Archive of Our Own

The uncertainty about the latest mission follows Schmidt even into the otherwise comfortable bar, and chases him until he shuts it up with a glass of whiskey. It’s more muted then, not entirely gone, but it’s enough for now. It’s nothing, or at least nothing he can find, and what he needs right now is a distraction. Being on leave like this has him lost especially in the aftermath of his recent breakup, and the weekend looming looks even worse. He doesn’t do well with down time.

The bar isn’t packed, but there’s enough bustle for a steady pleasant background buzz and let Schmidt zone out at the tv. He drinks the second whiskey slower, not in a rush and not needing to be drunk. He doesn’t want to be drunk either, he just wants to be around people, even if he’s all but unseen. 

“I-oh no, I am so sorry,” a man’s voice says as he bumps into Schmidt’s shoulder and beer sloshes onto the counter near his elbow and somehow manages to get into his glass.

Schmidt sits back and grabs napkins, the man apologizing profusely next to him. 

“I am so sorry,” he says again, sounding genuinely distressed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you, there was just, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Schmidt interrupts finally.

He doesn’t mean to sound short, but he knows between his accent and the usual to the point style of speaking often makes it sound that way. 

“Let me buy you another, another whatever you were drinking, since I ruined it,” the man says, apparently not put off. “I owe you that much.”

Schmidt looks up and the man is smiling awkwardly down at him. He’s pretty tall, even with Schmidt on the high bar stool. His hair is dark and full and has an endearingly soft wave to it. His eyes are a startling blue, and unfortunately blue eyes have always been Schmidt’s weakness. 

“Sure,” he says after an awkwardly long pause. 

He probably shouldn’t be taking advantage of this handsome stranger’s apology to check him out and consider seeing if he’ll stick around a little. 

“I won’t keep bothering you,” the man says with another pained grimace. “I’m sure you don’t want to have me bumbling around longer.”

“I don’t mind,” Schmidt says. “You’re not bothering me.”

The man beams at him and Schmidt is embarrassingly warmed by it. He’s clearly been alone and focused on work for too long if a handsome stranger just smiling at him is enough to make him react so much. The man is unusually attractive, in his defense. 

“Steve,” the man says, extending a hand.

It’s big and warm and Schmidt holds it maybe a little longer than he needs to. 

“Schmidt,” he says. 

“That’s an interesting first name,” Steve notes, sitting down next to Schmidt.

The brush of his shoulder against Schmidt nearly distracts him from the not quite question. 

“Oh, it’s Ernst,” he corrects belatedly. “I am Schmidt at work.”

“And to friends?” Steve says with a crooked smile. 

Schmidt hesitates. “They also call me Schmidt,” he says, declining to mention that he’s stretching the definition of ‘friend’ to include coworkers so he doesn’t sound quite so pathetic. “Friends from work.”

“What do you do?” Steve asks as the bartender slides them their drinks. “I know that’s a really boring question, you don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m a physicist,” Schmidt says. 

No one ever asks for specifics, and no one is ever interested in the specifics even if they pretend to care. 

“A physicist? Wow,” Steve says, propping his elbow on the bar and leaning his head into his hand. “That must be…something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what physicists do.”

He laughs a little bashfully, and Schmidt’s oddly charmed by Steve’s enthusiastically awkward overtures. 

“It’s not,” Schmidt pauses. “It is complicated, what I do on the ship. Not many people at work understand it either.”

“The ship? You’re in the Navy?” Steve asks. He’s watching Schmidt like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world. No one ever looks at him like this, especially not when he’s talking about his job. 

“Ah, no, in space,” Schmidt corrects. 

He remembers too late that it’s not common to be an astronaut, that being in space is actually quite unusual and cause for attention down here. Steve’s eyes widen nearly comically. 

“You’re an astronaut?” he exclaims. 

Schmidt blushes for some reason. It must be the alcohol he decides, not that a gorgeous man is looking at him like that. He nods a little, looking into his nearly empty glass to avoid meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“It’s less exciting than it sounds,” he offers tentatively. 

“Well, I’m not sure I believe that,” Steve says teasingly. 

“What is it you do?” Schmidt tries, hoping to avoid talking about his work anymore. 

“I’m a surgeon, which suddenly seems quite a bit more mundane,” Steve says. “What does an astronaut do when he’s down here with the rest of us?”

Schmidt ducks his head again, the heat in his cheeks building. 

“Normal things, I suppose,” he says, adjusting his glasses a little. 

Somehow despite his enduring inability to talk to normal people, the conversation flows after that, and he relaxes steadily under Steve’s engaging smile and encouragement. He’d thought coming to this bar would do the smallest amount to stave off the loneliness of the night, he’d never expected to actually talk to someone. Let alone someone who’s leaning in against him, laughing at Schmidt’s probably terrible joke, looking at him with genuine interest and not a little heat. 

He doesn’t know how to navigate this situation, but he doesn’t want it to end. He wants those eyes focused on him. He wants, he wants-

“If I’m misreading this, I’m so sorry, but I have to ask,” Steve says, hours into their night together. “Can I kiss you? It’s just that you’re-”

Schmidt cuts him off with an inelegant movement, pressing their mouths together. Steve makes a startled noise and catches his cheek in his hand, tilting their faces together and deepening the kiss until Schmidt is left panting against him, head fully cupped in Steve’s large hands.

“Probably shouldn’t keep this up, not in public,” Steve breathes unsteadily against Schmidt. “Not to suggest, I mean, we don’t have to-”

“My apartment is nearby,” Schmidt says. 

He doesn’t care if he sounds desperate, he is desperate. Desperate to feel another body against his. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been since he’s been this close to someone and had it not be for work. He stubbornly refuses to think about the way his last relationship ended, even if it was technically recently it’d been nothing for far longer. This is already more than he can remember having in so long. 

“It’s a little fast-”

“Don’t care,” Schmidt interrupts again. 

Steve pauses and Schmidt worries that he’s been too pushy, too demanding.

“Okay,” Steve says finally with that crooked little smile. “If you’re sure.”

Schmidt all but drags him out of the bar. 

For how close his current apartment is, it takes them a long time to make it back with how often he gets pinned to the rough bricks of buildings and kissed until he’s weak and barely clinging onto Steve’s broad shoulders. Getting the key in the door is nearly impossible with the way Steve is mouthing at his neck, his hands roaming under Schmidt’s shirt and rubbing against his back. 

