Fake Fan Fiction ❯ The Ties That Do Not Bind ❯ The Ties That Do Not Bind ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: No malice intended, no profit expected. The characters belong to Sanami Matoh, and while I can be as much of an asshole as Dee at times, it does not mean I agree with everything he says or thinks.

Written for Wounded_Melody for New Year Resolutions 2010 (Yuletide). The request: "A Dee/Ryo or Rose/Ryo (can also have Dee/Ryo in it) story, and ... the more graphic the better XD Oh, and use of handcuffs is a plus XD XD I would like to see the story take place after the manga, so if you do have a Rose/Ryo part, maybe Rose is disillusioned about his marriage? (I do like Diana, I just hate the concept of marriage in general *lol*)"

 

The Ties That Do Not Bind

When it comes to keeping Ryo in their bed, Dee prefers handcuffs over neckties. They don't require ironing after being looped around bedposts. They don't need dry-cleaning after getting splotched with sweat, saliva, or lube. They don't contain knots that squeeze themselves into hard-to-pick-apart, can-I-just-grab-the-fucking-scissors-already bumps of fabric when one's partner strains against them; they aren't ruined when the straining stretches and distorts the weave of the material beyond repair, strong wrists too much for fabric meant merely to rest around dress-shirt collars. Good ties aren't cheap, and Dee has made a point of splurging on better-quality neck-nooses ever since he made detective; bargain-bin ties have the texture of waiting-room curtains, and neither Dee nor Ryo need any reminders of those around.

Dee's received his share of tacky ties, of course, but he's not about to employ them as sex restraints either. The Christmas-themed ties from Mother and Bikky are off-limits, because using anything from Mother or Bikky for assistance in ravishing Ryo would be too weird and creepy. As for the ones with naked bimbos on them, from the likes of Drake and Ted -- please. He'll always appreciate a bodacious display of tits and ass, but Dee isn't stupid: bringing any kind of naked woman into foreplay with Ryo -- even one merely screen-printed across a strip of flimsy fabric -- would pretty much be the same as scrawling "I AM A MORON" in bright pink lipstick across his chest.

It isn't all about the deficiencies of neckties, though. With handcuffs, there's room for Dee's tongue to tease the undersides of Ryo's wrists -- to savor the combination of salt-tinged skin and the pounding of Ryo's pulse underneath the surface. Dee loves to admire the contrast of cool, dull metal against the pale expanses of Ryo's warm skin. He loves the way Ryo shivers when Dee runs a handcuff key around nipples, across ribs, down to hips and thighs and balls . . . there's something about chaining Ryo to his furniture and then literally teasing with his means of escape that makes the man breathe harder and his words dissolve into moans, and Dee can't get enough of that.

Lately, he's been dreaming of Ryo every time he falls asleep -- explicit, drawn-out, sheet-soaking visions of Ryo spread-eagled on St. Andrew's crosses, Saran-wrapped to diving-board ladders, strapped to the back of a runaway bull, and other variations of trapped, immobilized hotness. Dee doesn't need a psychologist to pinpoint the trigger: their walking entitlement complex of a commissioner is single once more, and the guy's mentally undressing Ryo every single time their paths cross.

Dee's surprised the marriage lasted as long as it did. He's astounded at how much its breakup upsets his unromantic Ryo. Diana and Rose are two of the sneakiest, bossiest people Dee's ever had the misfortune to report to, he'd sooner sleep with a boa constrictor than either of them, and the notion of being hitched to anyone like them makes his blood run cold. It's preposterous that Ryo didn't -- doesn't -- see how doomed the marriage was from the start, and it's infuriating how Ryo refuses to take him seriously when he fumes about their superior.

And yet, Ryo wouldn't be Ryo if he wasn't both unbelievably dense and impossibly forgiving. Sometimes Dee silently traces the scars on Ryo's face: they aren't especially noticeable, but Dee would gladly beat up every other jackass responsible for them, including the ones he already beat to a pulp once before. As for a certain four-inch groove under the right cheekbone, it's not in Dee's nature to wallow in guilt, but he is aware that any other self-respecting man would have ditched him a long time ago -- if not for the bullet, then for not being rich enough, smart enough, or mature enough.

