Braided

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Braided: A Velvet Glove Novel

  SCREWDRIVER

  An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers

  PO Box 2545

  Round Rock, TX 78680

  Copyright 2006 © by Sean Michael

  Cover illustration by S. Squires

  Published with permission

  ISBN: 978-1-60370-023-8, 1-60370-023-7

  www.torquerepress.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

  First Torquere Press Printing: May 2007

  Printed in the USA

  Prologue

  Peter was going to scream if Paul didn't stop singing that stupid song.

  He loved his twin, he did, but he hated when Paul got a song stuck in his head and started singing.

  Hated it.

  "Paul..."

  Paul looked over, his eyes hidden behind contacts that looked like flames to match his red and orange hair. "What?"

  "S...stop it?"

  "Stop what?"

  "Singing."

  "Singing what?"

  Peter glared. "You kn...n...now what you were s...s...singing!"

  "I wasn't singing. I was drawing." Paul stuck his tongue out. Oh... the little bastard had taken Peter’s new tongue-rod, the glow-in-the-dark one.

  "You w...w...w...weren't supposed to take that, Paul! It w...was for one of T...t...tap's new boys, special o...ordered!"

  "Take what? You can't take a song, Peter."

  Oh. Oh! Peter was going to kill him.

  Dead.

  Peter rumbled and stood, slapping his hand down. "You are s...s...such a little prick!"

  Paul stood up, stretching to lean over him. "Little, asshole?"

  He puffed up, stepped closer. "N...n...no, you're a b...b...big, fat asshole!"

  There was a gentle knock on the door. "I hate to interrupt..."

  Peter turned, looking over at the stocky redhead standing at the door. "Oh, n...n...no problem. We can f...f...fight anytime."

  Paul pinched his ass, made him squeak.

  The man chuckled. "Yes, you seem quite practiced at it. I'm looking for the massage rooms. Hercules said I couldn't miss them, but I have to admit, I've managed it."

  "You're real close. They're two doors back, down that little hallway." Paul offered a grin and a handshake, reaching around him. "Are you new?"

  Paul's hand was taken, then his own hand was swallowed up in a big, beefy one, given a firm, but gentle shake. "I am. Bowie. I'm going to be in charge of Massage."

  "Hi. I'm P...p...p...p...p..." Fuck.

  Paul piped up. "He's Peter. I'm Paul. Welcome!"

  There was another deep chuckle. "Hello, Peter. Hello, Paul. So you two run body mods?"

  They nodded.

  "Peter's the piercer." Paul grinned. "And I ink."

  "Nice to meet you. I guess we'll be neighbors."

  "Yep. Just remember that we only sometimes mean the things we scream at each other." Paul was such an ass.

  "I m...m...mean it." He stuck his tongue out at Paul, chuckling as Paul leaned in and kissed it.

  "Mmm…" Bowie made a soft, almost humming purr. "Well as long as you don't disturb my clients with the screaming, we'll get along just fine."

  "Hercules soundproofed the massage rooms." Paul's flame eyes were steady on him, making him a little hot. "So we don't anymore."

  "Good, good." Bowie's eyes flicked from him to Paul and back again, watching them. "Well, if the tension ever gets too high -- there's nothing like a nice massage to loosen things up again. And you know where to find me."

  "And if you ever want to decorate, we're always here, experimenting..." Paul winked over, pointing to him. His skin was all dyed a pale purple, hair silver and braided with little bells.

  Bowie chuckled again, the sound low and rich, quiet. "I can see that. Tell me, does that color go all over?"

  Paul nodded, hands sliding around his waist and cupping his cock. "I shaved him and dyed him myself." Peter felt his cheeks heat, but he leaned back into Paul and nodded.

  There was that purr again, Bowie's eyes intent on them, dark and hot. "I bet that was a sight to see."

  Paul nuzzled his cheek, hands holding him close, and he could feel Paul's cock rubbing against his ass. The air in the room seemed heavy, hot. Interesting.

  "He was beautiful. His cock is pierced and we put a purple barbell in, a pretty metal band around his balls after they were clean."

  "What about you," Bowie asked softly, almost breathlessly. "Are you shaved all over and what color is your skin?"

  "Right now, Peter's shaved all but a little triangle and dyed it to match my hair." Paul rubbed against him, making him hot. "I've got the prettiest tattoos, too. Fish and flowers and birds." Not to mention two little jeweled rings between balls and ass.

  "You would look lovely bound together against a cream background. Naked and wanting, but not able to touch each other."

  "Not be able to touch?" Paul's voice was low, husky, hands unfastening Peter's pants. "Why wouldn't we be able to touch?"

  "P...p...paul..." He stretched into the touches, eyes closing.

  "There's many ways to achieve that," murmured Bowie, voice husky. The sounds of the door closing, of the bolt sliding home, were loud. "You wouldn't be able to touch because you'd be tied, cuffed, frozen how I pose you."