He pulls Steve in after him finally, breath knocked out of him as he’s shoved against the wall again. Schmidt digs his hands into that thick hair and finds it’s just as soft as he thought, using it to keep the kiss going and arching under Steve’s wandering hands. He knows the bed is somewhere in here, still not used to the layout of this temporary place, and he slides them along the hall in the hopes it’ll materialize. 

They nearly fall over when the wall ends abruptly, and Schmidt makes a weak noise when Steve pulls back. 

“This is…kind of empty,” Steve says. 

Schmidt looks around. It is very empty. He hadn’t seen any point in decorating it, especially one that isn’t really his. 

“It’s a temporary place,” he says. “Not really mine.”

“Ah,” Steve says. “That’s…”

“They have a lot of these,” Schmidt says. “For when we don’t have anywhere else to stay on planet.”

“On planet,” Steve repeats with a smile. “I still can’t believe you’re an astronaut.”

“It’s whatever,” Schmidt says. He’s not going to be distracted now.  “There’s a bed around here somewhere.”

Steve pulls back a little more, a frown forming that has Schmidt tensing nervously. 

“I don’t want to move too fast,” Steve says. “I like you, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“It’s not too fast,” Schmidt says. 

The desperation is probably shining out of every word and his entire face but the alcohol is making him bold. The heat of Steve so close spurs him on. He wants their bodies pressed together. 

“Unless you don’t want-?” he says with sudden realization. “I understand if you don’t want-”

“I want,” Steve interrupts, low and growly. 

His hand wraps around the back of Schmidt’s neck and Schmidt melts into the possessive hold. Steve’s eyes sharpen a little, the frown gone and replaced by something hungry and dark. Schmidt doesn’t notice them moving until he’s being pushed back onto the bed, bouncing a little and sprawling inelegantly. 

“Strip,” Steve says, and the command in his voice has Schmidt scrambling to obey. 

He’s always had a weakness for authority in the bedroom and it’s clear Steve’s realized that too. He struggles out of his clothes, not wanting to look away as Steve sheds his own clothes standing at the end of the bed and watching Schmidt. He’s a little self-conscious with how perfect Steve looks, all the carved muscle and smooth unblemished skin whereas Schmidt is …less so. 

“Look at you,” Steve says, climbing to kneel on the bed between Schmidt’s legs. “Gorgeous.”

Schmidt’s face burns and he wants to protest but the words are erased from his mind when Steve’s hand wraps around his ankle. His long fingers stroke the skin so gently and he lifts Schmidt’s leg up, watching him as he kisses and nips his way down the inside of Schmidt’s leg. He can barely breathe with the tickle of Steve’s tongue against the thin skin of his inner thigh and he whines when Steve pulls away. 

Steve smiles and strokes the crook of Schmidt’s thigh with his thumb, just a little rough and a lot teasing. Schmidt parts his legs more, wordlessly begging but Steve doesn’t move. 

“I want to taste you,” he rasps. 

“Yes,” Schmidt agrees. He’d agree to anything right now, anything at all to get those hands and mouth back on him. 

Steve’s smile broadens and his big hands wrap around Schmidt’s hips and flip him easily. Schmidt moans a little into the sheets and it comes out high and needy as Steve hauls his ass up and strokes it reverently. He pulls Schmidt open and Schmidt doesn’t have a chance to feel exposed or nervous before Steve’s licking right across his hole, hot and demanding. He loses track of time under Steve’s tongue working him open slow and steady, wet and pushing into him slowly until Schmidt’s legs are shaking under the relentless attention. 

“Please,” Schmidt begs finally, so close and so hard and not quite enough. 

“Please what,” Steve says, hot breath ghosting across Schmidt’s wet and loosened hole. 

“Fuck me,” Schmidt says. He’s not even ashamed of the pleading in his voice, not after Steve’s licked him into incoherence. He’s never needed anything more than he needs to be fucked in this moment. 

“Lube?” Steve asks, sitting back a little and Schmidt immediately misses the heat of his face against him. 

“Don’t want it,” Schmidt says. 

It’ll burn but he wants the burn, he wants to feel it, he wants to be thoroughly claimed if only for a night. Steve hesitates, but doesn’t protest. He leans across Schmidt’s body, pressing his cock along Schmidt’s ass but not quite right and Schmidt wants to complain. 

“Suck,” Steve says, low and commanding and he pushes two fingers into Schmidt’s open mouth. 

Schmidt moans around them, gets them wet and messy with spit, sucking and winding his tongue around them. Steve makes an appreciative noise before tugging them back out, a thin strand of saliva stretching between his fingers and Schmidt’s lips. 

He shoves both fingers into Schmidt’s ass without preamble, the spit easing the way just a little and Schmidt’s legs slide open a little more under the stretch. He’s always been weak under commanding men, always been weak to be used so ruthlessly and Steve is scissoring him open aggressively. 

He has only a bare moments warning when Steve pulls his fingers out, replacing them with the head of his cock and shoves into Schmidt with one sharp snap of his hips. The stretch burns and it’s everything Schmidt wanted and he cries out, fisting his hands in the sheets. 

“Fuck you’re tight,” Steve pants, fingertips digging sharply into Schmidt’s hips. 

He pulls out slowly, the drag rough and absolutely perfect. Schmidt loses himself in the way Steve fucks him hard and almost flattens him into the mattress, his strong arms caging him in and one hand wrapping around the back of Schmidt’s neck to pin him to the mattress. He arches his back more, pushing back into Steve’s thrusts and Steve groans. 

Schmidt’s on the edge in seconds, the rough drag of a cock inside him consuming his mind and the way it nearly grazes his prostate and edging him deliciously. Steve adjusts a little and suddenly he’s hitting Schmidt’s prostate on every thrust and Schmidt cries out loudly, sobs into the sheets and comes unexpectedly and almost painfully hard. Steve hisses as Schmidt’s ass clenches down around his cock and it’s only a few moments later he’s coming inside Schmidt and falling across his body. 

They’re both panting heavily, and Schmidt doesn’t even mind the way Steve is almost crushing him. If anything, it’s amazing to be blanketed so thoroughly, especially with the way Steve’s cock is still buried inside his hole and he can feel the cum starting to leak out around it. Steve kisses his neck lightly and sits back onto his knees, pulling out of Schmidt slowly. Schmidt sighs with regret, but he can’t really expect them to stay like that forever. 

He turns onto his side, and Steve drops onto the bed next to him. He raises an arm until Schmidt fits himself under it and rests his head on Steve’s chest. The silence is comfortable, only their breathing breaking it and Schmidt is half asleep when Steve speaks.

