Chapter Text
He knows the world is a vast and complicated place in itself. Or rather, the humans who live within it are. The emotions, needs, and resulting relationships form a tangled web where you can lose yourself at every knot and crossroad. Similarities exist, but the nuances of every life event shape each person differently. And refusing to apply any kind of formula or step-by-step system to understand the people around him is exhausting and frustrating. It shakes him to his very core, makes his knee bounce nervously, and leaves him wishing he could bite harder at his cuticles without drawing blood.
So, for the sake of his own sanity, he tried to categorise people and place them into boxes. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect system and had it´s flaws, but at least then he knew how to behave around them or how to treat them. The hypocrisy , considering his own complexity and trauma, is not lost on him. And don’t even get him started on sexuality and all its nuances. Sex is the place where people fight shamelessly over power. Knowing your place brings a small measure of peace, even if it is constricting and misleading because of his gender, height, and body type. There are predators who are not on their knees, willingly kissing the feet of their partners.
Oh, the irony. He knows he has a type. A type that tears apart his own understanding of himself, or what he thought his box and identity were. The kind of person who steps outside the boxes and shatters his mind in a way that brings giddy excitement rather than fear or anxiety.
The first person made him struggle with power structures and power play, hesitant and uncertain.
The second person a challenge to both his mind and body, bending them almost to a breaking point.
The third was a surprise in gender and gentleness, yet so secretive within the comfort of his own mind and fantasies.
He genuinely thought there was nothing left for him to learn about himself.
What a stupid thing to believe. Funny, really.
What an ignorant thing to think.
Still, he’d convinced himself he was comfortable in his box. Bigger than most, maybe, but snug enough. Safe enough for the mind he’d stitched back together with shaking hands.
Yes, the Irony…
To think you can feel alone in your own head inside a small club full of people you know — people who are mostly your friends — sounds overly dramatic in description, but shamefully accurate when he thinks back to that night.
It was II`s birthday, and the “Raven” was unusually empty for a Friday night. One reason was the recent lifting of the last COVID lockdown and the new rules surrounding the little BDSM club that II favoured. Everyone there understood the risks they were taking, gathering in a group where everyone had been tested. So the only people present were those the drummer had personally invited to celebrate him getting older. Why not celebrate in the club where most of them got their kicks and indulged in their so-called hobby? It wasn’t one of those ordinary nights where everyone split off to do their own thing. Though knowing this lot, someone probably thought “traumatising birthday kink experience” counted as a thoughtful present.
But it wasn’t the crowd or the location that trapped him so deeply inside his own mind rather than in the presence of his friends. And it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying on Paige’s or Sam’s part, both sitting beside him on the bench.
No, he was content simply existing in a place and among company who didn’t think badly of him when he stayed silent and simply lived in the moment. There were no expectations for him to entertain them or cater to their needs.
Vessel could have joined the conversation about froggy vocals or whatever painful topic Sam and one of his girlfriends had drifted onto, rambling about something painful, which, with Sam, could’ve meant sore wrists, emotional trauma, or a hard-on behind the drums. Could’ve been any of the above.
But that was alright. The birthday boy was weaving between friend groups, everyone relaxed. He could dissociate and nobody would forcefully drag him back into the moment. Once his mind finished replaying the final Halo Infinite campaign mission, he would return to reality.
Not exactly a sexy topic of conversation in a place where someone might be flogged in the next room every other night, he was aware.
A toothpick suddenly appeared in front of his face from Lindsey’s side.
Oh. Nice.
He hadn’t even realised he’d been biting his lip close to bleeding again.
Honestly, why was he always stuck in the middle of this polycule? Didn’t these lot actually fancy each other? Still, being wedged between them probably helped stop him floating too far out his own skull
Where was he? Oh yes the loot run he’d planned with III next week. The final editing for the new album was finished, and he was so relieved to finally cut ties between himself and—
Nope. Not touching that spiral tonight.
“…is back from Germany, so she had no excuse to avoid us this time.”
II’s voice snapped his attention back.
There was a woman standing beside him now.
It was rude to disappear into your own mind when someone potentially important to your friend was being introduced.
