LOVE & STITCHES at The Asylum Part Nineteen
Why, hello, Sunday!
It's time for some more weekend adventures with our fellas. Curtis thinks his representing the events of the day is entirely appropriate. It is 'dog's day', after all. ;-)
I hope you're having a relaxing day and are looking forward to a gentle start to your week.
Happy reading!
Tibby
*****
*****
Sitting at Lawson’s desk, door open, Curtis let the energy from the bar rush over him. Ledgers piled around the large oak surface were opened to random pages that he tried to make sense of. Bar orders were easy, that he’d been doing since The Asylum had opened. This whole schedule and credit card balance thing though left him wishing for his cuff and the ability to fit under Lawson’s desk like Danny.
“Mad respect for you, my man. I think this is what they call Her Royal Bitchstress, Karma.” Saluting the ceiling like Lawson might be able to hear him from their loft, Curtis downed his second whiskey in as many minutes. “Alright.” He set down the glass and cracked his knuckles. “Totally have this... Pike can work with Reed in the galley, to keep him out of trouble while Quint is in the clinic, Jared in the ring...” Scribbling, he chewed on his bottom lip, then absently rubbed his right wrist between his thumb and forefinger. “Noah can work the dungeon, and I’ll do new member intake. Better than him scaring all the fuckers away before we get their membership fees...”
Outside the office, just out of sight, there was the sound of scuffling, like someone was being half dragged across the floor.
Reed’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. “I might not be good at keeping track of things all the time, but I know the cream was right there. If you’re not going to tell me where you put it then you can tell a Dom. And I swear, if you drank it, I’m so kicking your ass.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pike snarled back at him, not sounding like he was lying—he really was terrible at it when he tried. But when he was accused of something, that O’Rourke temper flared. “Dude, you better fucking let me go before I decide I don’t care how much my cuz loves you. I might be a runt, but I’ve got moves.”
“Offering to suck my dick isn’t scary.”
“That’s not all I’ve got.”
“Yeah? Coulda fooled me.”
Groaning, Curtis rolled back Lawson’s vintage leather executive chair, deciding that if this kind of responsibility was the price of being king, he didn’t want it. Phone out, he shot a text to Noah with the words ‘Tag, you’re it,’ to call in reinforcements. No way would the subs misbehave with the man around. Which would leave Curtis free to finish the supply orders, clean up the books, and do the new member intake interviews.
Stepping into the bar, arms folded over his chest, he gave the two subs a long look, trying to affect half of Lawson’s unimpressed stare, which ended with his eye twitching in a spasm that felt as ridiculous as it probably looked. If this was what the man dealt with on a daily basis while trying to run the club, it was no wonder he’d had a breakdown. “Reed, have Matt bring more cream from the café. Pike, stop trying to bite my sub.”
“Only if he stops being an asshole. And he’s gonna squish Fresco.” Pike’s eyes widened as he patted his chest, then his jeans. “Shit, Fresco?” His lips parted as he looked up at Curtis. “My poor baby, he must have crawled out when I was taste testing those deviled eggs Keiran made. They were so good I completely forgot about him. I’m a horrible pet daddy.”
A crash from the direction of the backbar brought Curtis’ head around in time for him to see the kitten clawing its way up and over the lip, its little tail straight out from its patchwork calico body. He pointed. “There.”
Overhead, a loud Caw was followed by Bram swooping down with a measuring cup full of cream that he knocked over a few bottles to set near the kitten. “Here you go. Baaad kitty.”
Reed let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, so I was wrong about you taking the cream, but why the hell didn’t you leave the kitten upstairs?”
“I didn’t want him to get lonely.” Pike started around the bar, backing up a step as he eyed the glass. “Quint told me to put on safety gear next time I’m near anything sharp. Hmm…”
Grabbing Pike, because God didn’t take much to idiots, and Curtis figured staying off that particular list should be on his own to-do list for the evening, he swung his cousin around, looking for an open booth. Holding Pike by his armpits, Curtis nodded at the closest table full of Doms. “Do me a solid and go sit in the cigar lounge. I’ll have your food brought in. Free Cubans for all of you.”