“Maybe this is a little forward, but…” Steve trails off. 

Schmidt makes a questioning noise without opening his eyes. 

“Would you want to get away for the weekend? I have a cabin - house, really - up north. I’d love to spend more time with you, away from everyone. If you don’t have fancy space things to do,” Steve says, hesitance but genuine want in his low voice. 

Schmidt thinks about it. He’s not even sure how long he’s stuck planetside, and it’s not like he has anyone looking for him. Nothing is even set in stone for whatever the next project is supposed to be. It’s so heavily under wraps Schmidt hasn’t been told.

“Sure,” Schmdit says finally. Maybe it’s a bit reckless, but he’s feeling the need to let loose. Maybe he’s also thinking about how good it would be to get fucked all weekend too, but no one needs to know that. 

Steve smiles against Schmidts hair, running his hand down his bare arm.

“Fantastic,” he murmurs, and Schmidt lets himself drop off to sleep on the sound of Steve’s steady heartbeat under his ear. 

***

The house - definitely not a cabin - is beautifully decorated and clearly expensive. Schmidt feels a little out of place, but Steve doesn’t seem bothered. Schmidt wanders the open living room a little, looking at the probably quite expensive paintings. Steve joins him at one, passing him a glass that Schmidt takes absently. 

“Interesting painting,” Schmidt says. 

Steve makes a noise of agreement. “Would you like to sit?”

Schmidt follows him to the couches, settling in and sipping his drink. He’s not actually sure what it is, some odd cocktail but it’s pretty good. Steve smiles at him from across the coffee table, and Schmidt’s a little displeased he’s so far away. He’s not going to say that though, he’s already been needy enough and he hides it behind another sip of the drink. 

“What do you think?” Steve asks. 

Schmidt swirls the glass, drinks again. The room fuzzes out a little. 

“Strong,” he says with a vague frown. “But nice.”

The room gets fuzzier. He drinks again to hide his lack of things to say. The room spins a little and he sets the glass down carefully, not wanting to drop it on the rug. Steve tilts his head and watches him. 

“What’s, what,” Schmidt tries to say, but it’s hard to talk. 

He blinks a little, trying to clear his vision but the room spins more and he starts to tilt sideways. He tips onto the rug and it all goes dark.

***

Schmidt wakes slowly, confused and his mind still clouded. He blinks at the ceiling, unsure of where he is. It’s clearly not his lonely apartment, and it’s certainly not one of the stations. 

“You’re awake,” Steve says, and it all comes back with a jolt. 

Schmidt sits up too fast, and the world spins a little before settling. He’s on a pallet on the floor, in a windowless room. Steve is sitting on a chair across the room from him. Schmidt tries to move but he’s chained to the wall, a manacle around one of his wrists. He shakes it uncomprehendingly. He looks at Steve. 

“I drugged you,” Steve admits with an apologetic shrug and grimace. 

“You…drugged me,” Schmidt repeats. This can’t be real. “Why?”

“You’re going to freak out now,” Steve says. “I’ll tell you why but you’ll freak out more.”

Schmidt stares at him, and then looks down at the chain connecting him to the wall. He takes in the bare room again. There’s landscape paintings on the wall, as though that fixes the obvious cell he’s been brought to. He doesn’t feel like panicking, everythings a bit distant and surreal. He looks at Steve again. 

“You’re not going to freak out?” Steve says with interest. “I guess there are some perks to picking up men.”

Schmidt blinks at him. 

“You’re here for your meat,” Steve says, as though that clarifies anything. “I have clients, and it’s much better to keep the source alive for fresher meat, which is why you’re down here.”

“Meat,” Schmidt repeats. 

“Yes,” Steve nods. “It’s much better fresh. Women do taste better, but there’s something about you…”

“If you prefer women, why don’t you let me go?” Schmidt tries. 

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Schmidt. You’re here now, and I like you.”

Schmidt nods absently. His mind still isn’t clear enough to plan, but this situation is obviously going to take a lot of thought and there’s no reasoning with Steve. 

“That’s it?” Steve asks incredulously. “You didn’t freak out. You’re not demanding I release you?”

“You said you wouldn’t,” Schmidt says with a shrug that rattles his chain. 

Steve looks almost a little disappointed, and stands up. 

“Well, as long as you behave, we won’t have any problems,” he says, sliding the slatted door open and leaving Schmidt to contemplate his new existence alone. 

“I’ve never seen him have a man down here before,” a female voice says and Schmidt jumps a little. 

“What?” he says a little dumbly. The situation still hasn’t sunk in, and another strange thing is not helping.

“He always takes women, like he says,” the voice continues. “But you’re not a woman.”

“No,” Schmidt agrees hesitantly. 

“How did you even end up here?” she asks. 

“He drugged me,” Schmidt says. 

“But why are you here at all?” she presses. 

“He invited me out here for the weekend, and the sex was great,” Schmidt says. 

“The…you slept with him?” she sounds incredulous now. 

“Yes?” Schmidt asks. “Why else would I have come up here?”

“I didn’t fuck him,” she says, and there’s a weird thread of relief in Schmdit he doesn’t want to examine too closely. “I don’t think any of the women I’ve talked to down here have.”

“Oh,” Schmidt says. “How many are there?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve been here a while. They come and go.”

“Right,” Schmidt says for lack of anything else to say. 

“You must be special,” she adds. 

Schmidt doesn’t know what to say to that, and so he doesn’t respond. It’s kind of a relief when the silence drops over them again, even if he’s still alone in his cell and prisoner of a cannibal. 

***

He bides his time for a week, letting Steve think he’s resigned himself to his prison and lowering his guard. He’s counting on Steve being too used to weaker, smaller women. Schmidt might not be terribly strong, but he’s got some strength still and some basic training. It also takes the whole week until he’s secreted away the little tools he needs to pick his manacle off. 

Steve definitely seems almost bored and disappointed with Schmidt’s seemingly easy acquiescence. Schmidt tries not to let it get to him. He shouldn’t want to keep the cannibal serial killer’s attention. He shouldn’t want him to find him interesting. He shouldn’t want Steve to look at him like he wants him. The neediness is running too high inside him and it’s hard to ignore every time Steve comes down with food and magazines, every time he looks displeased with the way Schmidt just waits and watches and does a very bad job at conversation. 