  "Oh..." Paul was vibrating behind him, hand exposing his cock and stroking it. "You're good with ropes? Good enough to handle two?"

  "Good enough to handle you two."

  Peter arched, crying out as Paul tugged the ring in the tip of his cock. Oh. Oh, they'd played together. Sure, they'd played, but never from zero to nothing with a perfect stranger. Never.

  Bowie stepped forward, pulling a leather tie out of a pocket. Quickly, easily, Bowie bound Peter's cock and balls quite firmly.

  Oh... Peter looked down, the leather dark and sexy against his skin, his cock and balls full and throbbing. Paul touched him, fingers dancing and teasing. He met Bowie's eyes -- green, they were green -- moaning at the quiet hunger he found there.

  Bowie's eyes didn't leave his, but the man still managed to grab Paul's wrists and bind them together with another piece of leather, just above his belly, effectively trapping them both.

  "Oh, sweet fuck." Paul moaned behind him, rubbing faster, harder, squeezing his arms down by his sides.

  Bowie walked slowly around them, nodding when he'd completed the circle. "Naked next time. I would like to see your skin. All of it. Especially what happens once you're tied. Will you both break out into a sweat? Pink up? Just the contrast between skin colors..."

  "Oh..." He tilted his head back, blinking up at Paul, moaning low. Paul was licking those pretty, full lips, watching Bowie's every move.

  Bowie slowly sank down in front of him, looking up at them. "This is usually yours, isn't it, Paul? You usually get to do this." Bowie's tongue slid across the tip of his cock, teasing the barbell.

  That pushed a little cry from him, his cock throbbing, aching. Paul's sound was darker, almost rumbling. "Yes. He's mine."

  "But you can't have it right now. You're caught in my trap." One of Bowie's eyebrows went up. "With a single piece of leather. One point of restraint and I take it for myself."

  Bowie's mouth descended over his cock, sucking hard.

  Oh.
/>
  Oh, fuck.

  Peter arched into it, letting Paul support him as the world went white-hot and stayed there, his nerves screaming.

  Bowie's tongue played with his piercing, teeth teasing it, even as the sucking continued. The copper-haired head was bobbing over his prick, pulling out his pleasure.

  "Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh... I need t...to." He was whispering, rocking and whimpering and needing. Paul was moving behind him, needing too, wanting to bend him over, fuck him.

  Bowie chuckled around his cock and then pulled off. "So soon?" The man shook his head, fingers working the leather around his prick and balls off. "If it wasn't working hours, I would teach you patience."

  Then the thick fingers slid behind his balls, pressing hard and massaging his gland from the outside. "Come then, Peter."

  He jerked, eyes going wide as heat slid down his spine and shot out his cock.

  He distantly heard Paul's soft rumble. "We're not big on the whole patience thing, me and my Pete."

  Bowie caught the spray full in the face, licking at his lips with a satisfied air. "Next time we play you won't have a choice."

  Bowie stood softly, bringing his face close to theirs. "Lick me clean, boys, and we'll let you come, Paul."

  They moaned in harmony, leaning in and licking and lapping at Bowie's face, tongues working together. Paul was faster, hungrier, that need still drilling into his spine.

  Bowie sighed, breath warm and sweet on his skin. He licked at Bowie's lips, stealing a kiss. Bowie chuckled and moved away, circling them again, stopping behind them.

  He couldn't tell what Bowie was doing, but Paul's cock jerked against his back. "Go on, Paul. Join your brother in pleasure."

  Paul's arms squeezed him as heat sprayed against him, Paul's cry rich and low.

  Bowie walked slowly around them again and untied Paul's hands. Their cheeks were softly stroked and then Bowie walked to the door, unlocking it. "You boys know where to find me."

  Paul held onto him tight, supporting and supported all at once. "We do. When does your shift end?"

  "Midnight." Bowie smiled, heat still in the green eyes and then he turned, braid swinging against his back as he walked away.

  Peter turned, pushed into Paul's arms, lifting his face for a kiss. "Wh...wh...what?"

  Paul chuckled and licked his lips. "We were quite nicely taken in hand, Pete."

  "Mmm... ." The kiss deepened, grew sweet and heady. "We g...g...going to play, Paulie?"

  "Oh, yes. I think we are, Pete." Paul grinned, flame eyes dancing, pierced tongue flicking out at him. "I think we most definitely are."

  Chapter One

  It had been a good first day.

  Bowie had introduced himself to the staff, explained how he liked to do things and gotten to know the equipment before they'd had their first client. The Velvet Glove’s massage room had all the latest machines, the best and most comfortable massage tables, the warmest, softest towels, as could only be expected in the galaxy’s premiere BDSM club.