“I’ll take that offer.” One of the burlier Doms, a bear with a big friendly smile and a bit of pudge covering an impressive amount of muscle under a black T-shirt with ‘I’ll be your sugar daddy’ circling a pie, slid out of the booth. “Not sure why people complain about how weird things are here sometimes. It’s definitely worth the perks.” He glanced at Pike. “Need us to take the boy off your hands?”
Tempted for a moment, Curtis slowly shook his head. “Thanks, but you’d regret it, and so would I.” As the other Doms vacated the booth, Curtis plunked Pike down in the seat, pointing at him. “Sit. Stay.” He held up both hands like the motion might magically secure Pike to the seat, and backed toward the bar. Stepping around the glass, he rummaged in the free box, coming up with a pair of furry cuffs. “Here.” Handing them to Reed over the bar, he motioned to Pike. “Cuff him to the table and bring him a whole chocolate cake.”
Reed snorted, taking the cuffs and twirling them around his finger. “That’s one way to handle him.” He rose up on his tiptoes to kiss Curtis’ cheek. “You’re one smart man, Daddy-o.”
Tipping his head side to side, Curtis grinned at the compliment, then plucked the kitten off the shelf. Its annoyed mewl had a badass vibe. He handed Reed the tiny bundle of claws with fur attached. “Make sure it has something to drink. Not fireball. Probably cream. And a few towels to curl up in on the table.”
“Yes, sir.” Reed rubbed his face in the kitten’s fur. “Honest, I can’t really blame Pike for wanting to keep him close. He’s too flippin’ cute.” He cocked his head, slipping the kitten into the front of his own snug, sparkly rainbow hued shirt. Then waved his hand as Bram flew down to land on his shoulder, wings flapping in his face. “Possessive bird. Stephan’s gonna be worried about you being up here while the bar’s open.”
One disaster averted. Nine-hundred-ninety-nine to go...
Curtis wrapped a palm around the back of his neck, massaging stiff muscles. “What was I doing... Oh, that’s right.” Putting on a pair of gloves, he picked up the glass. Crouching, he decided to let the floor drain take up most of the alcohol that had spilled and to mop at the end of the night. There wasn’t a slip hazard back here with the bar mats. The Health Department could suck his left and right nut.
“Sir, the misfit sub table wants five shots each, which is...thirty, and they told me to decide what to serve them, but I have no ideas.” Danny stared up at him, panting like he’d just done a lap of the entire club instead of only half the bar. “That’s their name for themselves, I’m not making fun of them. That would be mean. Also, I agreed to pay for them all because one of them still hasn’t paid off their tab and they said they liked my shirt. Jacks made it and they might ask him to make them some, so it’s a business investment, right?”
Curtis peered over the bar, gaze going to the table closest to the cigar lounge, where the subs he had come to think of as Beanpole, No Ass, Braces, Twitch, Sourpuss, and I Want My Mommy, sat. Shaking his head slowly, he grinned as he came up with a plan that he was helpless not to execute.
“I’ve got this, Danny. You go find Noah for me. We have some new members coming in and I really need someone to work the bar up front.” Reaching for the shot glasses and a tray, Curtis turned on the warm sink tap and promised himself he’d apologize for every moment of aggravation he’d ever caused Lawson. The man was a fucking saint for putting up with all of them with that unflappable calm. “And, for the record, thirty shots of alcohol would be illegal for me to serve to six subs. Or Doms. It’s one drink per person at a time.”
Shaking his head, then stilling as he absorbed Curtis’ words, Danny exhaled roughly. “I didn’t know that, sir, thank you. I’ll remember next time. But...am I in trouble? You know Noah’s in the dungeon, right? If I go there, he’ll definitely put me in the stocks and forget me there and something terrible will happen. Do you know what kinds of injuries can happen with a thing like that? So many. I might...pass out and choke to death. Very painfully.”