Dee knows he won't actually be able to hold onto Ryo if the man ever decides he's no longer worth it: in his line of work, he's sifted through dozens of messes made by couples who failed to fall out of love at the same time. Couples who never dreamed that their love could possibly curdle into hatred, or trust disintegrate into fear. He has co-workers whose marriages are less overtly tragic but unquestionably unhappy. Dee went to the weddings that kicked off some of those marriages, and it secretly terrifies him how he genuinely thought some of them were truly headed for "happy ever after."

In short, his job reminds him damn near constantly that there are no guarantees, and that he'd be a fool to take Ryo for granted. Dee has no compunction about taking advantage of Ryo when it comes to boring, pointless chores like paperwork and housework, but if Ryo ever does desert him, it won't be due to neglect of the things that really matter. Dee's quick to fetch medications and force soup into his lover whenever Ryo comes down with a cold, and Ryo's called him the biggest mother hen this side of the Bronx for the way he fusses over cuts and contusions. Although he enjoys giving Ryo a hard time about being such a goody-goody, Dee's sincere and prompt with congratulations whenever Ryo picks up another promotion or award. Ryo's favorite shirt was a gift from Dee, as are three of the books on his nightstand: Dee's swift to notice the things Ryo lingers over without buying for himself, and he's not above snooping through the browser logs on Ryo's computer. Being psychic has never been so easy.

And the way Dee most often tells Ryo "I love you" is in the slide of his hands and lips all over Ryo's body. Most of the time, Dee's goal is to get Ryo out of his clothes as fast as humanly possible, and in spite of the yelping and smacking and wriggling, Ryo invariably ends up not only naked and aroused, but also looking helplessly pleased, as if he's still just beginning to grasp the intensity of Dee's lust for his body. It's a look that makes Dee want to fuck Ryo hard -- to be blunt with his body, as if it could pound into Ryo what he's said so many times already: When will you finally get how badly I need you? What would it take for you to feel the same way?

The thing is, Ryo does feel the same way. He doesn't show it as readily, but that's true of Ryo where a lot of things are concerned: as much as Dee's heckled him about his non-existent guard, it's not Ryo's style to volunteer anything significant about himself unless he's coaxed or goaded into doing so. Dee has done his fair share of prodding over the years, as well as snatching at passing clues and resorting to direct demands. At times he's felt like he's gotten no further than the emotional equivalent of a police composite -- a collage of fleeting impressions, an unsolvable mystery.

But there are the other times, such as the days when they happen to arrive home at the same time. When instead of letting Ryo change into his casual clothes, Dee yanks him close, kisses him hard, and then carefully unknots Ryo's necktie. When he drapes it neatly over the nearest chair and then removes Ryo's watch, unbuckling the band and placing the timepiece gently on the seat of the chair.

Dee has learned that when he takes the time to enact this ritual, it shuts up the part of Ryo's brain that obsesses constantly over whether everything around him is in order. It calms Ryo down, which in turn leaves him free to focus 100 percent on Dee's fingers as they undo buttons and zips -- as they stroke him into a state of near-undone even before all his clothes are entirely off.

From what Dee can tell, none of his predecessors ever took the lead in removing Ryo's clothes. He gathers that things seldom reached the point of complete nudity, and that Ryo had always retained command of his faculties, even within the grip of an orgasm. Ryo's admitted to revising mental grocery lists within seconds of spilling into a girlfriend's palm -- a confession that appalls Dee more than any lurid tales of paid or casual encounters would have done.

"If she didn't turn you on, why the fuck did you go that far with her?"

"I was turned on!" Ryo had protested. "It wasn't enough to turn off my brain!"

When Dee's feeling mean, he dismisses the girl as inept and doesn't give her another thought. More often, though, when she happens to come to mind, he thinks of her almost sympathetically, with a measure of fellow-feeling. He has only the faintest idea of what she looked or sounded like, but he can clearly picture how pleased -- perhaps even dazzled -- she must have been at capturing Ryo's interest, and then how baffled and frustrated she must have been to only get so far, when nothing she tried succeeded in fanning the sparks into open passion.