He picks the lock and shakes his wrist as the manacle drops to the bed. He can’t let Steve see it’s off him, not until he’s close and not paying attention. The upstairs door opens and he can pick out the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He wraps the undone manacle over his wrist and drapes the sheets over the chain just enough to hide how it’s slack. 

Steve comes in, sighs at the way Schmidt is still just sitting on his pallet as usual and crouches to set the tray of food down. Schmidt lunges and tries to wrap the chain around Steve’s neck. He almost gets it, but Steve is startlingly fast and he dodges, and hooks an arm around Schmidt’s throat instead, tightening it down until Schmidt is choking for air. 

“Shh,” Steve says into his ear, holding him tightly. “Easy now.”

The edges of the room darken as Steve’s arm tightens down and cuts off his blood flow, and the weirdly soothing whispers are the last thing he hears before his world goes black again. 

Schmidt wakes slowly and fuzzily for the second time in a week. He’s still in the same room, and both his wrists are manacled now and tightly chained to the wall. There’s almost no play in the chain, but he tugs on it weakly anyway. His limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated. 

“You’re awake,” Steve says from somewhere behind him. 

He sounds a lot happier now, and Schmidt tries to ignore the thrill that runs through him at pleasing Steve. 

“I had to drug you again,” Steve says, all apology. “I have to punish you for that, but I’m not quite ready to take any of you away.”

Schmidt shivers at the way Steve sounds so reasonable about cutting off parts of Schmidt. 

“I’m so glad to see you’re not entirely boring,” Steve adds. “I was worried for a little, but you were just hiding. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

More of Schmidt’s situation registers as the drug wears off. He’s naked now, and it feels like Steve is just tugging the last of his clothes off his legs. Why is he naked?

“Why am I naked?” he mumbles around numb lips. 

Steve hums but doesn’t answer. There’s a rattling sound of metal on the concrete floor, and Steve shifts behind Schmidt on the blankets. He rolls him to his belly and Schmidt can’t summon enough strength to fight it. The air is cool and goosebumps run over his skin. 

“I know I said it was a punishment, but I think you’ll like it,” Steve says absently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Schmidt hears the rattle of chains before cold metal is being slipped over his head and tightened around his throat. He swallows and Steve tugs on it a little. It cinches tighter before loosening and sliding down around his collarbones. There’s another rattle of chains, a metallic click, and a length of metal pools on Schmidt’s lower back. He’s already chained to the wall, why does Steve need so many more on him?

Steve’s warm hands land on his ass and pull him open. Schmidt doesn’t know if he’s mortified or turned on and ends up both, as well as embarrassed that he’s so easily aroused by the authoritative way Steve handles him. The thumb rubbing on his hole has him choking back a whine and luckily the drug keeps him from pushing into the touch. 

The thumb lifts and a slick finger replaces it, circling his hole and pushing in gently. It slides in, and Steve skillfully avoids his prostate while tugging on his rim. He adds a second just briefly before pulling them back out and leaving Schmidt pathetically needy. Schmidt starts at the touch of cool metal on his skin and pushing into him with ease, not much larger than the two fingers before. The object widens a little before abruptly narrowing and sliding deeper into him. It’s just a little too small to be anything but a tease. 

Schmidt knows he shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, he doesn’t even know what it is or what Steve’s doing, he’s actively drugged and chained up, but he’s so hard and almost drooling for it. Steve pats his ass and Schmidt trembles. He’s rolled onto his side, the metal rubbing inside him and across the top of his ass. His face burns when his erection is exposed but Steve only makes an approving noise. 

Steve arranges him in a strange curve, arching his back out a little. He reaches across Schmidt, brushing against his bare skin and the loose chain rattles again. There’s a pressure and his collar snicks tighter one link at a time as Steve hooks the other end to the thing in his ass, tight enough it’s tugging him open just a little. Schmidt pants through the unfortunate surge of need.

“There,” Steve says, sitting back in evident satisfaction. “I’ll be back for you in a few hours. Maybe you’ll be ready to behave then.”

He stands, smiles down at Schmidt and then leaves him alone in his cell. 

Schmidt’s body is still slowly coming online, but the chill of the air doesn’t bother him as much with the heat burning through him. Every little wiggle pulls on his collar or the hook inside him, sometimes both and his breath is coming short with confused arousal. His hands are still tightly chained to the wall and the only thing he can do is lie there and try not to move too much. If he lowers his head, the tug against his rim gets stronger and stronger until he relents and tips his head back. The other option is to choke himself with the collar, which isn’t terribly appealing. 

The quiet only lets him think about his predicament even more. He can’t help but think about how he must look to Steve, arms stretched out and hard and chained so elaborately. He shifts his hips a little, the tug just a hint of what he wants, but it’s all he gets. He can’t even uncurl, throat bared and body exposed from the arch he’s stuck in. It’s all too much and his head spins with how unfortunately hot he finds it. This isn’t the time for him to discover new kinks, and yet here he is, ready to beg for the touch of his captor just to ease the painful pleasure lurking in him. 

Time moves painfully slowly, all of his attention focused on those little points of bondage and the way his hard cock steadily leaks onto the blankets. Steve had said he’d be back in a few hours, but Schmidt has no way of telling time. Every additional minute is pure torture. He doesn’t even know what Steve will do when he comes back. Imagining Steve leaving him helplessly chained and fucking him the way he did before isn’t helpful but Schmidt can’t erase the images from his mind once they surface. 

“Are you okay?” the woman in the cell next to him asks.

Schmidt jolts and immediately has to choke back a moan at the tug. He’d forgotten there were other people down here. 

“Fine,” he grits out. 

“You don’t sound fine,” she says. 

Schmidt doesn’t respond, he can’t respond. How does he explain to someone who’s being slowly eaten that he’s in some sort of sex bondage scenario and extremely turned on about it?

“He isn’t eating you yet,” she says after a long moment. “Not even though you attacked him.”

“No,” he says. 

“He must really like you,” she says, and the way her voice trails off, Schmidt knows she’s no longer paying attention to him.

The brief interruption doesn’t distract him for long, and soon he’s back to being entirely focused on his body and hoping that Steve will come back soon and do something to him to end this. Maybe not anything, Schmidt still doesn’t want to be eaten, but he can’t see what’s in this for Steve, or how this is supposed to make Schmidt behave and not try to escape again. At the moment, sure, his brain is completely scrambled but that won’t last forever.

