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English
Series:
Part 1 of Lonely Shadow 'Verse
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Published:
2024-02-28
Words:
1,757
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
16
Kudos:
11
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1
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68

Calculations Composed of Motions that are the Same and Secret and Different

Summary:

When the words, “Tucker, stop,” left his mouth for the third time that week, Tim knew something was up. Twice could be a coincidence, but three times?

By this point, it was undeniable: Tucker actually obeyed when given direct commands.

That was…interesting.

Notes:

Well, it has been naught but ten hours or so since we discussed this on Discord and I decided that perhaps I should write this, but I have been smacked in the face by inspiration - not unlike Tucker when he disobeys Tim - and here we have yet another companion prequel to Lonely Shadow, this time detailing the origins of Tim and Tucker's slave/master dynamic. I love writing these little prequels and I'm thrilled that you consider me such a valuable part of the writing process. Enjoy some not porn.

Also reminder that my birthday is in five days—wink wink, nudge nudge. Damn, I should start thinking about what I want to write for my own birthday. Last year I published a sexy Andrew/Geoff fic...

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The first time it happened, it could have been a total fluke. Perhaps even a coincidence—maybe Tucker was simply feeling cooperative at that moment.

As if Tucker was ever cooperative.

Well, that was unfair on Tucker’s part. He could be cooperative—they wouldn’t have managed to write enough songs to record their debut record if Tucker wasn’t willing to cooperate with his bandmates. He wasn’t a bad kid – Tim thinks, as though he isn’t six months younger than Tucker – but he was a brat and sometimes wanted some extra attention, whether it be good or bad. And, as a result, Tim could often be found sighing in frustration.

So, it wasn’t exactly unexpected that Tim would turn around and simply demand that Tucker stop. What was unexpected, however, was that Tucker didn’t frown at him, grumble at him, or even stick out his tongue at the bassist.

Tucker…stopped.

Tim wasn’t sure if anyone else even noticed. They were all caught up in their own arguments.

The drummer deflated from where he had previously been bouncing, poking Tim in the shoulder while the rest of their band argued around them—Bill and Tom clashing over guitar riffs, and Geoff having opinions about both that neither guitarist seemed to appreciate. Tim had simply been aggravated that he was having to listen to them squabble while they also expected him to provide feedback, and Tucker poking him like a bored five year old certainly wasn’t helping. He didn’t mean to blow up on the drummer like that.

And, for a moment, he felt bad when he turned to face Tucker and saw the boy looking…well, he wasn’t exactly sure how to describe it. Expressionless? But it didn’t take long for Tim to realize that Tucker wasn’t upset, he was simply…

Calm. A not-so-common state for Tucker, but appreciated at that moment. He looked almost at peace, as though the drummer needed this.

And that was…almost flabbergasting.

So, naturally, Tim had to conduct an experiment. The next day, as the drummer folded up a paper airplane and tossed it around the vocalist’s basement during yet another argument band practice, he couldn’t help but turn to him and demand, “Tucker, stop that.”

The first time could have been a fluke, but the second time less so. It could still be a coincidence, but Tim was starting to think that perhaps they had taken the wrong approach all this time—that perhaps Tucker responded better to direct demands with clear requests, rather than annoyed statements or questions of whether he could “cut it out.” That said, he still couldn’t be certain. Perhaps Tucker was feeling cooperative in general lately.

When the words, “Tucker, stop,” left his mouth for the third time that week, Tim knew something was up. Twice could be a coincidence, but three times?

By this point, it was undeniable: Tucker actually obeyed when given direct commands.

That was…interesting.

Tim wasn’t sure why that was so interesting to him. He had never considered himself much of a demanding person, but something about watching Tucker calm down – as though a bucket of lukewarm water had been dumped over him – made Tim want to be the one giving those commands. He wanted to feel the pride that came with making Tucker behave, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the power at least a little bit. Plus, Tucker seemed like he enjoyed it—at the very least, he wasn’t uncomfortable with it.

It was surprising how quickly it became a regular thing for them—Tucker would misbehave, Tim would tell him to stop, and he would comply.

Even more surprising was the fact that nobody else seemed to notice. Nobody batted an eye at the fact that their bassist seemed to be reigning in their childlike drummer, keeping him under a firm control. Tim had never thought of himself like a parent, but he knew the mom look—the look your mother gave you when you were misbehaving that would scare you into submission so that she wouldn’t have to repeat herself.