“What’s he doing in there?” Curtis raked his fingers through his hair, trying to remember the schedule and what night of the week it was. “I thought I put Dallas in there. Or Curtis...” He shook his head. “Wait. That’s me.” Taking a moment, he breathed deep and exhaled slowly. “Reed.” Snapping his fingers at his boy, he made an executive decision. “Behind the bar. Food orders are on hold for five minutes.”
Reed nodded, taking off his apron and slipping in behind the bar. “I gotcha, Daddy-o. And Noah’s scheduled for the bar in the dance club, but him and Dallas were talking about some new equipment Lawson already said wasn’t in the budget for this month. They’re moving stuff around to make space for it, which has like, half of the dungeon unuseable. Lawson usually catches them before they mess around like that, ‘specially when the club’s open, but...yeah. That guy who makes those really funky machines is here and Noah got that look he gets when there’s a new gadget he absolutely has to have.”
The table where Pike had been sitting was now occupied by some club randos, Pike’s voice rising over the chatter from the bar filling up with another wave of members. “I heard that, you dickwads. And I don’t gotta be all polite to you, you’re subs. Danny’s not an easy target, he’s just...kinda not careful about who he’s nice too. But I ain’t so nice.”
“Thirty shots of warm water for the misfit table. Keep ‘em comin’. They’re all under my orders not to get up. First one who runs to the bathroom gets my belt.” Curtis threw the directive at Danny, then swept in to rescue Pike, subs scattering in his wake. “This table is off limits to anyone who’s not Sub Royalty.” Snagging a napkin, he quickly Origami folded a little crown, placing it in the center of the table. “Keeping you all in one piece is like trying to chew gum and get it out of my hair at the same time.”
Pike huffed, glaring at one of the subs and rubbing the scratches on his cheeks. He brought two fingers to his eyes, then pointed them at a sub who had a manicure with bright red nails that looked sharp enough it was impossible to imagine him wiping his own ass. “I’m gonna get you back for that, you cock weasel. I promised Quint I wouldn’t get hurt tonight. You’re gonna suffer for making me break that promise.”
Feeling a bit like Jared, Curtis pasted on his most evil smile and beckoned the Tim Burton reject closer. “Do we, or do we not have a prohibition in the bar against fighting?”
“Uh, yeah.” The sub tapped his nails on the table nervously. “But he got in my face, sir. We were just messing around and…” He shot Pike an irritated look. “The guy talks a big game, but if he really wants to start something, we can settle it in the ring. I could take him with both hands tied behind my back.”
“You forfeited that right when you scratched him.” Curtis gave the twerp his best unimpressed stare. “Judging by that anemic move, he’d be pretty safe from you. Don’t fuck with my cousin. He’s got tricks up his sleeve you haven’t dreamed of. We keep him chained for your protection.” Hand on the sub’s shoulder, Curtis propelled him toward the cigar lounge. Opening the door, he stepped inside. “Gentlemen.” Cigar smoke was a thick blue haze he inhaled deeply. “This one owes me a club apology I don’t have time to collect. You can decide which one of you gets the pleasure.”
The Dom in the ‘Sugar Daddy’ T-shirt grinned at him around his cigar. “Consider it handled, my good man.” He snapped his fingers at the sub. “Come on in, Pauly. I’ve been needing someone to hold my ashtray for me. You can keep yourself busy doing that while we decide who gets to enjoy the results of your bad behavior.”
My kingdom for a half hour to watch this shit show...
Reluctantly, Curtis stepped back out of the room, closing the door on the conversation. He motioned to Reed that he’d be back in five minutes, then took the stairs to the dungeon two at a time, brushing past members who waited to get in.
Past the door that could barely open because of the Saint Andrew’s cross positioned much too close, Noah had his arms folded over his chest, standing beside Dallas and shaking his head. “No, that’s not going to work. Are you sure you measured the dimensions for the mechanical fucking bull right? Maybe if we give it a bit less clearance it will fit over there?”
Dallas mimed cracking a whip, nearly punching Curtis in the face when he stepped up behind him. Fast reflexes had Curtis ducking with his curse. “Dammit. Seriously? I’m drowning in subs downstairs and you two are decorating Masochist Barbie’s Dream Home?”