It feels like days before he hears Steve on the stairs and the door to his cell sliding open. He pries his eyes open, lost in the hazy heated daydreams and it’s nearly a relief to see his captor smiling down at him again. His eyes run hot and intent over Schmidt’s arched and exposed body, and his face is burning red. 

“You look good like this,” Steve says, and Schmidt has to resist the urge to preen at the approval. 

His mind is getting all scrambled under the situation and the heat in Steve’s eyes and the way he knows just how good it feels to have Steve’s hands and body on him. He feels like he should be doing something, but he doesn’t know what, and Steve is just standing there, watching him pant on the blankets. 

He shifts a little and the chain pulls taut and he bites back another weak sound. Steve’s head tilts a little and his smile sharpens. Something breaks inside him and any sense of dignity vanishes and Schmidt struggles to roll to his knees without choking himself too much. Steve watches, hunger plain on his face and Schmidt ends up arched with his ass in the air, half-choked despite his attempts to keep the chain loose. He looks over at Steve pleadingly, hoping this is what he was looking for and not just his neediness making him see things. The burn of shame only drives the desire inside him higher.

Steve doesn’t move, just looks at the way Schmidt is offering himself up so easily. Schmidt chokes on a small uncertain sound but Steve hears it anyway and he steps forward. He tries to watch Steve, but he circles around behind Schmidt and turning his head pulls on the chain even more. His hands are still firmly cuffed to the wall, and he’s stuck feeling the burning trail of Steve’s eyes over his exposed skin. 

The pad of Steve’s finger brushes over his hole where the hook is tugging him open. He whimpers, and he can’t even hide the sound in the sheets with the way the chain keeps him held up. Steve’s finger presses into him alongside the metal, and he stretches easily with how much the hook’s been opening him up for the past several hours. He wants to be filled so badly, but the slim metal and the single finger aren’t enough, not at all. 

Steve adds a second finger, tugging on him opposite the hook and it's a perfectly dirty feeling imagining what it looks like. The fingers slide into him finally and drag across his prostate unerringly and Schmidt moans. Steve works his fingers inside Schmidt until he’s almost on the edge, so close to coming and then he stops. Schmidt makes a pained noise and Steve laughs a little. 

“It wouldn’t be a punishment if it was that easy, would it,” he says chidingly, and Schmidt wants to collapse in a puddle of weakness but the chain and Steve’s fingers keep him in place. 

Steve works him to the edge several more times until Schmidt is outright crying from the denial. He’s so oversensitive, his cock too hard and he so desperately needs to be fucked and allowed to come but Steve seems determined to torment him instead. Tears run unchecked down his face and his breath comes painfully short. 

“Please,” he begs brokenly. He’s nearly beyond words. 

Steve hums a little and Schmidt is willing to do anything when Steve starts working him over again. His orgasm builds fast and hard and painful, and he’s preparing himself to have it yanked away again, but Steve doesn’t stop this time and Schmidt cries out when it finally crests and he comes. Steve works him through it and into oversensitivity and it’s all Schmidt can do to keep himself from utterly dissolving. 

“You’ll behave for me now?” Steve says, removing his fingers from Schmidt at long last. “I’d hate to have to punish you again, I’d have to actually take part of you next time.”

“I’ll behave,” Schmidt says weakly. It’s not a lie. He’s completely fried from this and he doesn’t want to lose parts of himself either. But mostly he wants Steve to look at him all warm and approving and touch him. 

“Good boy,” Steve says. 

He reaches across Schmidt, almost blanketing him but he’s only unhooking the chain from the collar. Schmidt gasps a little when the collar goes slack after so long, and the weird emptiness when Steve removes the hook from inside him. He doesn’t say anything else, just leaves Schmidt in a pool of his own cum, naked and sweaty and a little ashamed of how needy he is. 

The door slides shut and Schmidt is alone again with his thoughts. He shouldn’t want more from Steve, but he does. He’s got more than a few crossed wires now, and fixating so strongly on his captor isn’t a good sign for his future, but he’s not sure what else to think about. He’s not sure how he could possibly think about anything else but Steve after that punishment. 

***

The routine returns to what it was before his botched escape attempt and subsequent punishment, yet the energy between Schmidt and Steve has changed perceptibly. Even when Schmidt stays on his blankets obediently when Steve brings him food, they both know why it is. Steve isn’t bored with him. If anything, the obedience makes him more interested and he spends more time talking to Schmidt. He’s less bothered by Schmidt’s general inability to converse now that he’s not regretting kidnapping him. 

Schmidt’s manacles were returned to one cuff and a long chain after his punishment so he can move around the cell. Even though he’s fully clothed now, every time Steve looks at him with those deep blue eyes it feels like he’s wearing nothing at all. The tension grows between them, or at least the tension grows in Schmidt again as Steve keeps his distance. It might have been a punishment, but it’d still been Steve’s hands on his skin. The distance eats away at him. 

He thinks it’s been maybe another week down here in this timeless cell before he risks asking Steve for a favor. He’s only been able to spot clean himself in the sink, and he feels disgusting, but asking to be let out of his cell at all seems dangerous. He finally hits his breaking point and decides to risk it. 

“Steve,” he starts when Steve steps into his cell with dinner. “Can I ask for something?”

“Of course,” Steve says with a friendly smile. 

“A shower?” Schmidt says tentatively. 

Steve’s expression turns suspicious and thoughtful and Schmidt wants to take it back immediately. He’s desperate though, so he holds out no matter how much the nerves rise.

“I suppose you’d want to take one alone,” Steve says, and there’s a dangerous weight to the words. 

Schmidt hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. 

“No?” he tries. 

Steve looks genuinely startled. “No?” he repeats. 

“I just want a shower,” Schmidt says. “I don’t care if you watch.”

It’s actually not true that he doesn’t care, but he’s not about to tell Steve how much it would turn him on to be watched in the shower. The flush rising on his cheeks might give him away with the way Steve’s expression turns amused and indulgent and interested. 

“Sure, a shower,” Steve says with a broad smile. 

Tension leaves Schmidt in a rush and he sighs with relief, both for Steve not being mad and for the shower he’s dying for. Steve steps out of his cell and Schmidt frowns. 

“I have to get something for you first, sweetheart,” Steve says. 

Schmidt settles back down to wait. He doesn’t have to wait long before Steve is back, this time with something wound in his hands. It’s a metal collar and a long leash, and Schmidt knows he should feel something other than anticipation and maybe not tip his head back to bare his throat for Steve so easily, but it’s nearly instinctual. The reward of Steve’s approval is worth it and drowns out the alarms in the back of his head. His manacle drops to the bed silently and he follows Steve out of his cell for the first time since he’d been brought down here. 

