Chapter Text
While the foyer had been politely decorated but unassuming at best, the main room was a far cry from any expectation Lance could have had. He had anticipated a dank sort of warehouse, complete with concrete floors and featuring the distinct sensation of being in a low budget porno. But the room they had been let into was the complete opposite in its tasteful grandeur. Lance slowed, struggling to put his ID away as he stared, unable to tear his eyes from the elegant beauty of the main play area of the Altea Dungeon, local BDSM club.
The walls were painted a rich red, the lighting low enough to accent it in a way that made the color inviting rather than corny. A lavish carpet covered the floor, Persian in style and plush even beneath the barrier of his shoes. There were fine leather couches placed around long, low coffee tables, chairs with velvet upholstery, and an incredible array of furniture and structures whose purpose Lance couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Keith stepped up beside him, his wallet already securely stowed back in his pocket. He whistled lowly as he regarded the area, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. His eyes glinted in the low light, bright with his admiration. It was a mild expression, but Lance could read him well by now, their casual relationship extending well into its fourth month. Keith’s dark eyes roved over the room, taking in absolutely everything.
The walls were lined with artworks and racks that were fully stocked with ropes, chains, whips, and all manners of leather items that looked almost too decorative for use. This place was exquisite, and instead of feeling dirty or ashamed, Lance felt a coquettish sense of belonging. A shiver tingled up his spine, and he was so busy imagining what the carpet would feel like under his bare knees that he startled a little when Keith elbowed him.
“Isn’t this crazy?” Lance hissed, leaning close to him as if in conspiracy. Keith shrugged, his leather jacket rising and falling heavily with his shoulders, dripping nonchalance outwardly despite the slight upward tilt of his lips. He was just as thrilled as Lance was, and he looked half wild with fiery eyes and wisps of dark hair flying loose around his face. He had forgotten to pull the messy ponytail from earlier out of his hair. Lance didn’t remind him to take it down.
“Find Hunk.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Lance glanced around, paying more attention now to the people rather than the furniture. There were quite a few attendees, all in various states of dress, or lack thereof. Some wore all leather, some had on suits, and even others were wearing street clothes like he and Keith. One woman was even wearing black latex dress, all shiny and bright and entirely too flattering. Lance tore his eyes away from her, continuing his search for his friend, his guide, the only reason they were here in the first place.
He caught sight of Hunk walking towards them from the left, his bulk accented even more by the low lighting. He somehow looked taller, more imposing, his shoulders wider and his back taller. He was dressed simply, but nicely, in black slacks and a button down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, exposing strong forearms.
“Hey!” Hunk greeted, his voice warm and friendly and incredibly normal despite the oddness of the situation. “Glad you guys could make it.”
“Us, too,” Lance agreed. “This place is bomb, Hunk!”
Hunk grinned. “Yeah, it’s alright.” He turned, looking over the room with no small sense of pride. “I thought it would be weird for the two of you to come see it, but it doesn’t even feel like that at all.”
Lance had imagined it would feel weird, too. He knew that Hunk was into the scene, and that he apparently was really good at some specific something-or-other. He had never thought much about it or expressed much interest in the community, full of extremities and rules and oddly specified interests. It hadn’t been Lance’s thing. But then Keith had fallen right smack into his life, and next thing he knew, Hunk was scolding them about the bruising on Lance’s wrists. He had given them the website and invited them to munches and badgered them until they went, begrudging and more than a little excited.
At least, Lance was. He suspected that Keith enjoyed it, too, despite the firm set of his mouth during each meet up with the locals. He had apologized very sincerely about the bruising, kissing each dark spot with a private tenderness, and he had gone along on this adventure with minimal complaint. Now, he stood firmly by Lance’s side, the ghost of a gloved hand lingering on Lance’s lower back in a gesture of both support and comfort.
“Have you started working yet?” Keith asked amiably, and Hunk turned back to them with a lopsided smile, giddy and excited.
“Yeah, I had my first day as assistant DM last Sunday,” he said, the glee that slipped into his voice infectious. “Coran is suggesting that I teach a class or something, but it won’t be for a little bit, at least until we finalize the new calendar.”
Keith nodded as if he understood exactly what Hunk was saying, and Lance almost rolled his eyes. He probably did know, if Lance cared to give it any thought. Keith was far more active on the website than he was, always reading something, always posting some comment or another, his fingers typing lightning fast and his posture shifting forward with interest. Lance shifted just a tad closer to Keith’s side, squashing any nerves he might have had and opening his mouth to ask Keith what he wanted to look at first.
But for once, he wasn’t fast enough. Hunk spoke first, pointing over their shoulders to the door on the opposite side of the room.
“That’s the Chief Dungeon Monitor,” he said.