His thoughts rifled through every mental folder that might contain information about her. Vessel vaguely remembered II mentioning a friend living in Germany temporarily, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall the details. Though most conversations with ‚II lately had revolved around production software, distortion plugins, and whether a particular mix sounded “ethically crunchy”.
Cautiously, his eyes wandered towards her. He didn’t want to stare or appraise a stranger too openly. But nothing about her brown ponytail, red lips, or black mini dress ,practically the unofficial uniform of most women in this club, triggered any memories. So he simply nodded in greeting before retreating back to safer territory: nearby conversations. There was no reason to force himself out of his comfort zone tonight by talking to a stranger. It would be embarrassing to reveal he hadn’t cared enough to remember details about one of his best friend’s closest companions, someone II had dearly missed for four years.
That, at least, he did remember. Better to focus on that than on the nagging voice in his head insisting he was selfish. To be fair, he thought they had discussed her around the time they finished the second EP, back when neither of them had been especially capable of forming close human relationships beyond their friendship. They had both been timid and awkward outside musical discussions, though more so on his side. After all, who could blame II for being confused by the gangly, pale nerd wanting to make metal music in his messy bedroom?
When he finally emerged from his internal tangent, they were already moving towards another bench.
“You didn’t catch any of that, did you?”
Paige clocked him instantly.
Vessel didn’t deny it.
“She’s his mate from Germany.”
“Name!” Sam barked with a grin already softened with alcohol.
Vessel wasn’t reckless enough to drink that much himself, so at least he wouldn’t be left alone entirely. Sam would stay by his side. His friends always did this deliberately — making sure someone stayed with him throughout the evening. It was kind, though unnecessary if he was being honest. Most regulars at the BDSM club knew him and his antisocial tendencies well enough to leave him alone. There was an unspoken understanding not to pressure him into scenes or participation.
“Erm… Hannelore?”
The entire bench exploded.
Sam nearly folded in half laughing while Lindsey made a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a goose honk.
“Try again! She lived here before Germany.” Sam, predictably, refused to let it go.
“Oh, brilliant. Helpful clue, that.”, he muttered moody.
“Try!”
“Oh, sod off, Mister Teacher, I didn’t realise there’d be a pop quiz about a foreign woman. Can I complete another exercise to make you happy?” To emphasise the joke, Vessel waggled his eyebrows in mock seduction. Paige inhaled her drink to the wrong pipe and started choking while Sam stared at him in genuine awe.
“Honestly forget sometimes you can be smooth as fuck when you’re not dissociating or explaining mummification in the least sexy way imaginable.”
“In his defence, there is no sexy way to discuss mummification.” Lindsey’s horror was so dramatic that she looked personally offended.
“I think there are quite a few people who’d disagree with you, Lyns,” he countered.
The singer appreciated that nobody in their group shied away from the lifestyle that had brought them all together in this club. Even if he rarely participated in anything himself, that didn’t make him the innocent bystander most customers at the Raven assumed him to be. It was his community too. He simply lived on the outskirts of it, too exhausted by intimacy and desire and all his own hang-ups to fully step inside.
But sometimes he needed the noise of people to stay sane. Even if it meant disappearing for a week afterwards and dodging every Discord call till III bullied him into playing Elder Scrolls again because “you’re shit at shooters, mate.”
“I swear Ves could make anyone with a kink feel sick about themselves,” Sam chimed in after Paige nearly died on her drink.
“Never my intention,” Vessel shot back dryly. “Unlike the puppy over there, I don’t kinkshame.”
Sam looked personally attacked. Proper hand-to-chest offended. Lindsey, however, was having none of it and pointed accusingly at Vessel.
“Not on purpose, love. But the way you explain facts? You could put a pharaoh off mummification permanently.”
Honestly, fair.
The problem wasn’t malice. Vessel just had a terrifying talent for turning niche subjects into deeply upsetting biology lectures.
“As if my conversation with II about the long-term health risks of holding your bladder shocked him after half the watersports scenes he got up to with his ex.”
Lindsey physically shuddered again.