He’s not sure what to expect from Steve, but somehow being brought up into the main house and into the master bathroom is surprising. It’s not like there’s anyone else around here to see Steve leading Schmidt on a leash, but he feels exposed nonetheless. Someone could be around to see him being walked to the shower like a dog. Schmidt forgets all of it when he sees the oversized shower. 

Steve chuckles a little at his sudden lunge forward and Schmidt stops, embarrassed. 

“Go ahead,” Steve says, waving a hand at the shower. “I’ll be watching though.”

Schmidt swallows and nods, and tries not to get hard. He strips and the leash drags behind him as he gets into the shower. There’s so many showerheads and dials it takes him a while to figure out how to use it, but he finally does and sighs in relief at the warm water coursing over him. He even forgets for a few minutes that he’s a prisoner right now. 

He reaches for the soap and hesitates. 

“You can use any of that,” Steve says. 

Schmidt had almost forgotten he was there and he starts a little, looking over his shoulder to see Steve through the semi-fogged glass. He’s suddenly very aware of how naked he is, how wet and exposed and it shouldn’t be this much of a turn on. Every moment around Steve is one where he’s conflicted about what he should be doing or feeling, and how much he just wants to please him instead. He goes back to washing himself, slower under the heavy weight of Steve’s regard. 

Being on display turns him on but he’s not sure he’s allowed to jerk off in the shower, and he’s already gotten this one request granted and he doesn’t want to push it. He ignores his cock with great effort, finishing the shower with regret and stepping out to look for a towel. Steve eyes him appreciatively and Schmidt flushes. He’s still hard, and the way Steve licks his lips only makes him harder. Schmidt clears his throat a little. 

“Is there a towel I could use?” he says, instead of dropping to his knees and begging to be touched. 

“Sure,” Steve says absently, not looking away from Schmidt’s wet body and groping vaguely behind him until he snags a towel to toss over. 

It’s hard not to feel like he’s putting on a show, no matter how normal his actions are in the bright lights of the bathroom. Steve doesn’t move though, doesn’t ask anything of him but only watches. Schmidt eyes his previous clothes with distaste, not wanting to put them back on but it’s not like he has anything else. 

“I’ll get you some of mine to wear,” Steve says, his voice a little rough and deeper than usual.

Schmidt waits until Steve comes back, and barely resists smelling the clothes as he pulls them on. He can be a little creep about it when he’s back in his cell. They’re soft, warm, and above all, clean. 

“Thank you,” Schmidt says awkwardly. 

“You’ve been good for me,” Steve says with a brief smile, tilting his head.

He steps closer to pick up Schmidt’s leash, pausing just in front of him. He strokes one warm hand along the underside of Schmidt’s jaw. He pauses, and smiles again. Schmidt stays frozen under his hand, wanting so desperately but some kernel of sanity keeps him from begging yet again. It gets weaker every time he sees Steve, and soon it won’t be there to stop him at all. For now, he follows Steve back to his cell, thoughts swirling with confusion and need. 

He pauses just inside the cell. 

“What’s it taste like?” he asks abruptly. 

“What’s what taste like?” Steve says, undoing his leash but leaving the collar on. Schmidt…doesn’t mind. 

“Human,” he says. 

He’s not sure he wants to know, but he’s always been too curious for his own good. 

“Why are you asking?” Steve asks, back to being guarded and a little suspicious. 

Schmidt turns and bites his lip a little - he’s in unsafe waters and sometimes Steve’s moods are capricious. 

“You’re doing a lot for it,” he says. “It must be something special.”

Steve’s expression clears and the wings of danger swoop away again. 

“It is,” he says. “Maybe you’ll see for yourself someday.”

Schmidt nods a little, and heads for his little chair to curl up in as his cell door slides shut.

***

The next afternoon by Schmidt’s admittedly loose internal timekeeping, Steve shows up. He has a box tucked under his arm, and looks pleased. Schmidt props himself up on an elbow, waiting to see what Steve does. Steve hadn’t chained him up again, but that hasn’t really affected Schmidt’s day to day existence after all. 

“Brought you something,” Steve says, proffering the box with a broad smile. 

Schmidt takes it carefully, sitting up and holding it in his lap. He looks at Steve who nods encouragingly. The box opens to reveal a dark suit and deep purple shirt. Schmidt looks up at Steve confused. 

“I thought we could have dinner tonight,” Steve says, and it’s like he’s back in the bar again, flirting and awkward and charming. 

“I’d like that,” Schmidt says, closing the box carefully. 

He does want it, and he also knows better than to say no. But mostly he wants to be out of his cell with Steve, and the suit suggests something more than just a normal dinner. Steve beams at him and heads over to the door, turning back slightly. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. 

Schmidt smiles a little shyly. “I’ll be waiting.”

The anticipation is oddly nerve wracking, like he’s preparing for a first date who he really wants to impress. Despite everything, despite still being locked in a basement, he’s still consumed with the need for approval from this one obviously strange man. The suit fits pretty well, and he finds the shoes by the door and slips them on. He’s not entirely sure what time it is, but he wants to be ready when Steve comes. He doesn’t want to be a disappointment. 

He straightens at the sound of the door, and loses his thoughts when Steve steps through. His dark suit is very well fitted, dark shirt underneath and his hair carefully styled. His eyes roam over Schmidt and he tries not to fidget. He knows he’s not as good looking as Steve, but Steve seems to like him anyway, and he’d given Schmidt the suit in the first place. 

“You look,” Steve pauses. “Very handsome.”

Schmidt blushes and ducks his head a little. Steve offers his arm like he’s courting him and Schmidt takes it, letting himself be guided back up into the main house and into the kitchen. He even pulls out a chair for Schmidt with a flourish, eyes flicking down to his mouth just briefly but long enough that it’s clear the interest is still there. 

It’s a strangely lovely night, wined and dined in a way Schmidt has never experienced before, even if he’s on a date with his captor and is eating human flesh. It’s surprisingly anticlimactic, no matter how poetic Steve waxed about his first time eating it. Steve is a phenomenal cook though, and it’s easy to compliment that and fall into the warmth of his smile over the food. 

The night passes too quick and before long Schmidt finds himself being guided back down to his cell, oddly dispirited that he’s just being returned like a toy to its box. He doesn’t quite know what he expected, but it’s disheartening. 

