jack’s ‘Sir’ voice, the one Channon had fallen in love with before he’d really understood what was going on.

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon said, his mind racing. Funishment. Discipline. Hopefully not actual punishment, or at least not too harsh. Or even if.

  Whatever Jack had in mind, Channon was up for it.

  ❧

  The look on Channon’s face at the promise of something potentially painful was just precious. Jack kissed his brow. “Okay, sweetheart. Go get your collar. And get those clothes off,” he called as his boy thundered up the stairs.

  “Yes, Sir!” Channon yelled, disappearing into their room.

  Such a good boy. Sometimes wanting a little discipline, of course, but that was all part of the fun.

  Jack fogged the privacy glass. He pulled the coffee table to one side, rolling the rug back and tugging the ottoman into the cleared space. Then he fetched himself a glass of water, drank half of it down, and refilled it as he waited.

  Channon came back down the stairs more carefully and stopped at the foot of them—naked, just the way Jack had asked, his collar held tight in one hand. He tracked Jack with his eyes as Jack made his way back into the main space and put the glass down. Then, when Jack snapped his fingers, Channon crossed the room, folding to his knees at Jack’s feet and settling gingerly on the hardwood floor.

  Jack held out his hand, palm up. Channon lifted the collar with both hands, balancing it across his fingers and offering it up like a sacrifice. He glanced up shyly, something sweet in his face, as he gave Jack this, his surrender to the thing they did together, the thing that was theirs and no-one else’s.

  Jack collared him eagerly, checking the fit with two fingers against Channon’s throat. The regular hole of the collar was already comfortably worn in, but it was part of the ritual, something they did.

  He settled the collar just right, the D rings where he wanted them. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “that I should get you an everyday collar. Something to wear under your shirt. Something to remind you who you belong to always.” He stroked Channon’s hair out of his eyes. “Would you like that?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon said, breathy and eager.

  Jack couldn’t help his smile. Channon was always so up for it, whatever Jack wanted. And this, too, this almost 24/7 thing they did, he seemed to love it as much as anything else.

  Channon had been growing in confidence lately, not quite acting out but taking action all the same. Articulating his needs better, making reasonable requests of Jack that didn’t come near demands. Appropriate things. All of it signs Channon felt comfor
table in himself, that he was happy, that he had as much agency as his sensibilities could bear.

  And then there was the cheekiness. Jack liked it. He didn’t actually want to stamp it out, but he did want an excuse to smack Channon around a little. Just a little. Maybe a lot. He ached to hurt Channon just enough to make him sob, just enough that he’d be grateful when it ended, and curl up in Jack’s arms, shuddering helplessly.

  Was that wrong? If Channon wanted it of him, could it be?

  “Sweetheart,” Jack said gently, “I really want to hurt you a bit tonight. But I don’t want you to feel like you’ve failed me, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re perfect. I’m just in the mood for it. Do you understand?”

  Channon blinked, looking up at him with those clear green eyes that made Jack’s chest ache. “Yes, Sir,” he said, like he really did get it.

  “Tell me, then.”

  Channon locked his upper lip, leaving it wet and glossy. “You want to hurt me, Sir, so you’re going to do that, and I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t have to worry or, um, try to do better.”

  “That’s right. It’s just for fun, okay?”

  It brought a pleased curve to Channon’s mouth. “Yes, Sir. It’s funishment, not punishment.”

  Jack chuckled, stroking Channon’s hair. “Oh, you like that word, do you? Should we make more time for funishment, sweetheart?”

  “If it pleases you, Sir,” Channon said sweetly. “If it’s enough.”

  More than enough. Jack slipped his fingers under Channon’s chin, gripping him firmly. “I think that’s enough talking for now,” he said, putting an edge into his voice.

  Channon recognized it for the sign it was, his eyes widening in rapt attention, spine straightening, the rest of his body going still, taut with anticipation for whatever Jack wanted.

  Beautiful.

  Jack squeezed him and let go, stepping back to admire his boy. “Up on your knees. Back straight. Hands behind your back, Channon, you know what I want.”

  Channon did it all, obeying with an alacrity that made Jack’s chest ache. He was such a good boy, eager to please. And quite lovely. Jack admired him, the silky blackness of his hair, his sleek sun-kissed skin, muscles thick and healthy. Each of his limbs, long and straight and strong. His smooth belly, the ripples of muscle there, the cut of his hips, sharply lined and inviting. His plump, firm ass and hairless thighs. His cock, small and soft beside the weight of his balls—no, not so soft. He was stirring, lifting as Jack admired him, the head of it beginning to peek out from beneath his foreskin.