How someone could be a submissive in a poly relationship with three other people and still somehow be painfully vanilla remained one of life’s greatest mysteries to him. Especially considering she was objectively one of the filthiest people in the group.
“Right,” Vessel sighed, shimmying out of the booth. “I’m leaving you lot to bicker before Paige actually dies.”
Paige immediately looked up at him, concern flashing across her face, but he waved it off before she could ask.
“Just need a bit of fresh air.”
Truthfully, his social battery was hanging on by a thread already. Maybe he’d survive one more conversation with II before heading home, but after that? Socialising was cancelled for the foreseeable future. Possibly the next month.
“I’m coming with,” Sam announced, standing too. “Need a smoke.”
Definitely overprotective, but Vessel never argued against it. It reassured them more than him, and why would he dismiss their concern?
Not a fight worth having tonight.
They moved through the lounge together, past one of the larger playrooms where he caught a glimpse of IV slipping inside with someone just outside his peripheral vision.
On the way to the terrace they passed the bar.
“Finley, you little shit.”,Sam muttered.
Because sat at the bar beside the newcomer from Germany was Finley Patel,resident parasite of the Raven.
Mostly harmless.
Emphasis on mostly.
The bloke was like mould. Annoying, persistent, impossible to fully get rid of. Vessel genuinely didn’t know a single femme sub, trans sub, or femboy in the club who hadn’t eventually told him to sod off at least once.
The woman looked stormy already, though.
Not uncomfortable.
Dangerous.
Then she smiled at something Finley said and Christ, it looked downright demonic.
“She looks like she can handle him,” Sam muttered.
It wasn’t dismissive. Something sharp and dangerous had settled over her expression. Her smile looked devilish enough to suggest she might actually be the Devil’s daughter.
Neither of them said anything else as they stepped outside into the cool London night. Fairy lights hung overhead between ivy-covered walls, the Raven’s little terrace somehow cosy despite the industrial brick and cigarette smoke.
The staff were obsessed with plants.
It worked.
Sam left him alone, allowing him to bask in the silence after the pounding bass and overlapping voices, sounds that were terrible for his tinnitus and overwhelming for his senses. He merely pulled out his vape from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and exhaled sweet-smelling clouds into the night sky. Somewhere deeper behind a hedge, another couple whispered sweet nothings to one another, but it was quiet and unobtrusive. Perfect condition for his thoughts to wander again.
Spring in London felt miraculous, despite being entirely expected.
“Vess?”
He’d spoken too soon if Sam was starting a conversation in that tone.
“Hm?”
Just let him sit and sink into his uncomfortable thoughts. Eventually he’d find the words he wanted. His friends’ glances throughout the evening had made it obvious this conversation had been brewing for ages.
“How’s Daniel?”
There it was. Exactly what he had feared.
Vessel’s stomach dropped immediately.
“How should I know?”
The sensation of water creeping around his feet made his stomach tighten, though he knew it was only dread rising inside him. Even hearing Daniel’s name steeped him in sorrow.
“You two spent most of lockdown together,” Sam said carefully. “And we both know that weren’t just album work.”
Vessel immediately reached for deflection like muscle memory.
Now it was his own silence simmering around him, oppressive rather than comforting. It didn’t matter. Vessel knew he couldn’t articulate what Sam wanted to hear — nor the thing that had strangled him his entire adult life. No, longer than that, if his therapists were to be believed.
Hooray for expensive therapy sessions.
He still felt fundamentally shit at being a person.
There were reasons loneliness would always remain his closest companion. It was familiar, structured, easier to understand than human emotion. He struggled so profoundly with feelings that he needed professional help simply to identify his own. How was he supposed to decipher anyone else’s?
“Vessel!”
“It seems like it wasn’t.”
For Vessel, that was the best tactic: dismissing the feelings and insecurities that haunted him whenever he thought about his misplaced hope. Nothing new there, his brain scoffed, and fuck it if he let the tremor in his hand win. She had never let him forget how much his emotions leaked through him, how childish she thought they were. Of course, he knew now that they weren’t childish, but that didn’t change the fact that desperation seeped from every pore of his body, and for years his mission had been to stamp it out.
He wasn’t emotionless.