Dee catches a lot of grief for being hotheaded and hard-charging, including from Ryo himself, but it's turned out to be his saving grace: it takes fire to bring out fire, and he's proven over and over again that he can handle Ryo at his wildest -- outbursts of rage, explosions of wrath, Dee will take it all, because he can fling it all right back at Ryo with interest to spare, knowing Ryo will stand his ground.

And this is how Dee knows he's the love of Ryo's life: it's the look on Ryo's face as Dee glances up from taking off Ryo's shoes -- a look that says, Only with you is this okay. It's the look of a man incapable of true surrender to anyone other than an equal. It's in the way Ryo unconsciously clenches his fists when he lets Dee undress him, his fingers relaxing only after Dee nuzzles them into uncurling out of their tight, defensive coils. It's comprehending how much it costs Ryo to say, "Go ahead, do whatever you want" when he's in his right mind and truly means it. It's the perverse delight of holding back, and the glint in Ryo's eye that says, I love the power I have over you.

Sometimes that glint is too much for Dee, and he can't resist saying, "Took you long enough, love-slave!" which leads to Ryo swinging at his head -- Ryo hasn't let him get away with that particular endearment in years -- and the foreplay flying right out of the window, giving way to a fast, brutal fuck. And it's not always Dee on top, because Ryo's no slouch at wrestling once his reflexes flip to "on," and also because Dee's often laughing too hard to roll the one more inch away from getting pinned.

The tussling's fun as hell, and as far as Dee can determine, Ryo never holds the change in plan against him. Then again, Ryo seldom complains about feeling cheated in any context. He's been known to sulk up a storm after orders to stand down and put his gun away -- a reaction Dee finds perfectly reasonable -- but in general, he's kind toward lousy musicians, charitable about bad meals, and maddeningly philosophical about shabby offices and crappy schedules. Despite his love of precision and order, Ryo's the lowest-maintenance boyfriend in history, as far as Dee's concerned: if anything, he's self-sufficient to a fault. He's slow to ask for help and weird about accepting favors; he's immune to Hallmark's finest, and he doesn't "keep score" when it comes to presents given vs. received; he can be bullied or distracted out of a passive-aggressive snit in less than forty minutes, and his ability to weather Dee's own tantrums is the stuff of precinct legend. And as much as he grouses about Dee's casual fibs and highly irregular work habits, Ryo's never indicated that he actually expects Dee to change. In short, there isn't much Dee has to do to be a decent partner: a reasonable amount of listening, paying for his share of the bills, and providing sexual gratification whenever Ryo happens to be in the mood.

Respectively, they are easy, doable, and ridiculously easy to do. But it's the not-so-easy pleasures that Dee replays in his head at the end of long shifts, and it's mapping out in his head just where he wants to take his Ryo that sears him with anticipation during his rides home. It's staying with that plan -- the slow undressing, the extended caressing -- all the way through, until he's backed his lover onto the bed and handcuffed him to the headboard. It's worshipping the stretch of Ryo's arms across the pillows by gliding his fingers and then his mouth from fingertips to shoulders; it's pressing hot, hungry kisses against Ryo's throat and soft little pecks along the curve of a hip. It's massaging Ryo's feet and nuzzling his ankles and running his thumbs up and down well-toned calves, drinking in the sight of a beautiful man trembling on the edge on the bliss. It's letting his captive almost go over that edge, savoring the climbing desperation in Ryo's moans as Dee pushes into him.

And afterward, as Dee catches his breath -- when he emerges from the waves of his own long-delayed release -- he knows that this is what he lives for, why it matters so much that it drives him so far beyond fast and easy: It's gazing into Ryo's calm, clear eyes , every would-be barrier incinerated by the heat he stoked and fanned with such care. It's Ryo whispering against his ear, "I couldn't leave you if I tried," the words infused not with resentment but wonder. And it's unlocking the handcuffs to set Ryo free, and Ryo staying in the bed, his arms wrapping around Dee and not letting go.