Lance and Keith turned, following Hunk’s indication. The man he pointed to was tall, his commanding stature rounded by muscles so well defined they might as well have been carved by the angels themselves. His hair was cropped in a severe undercut, and the top was dyed to a crisp silver. He didn’t wear any stylized clothing, only black pants and a matching t-shirt with the dungeon’s logo emblazoned across the back. He wore a utility belt, too, from which were secured a variety of items. Lance could make out a flashlight, a pair of EMT shears, and a radio, but there was plenty more. He obviously wasn’t here to play. The other man accompanying him was dressed similarly, belt and all, but had ginger hair and a bushy mustache to match.
When the Chief DM faced the gathered crowd, despite all expectations of severity, his smile was absolutely disarming. Honest, open, and stunningly gorgeous, he greeted the room with a strong voice that carried each word with a clarity that only practice could obtain.
“Welcome, everyone,” he said, and the loose crowd tightened around him, waiting for his words with a hushed anticipation. Hunk ushered Keith and Lance to join, and they did, stepping in close among everyone else.
“Thank you for joining us today at Altea,” the man continued. “This is my first day back as Chief Dungeon Monitor, and I’m glad to see all of you, new faces included.”
His dark eyes swept the crowd, attentive as fond, as if memorizing each new face and recalling each old one.
“For those that don’t know me, I’m Shirogane Takashi. Shiro’s fine. I’m co-owner, Chief DM, and I teach or assist with the classes held here.”
In the dim mood lighting of the main area, it was difficult to accurately discern facial features. But upon studying him from this close, Lance could see that Shiro was of Asian descent. Not like Keith, whose blended heritage gave him a sense of unassuming beauty, but a stark set of rounded features and a strong jawline that left him looking both stern and devastatingly handsome. A thin silver scar slashed his face apart over the nose, but it only served to make him look more rugged.
“You’re staring.”
Keith’s voice murmured close to his ear, his warm breath disturbing the fine brown curls of Lance’s hair. His tone wasn’t rude of accusatory, simply amused admonishment, and Lance looked away from Shiro to study the other DM instead, trying not to think too hard about Keith’s lips so close to his ear, nor the way his hand stroked Lance’s back in a soothing gesture of agreement.
“Just some general housekeeping,” Shiro continued. “Next week’s class slot is just going to be a general meeting to discern interests for this next season’s classes, so we can invite experts as need be. There should be an event on the Facebook page and the Fetlife group. RSVP if you’re interested in going so we can provide an accurate amount of refreshments.”
There were nods and sounds of assent throughout the crowd, and Lance was turning his head to Hunk to ask if they were allowed to go when the sudden, commanding tone of Shiro’s voice made everyone pause in place.
“Another thing. Anyone who hasn’t yet signed and turned in the house rules sheet, please do so. If you don’t, or haven’t, I will have to ask you to leave.” Shiro’s gaze was hard, his mouth set firmly in an expression that booked no argument. “I know it sounds harsh, but safety is our first priority. Anyone who does not agree to accept our rules is unwelcome.”
The mood immediately shifted, the seriousness of his tone felt very, very clearly. Shiro waited a moment, letting it sink in, but then let his expression soften back into an easy smile. “Alright,” he conceded. “Everyone have fun, and be safe. Coran and I are here if you need anything.”
And with that, the crowd began to disperse, diffusing out into the building to begin their night. Lance turned to Keith, whose expression was both thoughtful and oddly heated as he watched Shiro leave. He was thinking, turning something over in his mind, and Lance knew from experience that he would have to wait until Keith was finished parsing through his thoughts to hear about it.
“That’s Shiro,” Hunk offered, recapturing their attention and beckoning for them to follow him. “He and Allura own the place. He’s worked at like, two other dungeons, though. He was actually doing some stuff at one of them over the summer.” Hunk spoke as he walked, leading them to the richly stained desk that sat towards the front of the room by the entrance from the foyer. There was a letter rack on it, along with a phone, note taking supplies, and a framed sign that said, ‘Please Do Not Play on Me!’
Hunk eased open one of the desk drawers and pulled out two sets of forms. Each was two sheets stapled together, and Hunk handed one set to Keith and one to Lance.
“Those are the house rules,” he said. “Read them over, then sign the second page and pop it on the desk. The first page is for you guys to hang on to for reference.”
Keith nodded once in acknowledgement, but immediately turned his full attention to the sheet. He was absorbed in it, but his brow furrowed as he tried to read the simple font in the dim light. Lance watched him for a moment, knowing that he struggled to read text sometimes, anyway, let alone in a place where every sight and sound was a new and colorful distraction.
“Go have a seat at the big table,” Hunk said, gesturing. “Give it a read and I’ll see about giving you guys a tour.”
“Thanks, man,” Lance said with a grin, leading Keith towards the aforementioned table, which was blissfully empty. “I’ll read it to you,” he offered as he and Keith sat on the bench that ran down one side of the table. “I know the light in here is weird.”