He just tried very hard not to drown other people in them.
“Did you talk to II about it?”
Whatever this thing between him and Daniel had been, II would absolutely be the last person to hear about it.
“Why would I?” Vessel scoffed softly. “Daniel’s one of his oldest mates.”
And II loved people too much to ever make him choose sides. His entire social circle overlapped like a spiderweb. Vessel would rather chew glass than be the reason tension spread through it.
„You’re his mate too,” Sam said quietly. “Closer than those two ever were.”
Maybe.
Even if that were true, the drummer only knew half the insanity Vessel carried inside himself and already knew far too much about the train wreck of a man sitting in a BDSM club where he never played, only drank and lingered around his friends.
A faint huff of laughter escaped him at the absurdity of his own brain. He needed to return to the conversation. God knew how long the silence had dragged after them.
“So… are you working with him again next album?”
Sam, relentless as always, like a dog with a bone. Was this some kind of game of twenty-one questions?
“I don’t know, mate.” Vessel rubbed tiredly at his neck. “How am I supposed to know what next year even looks like? We’re lucky if festivals don’t get cancelled again.”
It was true, also absolutely another deflection, and Sam recognised it immediately. Still, he let it rest, letting his friend sit with the discomfort because he knew Vessel would rather suffer quietly than inconvenience anyone else. Even at the cost of his own wellbeing. He was painfully stubborn like that.
The silence stretched on again, interrupted only by the angry hiss of the vape being used far more harshly now.
“We should head back inside.” the drum tech offered eventually, a peace treaty disguised as practicality, and both men stood.
Vessel snorted softly. “Done interrogating me then, detective?”
“You’d know what a real interrogation looked like if you’d let Matty dom you. But no, I think my bollocks froze solid about five minutes after sitting down.”
The exaggerated rubbing of his hands over his suit trousers would’ve looked obscene if it wasn’t so fucking ridiculous.
A nearby couple burst out laughing.
Naturally Sam grinned at them immediately like the shameless flirt he was. Depending which girlfriend you asked, that behaviour was either charming or grounds for murder.
Lucky for him the strictest domme in the polycule was home with a migraine tonight.
Back inside, Vessel only wanted one more drink before disappearing home entirely.
Rehearsals started next week. He needed to recharge. Hide in his flat for a few days. Maybe a week.
Then he spotted Finley still sat beside Germany Girl.
“He’s taking the piss, isn’t he?” Sam growled behind him.
But unlike most patrons at the Raven, Vessel didn’t believe Finley Patel ever did anything for humour or mockery. No, everything the man did was painfully earnest. He simply wanted desperately to connect with some woman with low enough standards to tolerate him.
Pathetic? Perharps?
But human.
Vessel could sympathise with that.
So no, he didn’t think Finley was still sitting beside II´s friend merely to be irritating. He genuinely hoped to be noticed, chosen even, by this unfamiliar woman. Completely oblivious to the fact that her gaze had shifted from boredom into something cold enough to promise violence.
Vessel’s internal conflict about intervening was entirely his own fault. Perhaps he should have warned the poor shrimp of a man before fleeing to the terrace. Wasn’t it obvious he was barking up the wrong tree? Was it really Vessel’s responsibility to prevent murder among his friends and acquaintances?
Yes. Unfortunately, it probably was.
She might be II’s oldest friend, but he doubted the drummer would appreciate her mauling a patron in the middle of the lounge. Better she did that in a playroom where nobody could complain.
“Don’t wait for me,” he muttered to Sam before making a beeline for the bar. “Wanted another drink anyway.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t get eaten alive himself.
He searched for eye contact over Finley’s shoulder, and apparently some deity took pity on him because her gaze met his instantly. There was nothing malicious in it as he approached. Beneath her brown fringe sat sharp green eyes framed with meticulous cat-eye liner.
Annoyed, yes, but amused too. Like she was silently asking `Can you believe this bloke?`
Eyes that would look good wet with tears.
Christ alive. His brain was a menace.
As he slid onto the stool beside her, her bare back turned partly towards him, a bartender placed another drink in front of her.