“I’m sure you’ve got it handled, my man.” Noah grinned at him, patting him on the shoulder before holding up a thick book with glossy pictures, half the pages folded, open to show the bull he was apparently trying to reinvent space and time to find a place for in the already well stocked dungeon. “We’re just adding a few new props for the members to enjoy.”
Looking over the photo he could just about make out between Noah’s fingers, Curtis tried to imagine how the thing would work. “What the hell do you do with it besides play rock-a-bye-baby? Its gears go like...” He leaned in to try to get a better view of the device. “Damn. It’s covered in leather. And your hand. I can’t see.”
Noah moved his thumb, but didn’t make the situation much better when he used his fingers to point out different features, blocking even more of the thing. “Me and Dallas got the whole sales pitch. I’ll give you the basics. It has different settings and a hundred attachments you can put on it. Strap a sub on and the bull moves, giving them one hell of a fucking ride. It doesn’t go hard enough to throw them off, but…” He exchanged a look with Dallas, a wicked grin on his lips. “They might wish it would after they’re on it long enough.”
“Holy clenched ass cheeks, Batman.” Curtis whistled low. “I think I’ll be keeping my cuff on my dresser and off my wrist until you get bored with this thing.”
Chuckling, Dallas poked the corner of his mouth with the point of his tongue and leaned back against a padded pillar. “You know there’s gonna be a bet in the books now on how long before you ride this thing.”
“Never, if Lawson asks why you’re creating the Dom’s version of Disneyland. What? There weren’t any teacup rides with dildos attached to the seats?” Holding up his hands, Curtis grinned, then broke into laughter. “Fucking ferris wheels. I’d put that up in the parking lot.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Noah shot him a sideways look, then flipped the page. “All right, so we’ve figured out the bull. I’m not sure about the electric tower of pain, but it seems like something that would interest a few players. Did you see this?” He tapped the page with his fingertip. “The sensors light up the whole damn contraption when a sub’s about to come. Who wouldn’t love a fucking light show?”
A few feet away, Blain frowned at Noah, dampness sheening off his dark brown skin like he’d just finished an intense scene. “I’m still waiting for my proposal to the board for a sectioned off area for the littles and pet players. We need more safe, calm space, not more props. The hardcore players already get more than their fair share of the space.”
“My old loft.” Curtis made the proposal off-hand, figuring the faster he solved the issue, the less blood would have spilled in the bar by the time he got back downstairs. “It’s quiet, not in use, and could have both a schoolroom and a nursery in the two bedrooms. There’s the main loft, and the kitchen for juice parties. The bathroom for cleanup from accidents. We have a board meeting tomorrow. I can’t think anyone would object, but we’ll vote on it.”
Blain nodded slowly, the tension from clearly having prepared for an argument leaving him. “I like that idea, thank you, my man.” He turned to look over the dungeon. “I don’t think you’re going to fit half of what you’re considering in here, Noah, but that third Saint Andrew’s Cross keeps needing repairs. The last time Danny was in here polishing with Wren, he commented that it was going to crush someone and...he might be right. If we get rid of it, you’ll have room for the bull.”
“That’s a good idea. I can recondition it as a set piece for the dance floor.” Curtis tipped his head toward the doorway. “I need to do some new member interviews, and Reed and Pike are alone with Danny in the bar. Can someone spell me before more than six bottles get broken? I promised Lawson there wouldn’t be more than ten, and that leaves me with an uncomfortably narrow margin to work with.”
Making a thoughtful sound, Noah inclined his head. “I need to get back to the dance club, but if Blain can take over here, Dallas can fill in for you. Do you need help getting everything back in order, Blain?”
“No, I can handle this.” Blain pushed up his sleeves, his massive muscles hardening as he lifted the cross clear of the door and back against the wall where it would be out of the way. “Tell the members outside to give me ten minutes and we’ll be back in business.”