Keith stared at him a moment, his expression analyzing, discerning; but didn’t protest. Tension eased from his shoulders in gratitude as Lance began to read, his eyes following along on the page, their thighs touching beneath the table.
***
It wasn’t a particularly trying read, but they went through each rule with care. As capriciously as they had begun this, Lance knew that they were willing to put forth the effort. Enough to do this much, at least, and he was quietly grateful that Keith was willing to go so far with him.
The form was mostly rules about safety, all of which seemed reasonable enough. Ask before playing, respect boundaries, stop if told to stop. Keith agreed very vehemently in regards to the rules about consent, something that made Lance’s stomach flutter with a warm appreciation.
They each signed their respective acknowledgement sheets and stacked them in the middle of the desk as they had been instructed. Lance folded his set of rules, delicately torn away from the staple, and crammed it into his pocket, making at least ten mental notes to retrieve it before laundry day.
“What now?” Keith asked, walking aimlessly towards the center of the room, managing to look both blasé and like a kid in a candy store at the same time. Lance walked beside him, trying to seem confident despite the fact that his head was filled the rules they had read and the sounds that surrounded them, and the hot sense of titillation that boiled between his hips.
“Dunno,” he said, a little breathier than he would have liked. “Hunk promised us a tour.”
But Hunk was nowhere in sight. There were quite a few couples and small groups in the main room, but their friend was not among them. However, Lance couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on some of the scenes that were playing out. One woman had cruel looking clamps on her nipples, and a man nearby wore a latex hood. Someone else was bound to one of the giant frames shaped like an ‘X,’ shuddering hard as their partner shocked their thigh with some sort of electrical wand.
“Quit staring,” Keith murmured in his ear for the second time that night, and Lance felt a thrill shoot right down his spine. He flushed, turning to Keith to regard his crooked grin. It would almost be cute, the teasing, if Lance wasn’t on the very edge of being overstimulated. “Guess we’ll have to give ourselves our own tour.”
He took Lance’s hand in his own, still gloved and a little too firm. Holding hands was still new to them, and it was usually Lance who initiated, so the development was a pleasant surprise. Keith didn’t seem at all unnatural or tense, his posture relaxed and his stance confident; a dominating personality in a place deliberately meant to foster such a heady urge. Lance let himself be led with a giddy smile, following Keith’s lead to a low, padded bench already rigged with restraints.
“What do you think this is for?” He asked, curiously easing closer to the piece of furniture. He considered reaching out a hand to touch, mostly because the padding looked so supple, almost brand new. He imagined that it would feel soft against his skin, and while he wanted to experience that for himself, he didn’t quite get there first.
Keith sat on the bench in front of him, his knees spread and his eyes dark as he looked up at Lance, guiding him closer by their joined hands. His gloved palms moved to rest lightly on Lance’s narrow hips, that same crooked smile sweeping across his face.
Lance brushed a stray wisp of hair back from Keith’s forehead, smiling as Keith turned his head to press his lips against the delicate inside of his wrist.
“How do you like this place so far?” Keith murmured, the threat of teeth so close to his skin, and Lance felt the tips of his ears redden.
“I like it,” he admitted. “It’s pretty. And I wanna try more stuff with you, you know?”
“I know.” Keith’s answer was simple. They had discussed this between them, this desire to expand from the sexual norm into a bit of deviancy. And they had tried, with a belt and a bedpost, completely ignorant of the potential damage Lance could have taken had Hunk not noticed and gently intervened.
Lance couldn’t help but be glad, though. This opened hundreds of new doors for them, and Lance could tell, especially now, that Keith was just as invested as he was.
“Kiss me,” Keith said, his gaze heated, and Lance felt his mouth go dry. He bent down, placing a chaste kiss on Keith’s lips, and the smile he felt made Lance’s gut twist. “You can do better.”
Lance flushed, immediately indignant. “Do it yourself, then!”
Honestly, he should have expected the reaction. Keith was a brushfire, sparking immediately and consuming every scrap he could touch, and he grasped Lance’s jacket, standing and pushing him backwards with a firm insistence until his back was pressed flush against the wall. Lance would have opened his mouth to protest, but Keith’s lips were on his instantaneously, warm and dry and chapped from riding his motorbike in cooling weather. A firm thigh pressed between his own and Lance’s head spun, his resolve held up only by the leg between his and the fists gripping his clothes.
The kiss was a passionate one, heated and demanding, each moment a building testament to Keith’s ability to rise to a challenge, no matter how trivial. That, paired with the combination of cries from others in the background, and the ambiance, and the simple fact that Keith wanted him at all made Lance shudder. He leaned hard against the wall, tilting his hips against Keith’s thigh experimentally. One of those deft hands, leather clad and clever, released his jacket to slide up his neck as Keith took his mouth in bruising kisses. Long fingers grasped a handful of Lance’s hair, and Lance pulled away just enough, lips parted, anticipating the moment when he would cry out in pleasure-
Pain.