Perfect timing. He suddenly needed a Coke more than ever.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, only for his gaze to snag on the wristband around her arm.
The club’s coding system.
Red: dominant.
Gold arrow attached: actively hunting.
Naturally, his first instinct was to freeze solid from the inside out, like a stream icing over in January. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision approaching her at all.
Fight or flight kicked in so hard it nearly made him dizzy.
Her green eyes locked onto his.
She turned slowly toward him, forgetting Finley entirely.
The corner of her mouth curled upward. Cheshire Cat grin sharp enough to cut skin.
And suddenly he felt very, very aware of himself.
Why had he assumed she was anything else? Her entire demeanour radiated laid-back superiority. She belonged to II’s inner circle and most of those people had been dominants first and foremost.
Probably the dress. The soft makeup. The bratty little submissive aesthetic.
Meanwhile beneath all that sat something predatory and self-assured.
Not every domme needed leather and latex to look terrifying.
Beneath all of that, phantom pain flashed sharply through his collarbone, intense enough that he had to consciously remind himself to breathe.
“To be honest?” she said smoothly, voice deeper than expected. “Too bloody long.”
And weirdly, hearing her speak properly calmed him almost instantly.
The sincerity in her smile and the ease in her voice soothed something frantic inside his nervous system. With every inhale, the stress hormones eased their grip, and suddenly he could see her for what she truly was:
Not a threat.
Just relieved someone had interrupted a conversation with a Neanderthal.
Still, why would an ultra-domme tolerate someone like Finley pestering her? Then again, she only appeared soft. Petite, beautiful, dressed like a spoiled submissive who knew exactly what she was worth. Only the lazy confidence in her posture betrayed the predator beneath her skin.
“Ve-”
“I saw Matty walk in earlier,” Vessel interrupted loudly over Finley’s shoulder. “Might wanna hide after whatever stunt you pulled last month.”
Finley went pale immediately. Actually pale.
Then vanished without another word.
Coward.
And now, without the distraction, Vessel felt it properly.
Her stare.
Not simply looking at him, like being dissected alive. Studying every tiny detail she could uncover.
Like an X-ray.
It had been a very long time since anyone had looked at him quite like that. The drummer had, occasionally, and being on the receiving end of it made him feel as though his skin vibrated too tightly around his body. Examined. Cornered. He felt like the embodiment of a deer caught in headlights.
Why was she analysing him so thoroughly? He wasn’t a threat. Nor prey.
“Do you always rescue people out of charity,” she asked lazily, “or did you fancy playing knight in shining armour?”
Christ, her voice was smooth, lower than he’d expected from someone built so delicate. He needed to stay focused instead of drowning in old anxieties.
“It was self-preservation on his behalf,” Vessel replied. “You looked about two seconds away from clawing his eyes out.”
“Oh, his protection.” Her grin widened. “What a gentleman.”
Her grin wasn’t fake or exhausted, which relaxed him further.
“Fragile male ego and all that.”
That finally broke her composure completely.
She tipped her head back laughing, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
A throat that would look right bruised.
For Fuck`s sake.
“Sorry your first experience back at this establishment involved a boundary-breaking goblin. I swear most people here are decent.”
That dragged another burst of laughter out of her, nearly spilling her cocktail. It softened her face dramatically, made her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and transformed her into something more approachable. Not safe, never safe, but human. Not one of those performative goddesses so many dommes tried to become.
“Establishment? Who calls a sex club an establishment?” she laughed.
And now he was chuckling too, helplessly aware of the corners of his mouth lifting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognised that, normally, teasing like this would have made him shut down entirely, convinced someone was mocking him. But her tone felt playful rather than cruel. Inviting.
“And I already know the Raven,” she said between giggles. “What I didn’t know was they’d invented colour-coded bracelets to ward off desperate men.”
A very diplomatic way of calling Finley a complete fuckwit.
“Sadly ineffective,” Vessel replied solemnly.
Then she pointed at his grey wristband.
“What’s yours mean?”
He glanced down at it automatically.
Something he wore so often it felt like part of him. Another drink appeared in front of him without needing to ask. Zlata must have been behind the bar tonight. Efficient as always.