Steve catches his arm just inside the open door and he turns back, a question on his tongue. He’s pulled into Steve’s arms, bent back with one hand cupping the his head and kissed breathless before Steve lets him go. 

“Oh,” he manages finally, eyes wide.  

Steve looks a little sheepish, but he hasn’t let go of Schmidt yet. 

“I wanted to do that all night,” he says. “It was so hard to resist, with the way you looked…”

“You didn’t have to wait,” Schmidt says, looking between Steve’s eyes and his mouth still so close. 

“I wanted to give you a real date,” Steve says. “Treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Oh,” Schmidt says again, softer and he melts a little. 

Steve kisses him lightly before releasing him with clear regret. 

“I would love to see you again,” he says, one hand hooked in the cell door. 

“Me too,” Schmidt says, semi-nonsensically. 

“Good,” Steve says, and then Schmidt is left in his cell alone but touched and listening to every footstep as Steve climbs the stairs away from him.

He touches his lips absently, feeling the missing heat like a lost limb. 

***

Despite the potential and hope he had over the date, things don’t change much for Schmidt. He’s still in his room - unchained now, sure - and Steve still visits and brings him things. But he doesn’t touch him or kiss him or bring him upstairs except for showers. It seems too small of a thing to press on when Steve is being so kind. His roo looks almost comfortable now with all the gifts, but Schmidt doesn’t find as much comfort in it as he hopes. 

The days wear on and he gets more and more uncertain and insecure about it. What if Steve changed his mind, and he’s not actually interested in Schmidt like that? It’d probably mean Schmidt is going to get eaten, but somehow the larger issue in his miswired brain is that it would mean Steve doesn’t like him. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had seemed interested in him only to realize how boring he is. 

It builds inside him and it makes it hard to stay focused on anything. He ends up pacing his room a lot, trying to outrun his thoughts but there’s no escape. The girl next door doesn’t even talk to him anymore, just sings to herself sometimes. That’s probably for the best, for both of them. Still, it means Schmidt is alone with his spiraling worries except the bare hour or two Steve visits him. At least he still visits and spends time talking to Schmidt when he could be talking to literally anyone else with his looks and charm. Maybe he is, and these visits are just…pity. 

It feels like weeks have passed in this unending stasis and Schmidt is starting to lose hope that Steve is still interested in him, no matter how many presents he brings or how he smiles at him. He still tries though, desperate and lonely. He doesn’t even know what he’d do outside of this house anymore if he was let out. He’s not sure he wants to be let out. That level of rejection would be devastating, if Steve was so uninterested in him he just …let him go. 

It’s in the middle of that particularly depressing thought spiral that Steve shows up again, something small in his hands. He doesn’t sit down, but stays leaning in the door of Schmidt’s room and evaluating him with an unreadable gaze. Schmidt fidgets nervously. 

“I’d love to let you out of here, but you understand it’s hard for me to trust,” Steve says with a pained smile. 

Schmidt nods. It makes sense, but he’s not sure why Steve is telling him this. 

“I’d much rather you were upstairs with me, and you’ve been so well behaved,” Steve says. 

A little bubble of happiness rises in Schmidt. He hasn’t been a disappointment after all, or at least not a terrible enough one to get rid of. 

“I have this,” Steve says with an almost embarrassed shrug, waving the thing in his hand around. “If you promise to behave, and wear it, you could come upstairs with me.”

“What is it?” Schmidt asks. 

“Oh! It’s a shock collar,” Steve says. “It’s programmed to the property line, and me, of course. A long enough leash for you to be comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” Schmidt says immediately. “To be upstairs. With you.” 

The insecurity of the past few weeks makes him blurt out more than he means to, but Steve’s smile only warms under his stumbling words. 

“Come here,” Steve says, beckoning with a few fingers.

Schmidt scrambles to obey, trying to look more collected about it than he is and he probably fails. Steve looks pleased though, hands brushing across Schmidt’s neck as he fastens the collar around his throat. He tugs on it a little and the possessive look in his eyes is everything to Schmidt in this moment. He’s still wanted, he’s still important, and now he’s even marked. He’s not sure what used to matter to him with the everything pales in comparison to Steve’s approving smile. 

“Let’s go upstairs, sweetheart,” Steve says, a hand pressed to Schmidt’s lower back as he guides him up the stairs. 

It warms him through his shirt, and Schmidt is careful to stay close so he never loses contact even once they’re in the main house again. Nothing has changed since he was last up here, but it feels so much warmer and more welcoming now that he’s allowed up here. Now that he’s meant to be up here. 

He lets himself be guided to a seat at the kitchen island and Steve pours him a glass of red wine. 

“What are you doing?” he asks hesitantly. 

He doesn’t want to push, but Steve let him out for a reason, right? He won’t mind if Schmidt talks to him?

“I have to prepare shipments for my clients,” Steve says, humming odd notes to the music playing over unseen speakers. 

He drops a leg on the counter with a flourish. 

“Meat,” he says, almost challengingly. 

Schmidt looks at it, looks up at Steve, and nods a little. 

“Okay,” he says. 

He’s not sure what else to say, but Steve seems satisfied. He watches Steve cut up the body parts and package them, throwing them into a series of boxes along with various pieces of clothing and personal items. Something about the clients liking to know about where their meat comes from. Schmidt doesn’t really care, only cares about watching the way Steve moves and winks at him and flirts with him across the counter and the way he handles the knives so skillfully. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, but it’s surprisingly easy to ignore the very human leg on the counter in favor of Steve’s long fingers cutting it up. 

Between the alcohol and Steve’s nearly undivided attention, Schmidt is flushed and a little embarrassed by how much he wants to crawl across the counter to be touched by those bloody hands. He doesn’t of course. He stays put, drinks his wine, tries his best to flirt back and it seems to work. 

The last box is taped shut and dropped by the door and Steve whirls around with his arms akimbo. 

“All done!” he announces grandly.  

He drops the tape with a flourish and strides over to stop in front of Schmidt’s chair, cupping his face in one hand. 

“Do I get a kiss from my sweetheart for all my hard work?” he says teasingly.

Schmidt’s head is tipped back in his hold, and it’s hard to function this close to Steve after so long. 

“Yes,” he breathes, offering himself up and waiting for Steve to claim him again. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for Steve to capture his mouth and he opens under it easily. It’s just as good if not better than he remembers, the taste of the wine warm between them and he sighs into the kiss. It deepens and heats up and he digs his hands into Steve’s waist to keep himself as close as possible, his legs spread around Steve’s thighs. One of Steve’s hands cups the back of Schmidt’s head and controls their kiss, the other slides slowly down the curve of his back to rest over his ass and Schmidt isn’t sure which way to move when he just wants more. 