It was rare that anything in The Asylum went to plan, and rarer still that Curtis had anything to do with forwarding a good one. Nodding to himself, he grinned at Dallas and Noah, then clapped his hands together. “Thank dog. Come on, my man. I was getting close to putting a cuff on both wrists so I could play Dom / sub tennis as needed.”
“New member interviews, huh?” Coming into step beside him, Dallas mimed shooting himself in the head. “We could always just lock the gates and throw the battlestations switch. I’ll pretend someone tried to abduct me. You can hit me over the head with something. Might be less painful.”
Somehow the noise level in the bar had gone up several decibels in the time Curtis had been away, members three person deep crowding around the bar, most of them sounding pissed off. Behind the bar, Reed scrambled back and forth, pouring drinks.
“Hell, if you people would stop shouting ish, I might be able to hear what you’re freakin’ asking for. Danny was coming around with drinks, just sit your asses down and wait...and stop snapping at him.” Reed sighed and ducked under the bar, talking to someone—probably Danny—then straightened, climbing half on the bar. “Pike, I said to bring those guys the beer, don’t hit anyone with the bottles. And put Fresco in the galley before he scratches someone’s eye out. Drew! Get Bram, he’s dive bombing people!”
Putting his fingers in his mouth, Dallas let out a piercing whistle that brought an immediate quiet over the bar. “New member applicants, line up outside that office.” He pointed. “The rest of you motherfuckers, get in line for your drinks. You so much as look at Danny sideways and I’m shutting this fucking place down for the night and you can go jack yourselves off in an alley downtown with the junkies.”
Curtis’ brows rose. Impressed, he clapped Dallas on the back, noting the aura of Rhodey around him he wore like a mantle. His, “Thanks, my man...” trailed off as nearly everyone in the bar formed a line that led to Lawson’s door. “Uh...” Mind spinning out, he tried to remember the ad they’d placed for new members on their social media groups, and realized he hadn’t been specific about Friday nights being intake nights. “There should’ve been directions to apply first...then wait for a Friday night appointment.” He looked to Noah. “Oops?”
“Yeah…” Noah sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s hand out some forms and have everyone fill them out. Things are already getting out of hand.” He snapped his fingers, his lips curving. “Free drinks for everyone once they hand them in and get their appointment. That should keep the bastards happy before we show them the door.”
“Well, I mean some of them might be alright...” Doubt framed Dallas’ words as he went behind the bar to lift Danny up by his shirt collar and placed him on the bar. “We’re going to play a game. You serve ten drinks and then you get to bite someone’s ankle.”
Half hidden in one of Rhodey’s hoodies he must’ve pulled out from his little cubby-hole type space under the bar, Danny perked up. “I can put on my play collar? I’d like that very much, sir.” He leaned in, whispering as Noah and Curtis stepped up beside Dallas. “There’s a few wanna-be Doms who were trying to tell me I had to do whatever they said over there. Pike dumped an ice pitcher on them. Then Reed pretended to be a Dom and ordered me to come back here. I kinda forgot about wanting to ever serve another drink after that, but Pike served some once Reed gave him all the free passes to swear at whoever he wanted to.”
Noah’s expression darkened. “Point out the ‘Doms’ who were treating you that way. I’ll deal with them personally. You’re staff. I want you to remember that. There is a zero tolerance policy for you dealing with any kind of abuse, I don’t care if someone is a real Dom.”
Alright, this is good. As long as no one dies...
“I got this my ma—” Dallas spoke up as the door to the gym burst open.
Matt shouted, “Knife fight!” his breathless finger pointing accompanying the call for battlestations. “Who the fuck gave popslut a switchblade?”
“Jesus Christ.” Noah bolted out of the bar, barely avoiding plowing Matt over on his way by. “Rhodey, I told you not to arm my subs!”
Hot on his heels, Curtis followed, if only to make sure there was someone left standing to drag everyone’s bloody carcasses to the clinic.
It was going to be a long night.
SNAFU: Situation Normal All F*cked Up or just another night at The Asylum 😂
ReplyDeleteJamie with a knife? Oy
ReplyDeleteClearly Curtis doesn't manage things quite as well as Lawson. Curious how this goes.
ReplyDelete