“Do not approach.”
Even saying it made him fidget, rubbing nervous energy into the back of his neck instead of shredding his cuticles bloody. He could already feel the silent questions and assumptions forming behind her eyes. He hated having to explain himself.
“Bloody hell, I needed one of those. Was too intimidated to ask about them specifically. Didn’t want to sound like a newbie after all these years.”
Her casual tone disarmed him instantly.
No pity.
No weirdness.
Just conversation.
The way she tilted her head while sipping her drink made it obvious, she was deliberately trying to put him at ease. In any other situation he might have hated being handled so gently, but right now it felt more like a dance and she had smoothly taken the lead after he stumbled.
“Wouldn’t necessarily help. You’ve already met the human embodiment of a migraine, I’m afraid.”
Another delighted laugh escaped her, and Vessel realised nobody besides II had reacted to his words with such open amusement in years. II always found his over-explaining hyperfocus spirals hilarious.
“I think you’re right. His absence is the greatest gift imaginable.”
“Very posh way of saying fuck off.”
Her laughter cracked louder this time, sharp and uncontrolled enough that nearby people glanced over. He couldn’t stop himself smiling in response.
“Stop it,” she wheezed. “My makeup’s not waterproof.”
Unfortunately, his brain immediately supplied several alternatives to tears that might ruin makeup in a place like this.
A pearl necklace. Hands around her throat.
God, he was the worst.
“Terrible planning. You probably should’ve worn one of the grey bracelets yourself.”
“Definitely next time.”
She rested one manicured hand against her thigh, and for what felt like the hundredth time that evening he found himself caught off guard by her.
“Is that Orrido Vento from Vivaldi’s Winter?” he asked quietly, nodding towards the tattoo high on her thigh.
It wasn’t bold like the heavy work covering II’s body, but against her pale skin the fine musical notation stood out beautifully.
“Bloody Hell. Pretentious, right? Though points to you. I assumed you were staring at my thighs hoping the hem of my dress would ride up higher.”
Heat flooded instantly into his ears. They must have gone scarlet.
“No. Just wondered if you were secretly my old music teacher.”
One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched challengingly. Her lips parted, probably preparing another teasing comeback, but Vessel interrupted before she could speak.
“Can I try something?”
“Hm?”
Now it was her turn to look genuinely surprised. But she recovered quickly, leaning back in her chair with easy confidence. Without another word, Vessel held out his hand towards the wrist carrying her bracelets.
She gave it to him immediately. Neither of them saw him as a threat.
Carefully, almost reverently, he unclasped the red bracelet from her wrist and replaced it with his own grey one. Hers slid comfortably around his wrist instead, adjustable enough despite the size difference between them.
The metal was still warm from her skin.
And he hadn’t been prepared for how intimate that knowledge would feel.
“Is that really alright?” she asked softly, quieter than she had been at any point in their conversation.
He only nodded.
“Even if someone notices, they’ll assume it’s a joke.,” he shrugged. “Small price to pay for some peace.”
She sat utterly motionless after that. Only her gaze remained sharp, studying him with renewed focus. It felt like an eternity before he realised he’d been staring back just as hard.
Heat crept up his neck again and he quickly broke eye contact. Christ, he was rude.
“I don’t actually understand why that’s funny,” she said eventually, sincerity replacing amusement completely.
Vessel huffed a laugh.
“Because everyone here knows I’d never willingly wear a red band.”
“Hm. Good to know.”
Typical. Accidentally exposed himself again like an absolute muppet. III always compared him to a newborn giraffe stumbling around on unfamiliar legs.
Without another word, he stood from the cramped stool and stretched his legs. Those bar seats were designed far too close together.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your night. Hopefully your first evening back won’t involve Finley following you around on you’re heels.”
Nice heels, though. Intricate lace and leather straps winding around her ankles. Ridiculously high.
As he returned to his friends, endured the obligatory goodbye conversation with II, and finally collected his things to head home, he could still feel her gaze following him.
Not threatening.
Not suffocating.
Just…curious.
Watchful.
Almost protective.
His own grey bracelet absent from his wrist.