“OW!”
The sound was louder than he had thought, but so was the savage yank on his hair. Keith stepped back suddenly as tears sprung to Lance’s eyes, and he rubbed furiously at the back of his head to try and soothe the sharp sting.
The mood was gone now, evaporated in a very disappointing turn of events. Lance was prepared to sigh and get over it when a spike of panic flooded him, his eyes widening as he saw the Chief DM himself approaching them from over Keith’s shoulder.
“Is everyone okay?” He asked, and Keith whirled around to face Shiro, who had paused off to the side with an expression both welcoming and concerned. Keith didn’t respond, gaping like a fish suddenly reeled out of water, but Lance began to nod furiously.
“Yeah, man, we’re fine, totally good!” He blurted. “Totally okay. Thanks, though. Good job, fast response.”
Shiro smiled at him kindly, somehow managing not to outwardly judge Lance for his word vomit.
“You’re Hunk’s friends?” He asked, glancing between the two of them. “He mentioned he had invited a couple of people.”
Lance nodded again, relaxing a little with the change of subject. Hunk was a good subject, a safe subject.
“Yeah. I’m Lance. This is Keith,” he said, gesturing between them. “Hunk’s talked you guys up a lot.”
Shiro’s expression brightened. “I hope we can exceed your expectations,” he said politely, his eyes warm but somehow calculating, subtly darting between them. “The two of you are new to the scene?”
Once again, Lance nodded. Keith stood as still as stone, his shoulders set back with a tension born from intimidation and worry and the aggressive need to fight or flee, a physiological response that seemed to rule every aspect of Keith’s being.
“May I give you some advice?”
At this, Keith turned back to Lance, a silent question in the firm set of his mouth, in his posture. Lance swallowed, knowing that it was up to him to answer, despite that fact that he had never felt so stripped of words in all his life, half from embarrassment and half from arousal. As much as he enjoyed the dungeon so far, something about it made him feel a little too open and a little too raw and a good deal more vulnerable than he had expected.
“That would be cool,” Lance managed to say, and Shiro’s responding smile eased his frazzled nerves, comforting in its sincerity and in the way it made his eyes crinkle around the edges.
Shiro stepped closer to them, standing slightly adjacent to Keith, but squarely in front of Lance, a very calculated stance based on his assumption of their roles. “May I touch him?” He asked Keith, and Lance’s heart began to slam itself against his chest when he realized what Shiro meant.
Shiro was asking for Keith’s permission to touch Lance. As if Keith owned him.
The thought made his knees want to buckle under his own weight.
“You may,” Keith said, his tone absolutely calm, as if unfazed by the inquiry, the tension bleeding slowly from his shoulders. As if it was asked of him every day, as commonplace as if someone had asked for the time. Lance wanted to hate him his calm and easy dominance.
Shiro spoke to Lance next, his voice soft as he took an easy step forward. “May I touch you?”
“Yes,” Lance breathed, hardly daring to raise his voice lest he end up squeaking out the answer.
Shiro was slow in his movements, gentle as he raised a large hand to rest on the side of Lance’s neck. His hand was hot, his palm dry, and his fingers slid into Lance’s hair with a tenderness that Lance couldn’t remember feeling before. The lingering pain of having his hair yanked was still there, but Lance could ignore it with the way Shiro carefully closed his fist into the roots at the back of his head. He used that grip to guide Lance’s head back, forcing him to bare his throat. Lance swallowed, his eyes sliding closed.
“Be gentle with him at first,” Shiro murmured to Keith. “Warm him up to being treated roughly, if that’s what you want.”
Shiro turned Lance’s head one way, then the other, showing Keith the absolute control he had, despite his sweetness.
“See how I have it held closer to the root?” Lance heard him say. “Grabbing hair by the ends means more tension, and a lot less pleasurable sensation. You don’t even have to pull, just flex your hand.”
And then Shiro demonstrated, his grip loosening and tightening in a slow, pulsing rhythm that made tiny little sparks dance down his neck in pleasure. It felt good, the repetitive tightening and loosening feeling almost like a massage, if it could be called such.
When Shiro let go, Lance opened his eyes and just barely bit down on his tongue in time to stop a whine of protest. Shiro was still smiling at him, kind and understanding.
“Hunk is in the side room to the far right, I think he got pulled away for a question about flogger recommendations,” he said, turning to finish his rounds of the room. “Let me know if you two need anything.”
And when Keith pushed Lance back against the wall, ignoring the information about Hunk, it was slower this time, and every clench of that gloved hand in his hair made Lance shudder, groaning into each hot kiss like he had already found the line in his mind between his normal self and the self that didn’t care who saw him being dominated in a dungeon and leapt over it.