Steve breaks away finally, just the barest inch for them to gasp for air, but it feels so far to Schmidt when he’s been untouched for weeks. It’s heady to be so nearly enveloped in Steve’s larger body, his strong arms wrapping around Schmidt and holding him in close. Their foreheads are tilted together still, and they exchange breath in the quiet of the house. 

“I want you in my bed,” Steve says finally, threads of hunger and possessiveness in his low voice. 

“Yes,” Schmidt agrees instantly. 

He yelps in surprise when Steve wraps his hands under his thighs and picks him up smoothly. His legs hook around Steve’s waist as he’s carried through the house, taking advantage of the moment to kiss and taste Steve’s exposed neck. Steve groans and Schmidt feels it through his chest. He barely notices when Steve sits down on the edge of his bed, still wrapped around Steve and only interrupted by the hand tugging on his hair until his head tips back. 

“You are so gorgeous like this,” Steve murmurs, and Schmidt can only manage a weak, needy whine. 

Steve lets go of his hair and pulls on his shirt until Schmidt leans back enough he can strip it off. He scrabbles at the buttons of Steve’s shirt, desperate to feel that hot, smooth skin under his palms. He pushes it open impatiently, not even caring enough to get it down Steve’s arms and slides his hands around Steve’s waist greedily. 

Steve laughs a little in his ear, interrupted on a moan when Schmidt rocks on his lap. He pushes a little on Steve’s chest, demanding but eager until Steve lays back on the sheets. Schmidt stands and tugs off Steve’s pants impatiently before shedding his own and straddling Steve’s bare hips. 

The heat in Steve’s dark eyes threatens to consume Schmidt alive, and his hands dig into Schmidt’s hips. He grinds up against him and Schmidt lets himself be moved and handled. 

“Let me tie you,” Steve rasps and Schmidt comes back to earth briefly. 

“Tie me?” he asks, not stopping the little rolls of his hips against Steve’s cock. 

“Your arms,” Steve says. “You look so good all tied up for me.”

Schmidt barely hesitates as the praise shorts his brain out and he’s nodding before he figures out what Steve had said. Steve is sitting up and digging through his nightstand, a long ribbon of deep purple unspooling from inside. 

“Perfect,” he says. “Stand up for me, and turn around.”

He pushes Schmidt back and he follows the orders, letting Steve move his forearms together behind his back and winding the silky ribbon around them in an elaborate pattern. It’s snug but not too tight, and he’s arched a little from the way his bindings pull his shoulders back. The ribbon winds from above his elbows down to his wrists and Steve ties it off with a satisfied noise. Schmidt tries to look over his shoulder, and he can see the network of crisscrossing purple so stark against his pale skin. Steve is tracing it with a finger, looking mesmerized. 

Schmidt turns and Steve looks up at him, a crooked smile on his face and his desire clear in his eyes. He helps Schmidt climb back onto his lap, both of them groaning as their hard cocks rub together. The bondage and helplessness ratchets Schmidts need up even more somehow, and he’s absolutely going to die if Steve doesn’t fuck him senseless soon. 

“Fuck me,” he says inelegantly. “Please, Steve.”

One of Steve’s big hands slides around Schmidt’s hips and a finger drags across his hole, dry and pressing down just a little to tease him. It pulls back and there’s a little plastic click before it returns, slick with lube and pressing into Schmidt more insistently. With his arms bound like this, his balance is weak and he tips forward onto Steve’s shoulder as Steve works his finger into him. It’s gentler than the last time Steve had been inside him, when he’d been punished for trying to escape all those weeks ago. It’s so distant it feels like it happened to a different person. 

Schmidt rocks against Steve’s hand and the second finger enters him easily. A third gives him the stretch he’s been chasing for weeks and he sighs against Steve’s collarbone. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, working him open with enough lube it drips down Schmidt’s ass. 

Schmidt whines when he pulls them out, but he’s lifted up and guided back onto Steve’s cock before he can get too desperate with emptiness. It’s bigger than he remembers, and the stretch and burn is so satisfying after so long. Steve keeps him steady with hands on his hips, the bondage leaving him a little unstable even spread across Steve like this and pinned on his cock. 

“More,” he pants, trying to rock with Steve’s first few movements. “Harder.”

Steve almost growls and obliges, holding Schmidt firmly and fucking up into him. He can’t do anything but take it, arched backwards and helpless for Steve to use and watch and devour with his possessive eyes from where he’s lying on the bed under him. Being appreciated so obviously, being so wanted and fuckable adds to the rising need inside him and he makes a small broken noise when Steve’s cock drags across his prostate a little. 

“That’s it, come for me,” Steve definitely growls this time. 

It shouldn’t be so hot, it shouldn’t work as a command but it does and Schmidt comes with a sharp cry, his orgasm strong enough to bring tears to his eyes as Steve fucks him through it. Steve swears under his breath and finishes in Schmidt a few moments later. He lowers Schmidt to lay across his sweaty chest, still deep inside him and runs a soothing hand down Schmidt’s bound arms. 

Steve sighs after a few minutes and undoes the ribbon. Schmidt has to shake his arms out a little before draping himself more securely across Steve who lays a possessive hand on his lower back. It’s comfortable and secure and everything Schmidt hadn’t known he was missing until he had it.

“I do have to go out for more meat soon,” Steve says, running his other hand down Schmidt’s arm. “The clients have needs.”

It only takes a second for the meaning to sink in and Schmidt stiffens. He should have seen this coming. Obviously Steve would have to go out and pick up more people, more women, to bring back and keep for meat. Insecurity threatens his temporary happiness and Schmidt doesn’t trust himself to speak so he just nods against Steve’s chest. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Steve says softly. “I won’t sleep with them.”

“You slept with me,” Schmidt says, more petulantly than he means to. 

“You were different. You are different,” Steve says, and Schmidt can almost believe the sincerity in his voice. “You’re the only one for me. I don’t have to sleep with them to get them to come here.”

Schmidt huffs a little but resigns himself to it. It’s not like it’s a surprise, but it still stings. 

“As long as you don’t sleep with them,” he says. “I don’t…I don’t want to share you.”

Steve laughs a little, the rumble echoing through his chest and into Schmidt’s ear. 

“I’m all yours, sweetheart.”