  He'd discovered that many of the paired clients came in to use the equipment, but wanted to massage each other; others wanted a massage and would book it with a specific masseuse. He knew his own schedule would soon be full once word of mouth got around about his talents, until then, he was more than content to just get to know the place and the clients and pick up the slack where it was needed.

  When midnight rolled around, he signed off on the day's paperwork, sent a report in to Hercules, the club’s owner, and locked the place up. He adjusted himself just before leaving -- he'd had a bit of a hard-on the whole day thanks to the beautiful brothers who ran the ink and piercing shop. There was so much passion there and he itched to tap into it.

  He'd made his interest clear though -- they'd have to come to him if they wanted more.

  He closed the door behind him and palmed it, impressed that the club already had his palmprint coded in. This was indeed a topnotch club. He was lucky to have found a place here. Oh, a masseur was never out of work, but at a place like the Velvet Glove he could also indulge in his own sexual proclivities without worry.

  Bowie heard a low, soft moan and turned. There was Paul, flaming hair bright against the wall, eyes watching him as Peter knelt, silver head bobbing over Paul's hard cock. "It's after midnight. We waited for you."

  He purred softly, cock immediately hard. "Waited impatiently I see. Stop that, Peter."

  Paul's eyes went wide, and Peter slowly pulled back to turn beautiful dark eyes towards him. Peter's lips were swollen and shining, tongue flicking out to lick them. "Hmm?"

  "I said stop. We can go to one of the playrooms downstairs or to your rooms -- I haven't even seen mine yet -- but you'll stop now. Paul can wait." Such beautiful boys.

  "But..." Paul moaned, cock bouncing as Peter kissed the tip and stood.

  Peter gave him a quiet little grin. "Our r...r...rooms are close."

  "Good. I prefer privacy until we know each other better." He held out his hands to them.

  They came to him, Peter taking his right hand, Paul his left. They smelled delicious, all heat and sex and musk as they surrounded him. He could get used to this. To them.

  He let them lead him to the lift. "I trust you both had a good day."

  Peter nodded and Paul gave him a grin. "We did. Pete taught a top how to do a nipple piercing and I worked on Zane for a while and then did some drawings for Des. He has a new partner and I so want to ink him and..."

  Bowie chuckled. "Anymore arguments?"

  Peter shook his head. "We w...w...were..."

  "Not in a fighting place,” finished Paul.

  He purred softly as the lift doors open. He imagined he wasn't being egotistical when he guessed that that might be because of him.

  "We're in number fifty six and fifty eight. We share." Peter stepped away as Paul spoke to open the door on a kaleidoscope of colors and objects. There was art and toys and chaos and it was little wonder these two fought, they had no order between them.

  "Interesting." His fingers itched to organize, but he resisted -- his fingers itched more to touch them, to bind them, to make love to them. "You have a playroom? Or a bedroom?"

  "We have a workroom and a playroom and a big, big bedroom." Paul walked them through the mess, towards the back.

  "I only have a few scraps of leather with me. The rest of my stuff is en route to be delivered in the morning. What kind of a night would you like?" He could certainly improvise. Or they could all just fuck like vole-weasels.

  "Let's go to bed. It's comfy and big and warm." Paul grinned wickedly. "And I'll never get my blowjob if we go to the playroom."

  "Oh? Why is that?"

  Paul tilted his head. "Because you'll have wicked ideas in the playroom and we can just fuck in the bed."

  Peter chuckled.

  Bowie inclined his head. "Oh, I'm looking forward to seeing it. But for tonight, fucking in bed sounds like fun." No discipline in these two. The reasons for their arguing kept growing by leaps and bounds.

  "Fun. We're good at fun." Paul bounced into a room that was almost all bed -- dozens of pillows and blankets piled atop it. The colors amazed him -- reds and greens and blues and yellows all screaming for attention -- sort of like the two decorated brothers wrestling to beat each other to the mattress.

  "Stop." He said it quietly, but deadly seriously.

  They stopped, two sets of eyes fastened on him, the two almost vibrating together.

  He slowly began to remove his clothing, folding it neatly and leaving it by the door. "You have both come today. I have not. I believe I should be first on the bed and first to be pleasured." How much patience did they have without being bound? It was time to see.

  Peter leaned up and whispered something to Paul and Paul nodded. Then they both moved to touch him, help him strip away the rest of his clothes, hands gentle and warm and eager.

  "We're sorry. We're just excited. We don't mean to seem selfish, honest."

  "I didn't think you we
re selfish, just... overeager." He moaned softly, enjoying their touches.

  Peter knelt before him, nuzzling his belly while Paul's mouth slid down his spine. "Yeah. Eager."

  He purred, hands sliding through Peter's silver hair. "Bed, my Pets, let us make it to the bed."

  Peter nodded, cheek soft on his hip. "Yeah?"

  "'Kay. He has cute freckles, Petey."

  He chuckled. "Cute? I can't remember the last time someone called me cute."