Tim had one of those. And, on the rare occasion that Tucker seemed to ignore his command, one mom look did the trick.

In a matter of weeks, they already had a dynamic.

It wasn’t sexual, until it was. Frankly, Tim hadn’t even been expecting it, but then again, what about any of this had he been expecting? He certainly hadn’t expected himself to respond to Tucker’s compliance with praise.

And he definitely didn’t expect the whine that emerged from the drummer’s mouth upon hearing the words, “that’s a good boy.” Tim halted in his path, eyes still on Tucker as the boy sat at his kit, sticks in hand but not moving, biting his lip with wide eyes as he evidently realized what had happened. Again, nobody else in the room had noticed – Tom had already gone outside for a smoke break, while Geoff and Bill discussed chord transitions – and Tim had the sudden urge to touch Tucker—to make him make that sound for him again.

However, it wasn’t Tucker’s reaction to praise that turned the whole thing into something more. It was, instead, his reaction to punishment. Because of course Tim was going to punish him if he didn’t comply—how else could he maintain his control?

The more Tucker received commands, the more he began to ignore them.

So, naturally, Tim had to instill some sort of discipline into him—if Tucker didn’t listen, then there would be natural and logical consequences.

The slap, honestly, came out of nowhere.

It hadn’t been planned. Tucker was simply being a brat, Tim issued his demand for the drummer to stop, and Tucker refused. He shouldn’t have let his frustration get the better of him, but he couldn’t help when he reached out and smacked the boy across the face.

As he did the first time Tucker had gone quiet at the demand to stop, Tim felt bad. He truly hadn’t meant to hurt his friend, and the last thing he wanted was for their band to fall apart before they even left for their first tour—Geoff was already in the process of booking them shitty little venues that they’d play for almost no money, and Tim was so excited that he could barely focus on his end of term art projects.

The whine was back, and Tim, being so close to the drummer, couldn’t ignore the obvious tent in his pants.

Oh, so Tucker liked that.

It was almost as though an animalistic urge had come over him—for someone so obsessed with asserting control over the smaller boy, Tim certainly wasn’t in control now as he fisted the same hand into Tucker’s hair and gripped tightly until the drummer whined again. Energy was pulsing through him as though he was electrified—of all the things he never expected, the growing bulge in his own pants at seeing Tucker so needy for him was probably the top of the list. Tucker wanted attention alright…in whatever form he could get it. And Tim? Was not immune to the desperate look in the drummer’s eyes.

Despite the urge to force Tucker to his knees, Tim knew there was more power in withholding, that he could garner a better reaction by making him wait—the drummer would undoubtedly be desperate by the time Tim touched him.

He cupped the bulge in Tucker’s shorts, a grin rising to his lips as the boy gasped and moaned. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked.

Tucker, still panting, could do nothing but gulp and nod. It was so incredibly hot to see him so needy that even Tim had difficultly holding back. He wanted to kiss Tucker, to bite him, to take his cock into his hand and do all sorts of pleasurable things to him…but Tucker had been misbehaving and that would certainly not be incentive to act like an adult. So, instead, he let go, his other hand still gripping the boy by the hair.

Tim felt his cock twitch as the drummer whined again from the revoked touch.

“So desperate. Like a little slut.”

He wasn’t sure where that came from, but he felt the need to remind Tucker that he was naught more but a whore, kept around only to pleasure his master.

The bassist almost shook his head at the shock of that thought coming into his head—if he wasn’t sure where slut had come from, he certainly wasn’t sure where master had found its way into his mental vocabulary. Yet, he couldn’t deny the truth of the words—with the way he asserted dominance over Tucker, giving him commands, praise, even punishments based on his behaviours, he was, essentially, his master of the smaller boy. And, the thought occurred to him, if Tim was his master, then that would make Tucker…

“You’d do anything for it, wouldn’t you?” he muttered, hand still holding the boy in place. The whine he received in response told Tim all he needed to know. “Drop to the floor, crawl on your hands and knees, do whatever I asked. Like a slave.”

It was a thought. God, was it ever a thought. What if…what if…

He leaned in close so that his breath was warm against the drummer’s ear and faux whispered, “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll blow you.”

It wasn’t something they did. Tim hadn’t so much as jerked Tucker off, let alone put his mouth on him. But the reaction was unmistakable—Tucker shuddered, mouth slack as he stared at Tim in a daze.

If that actually managed to work, then perhaps Tim was onto something. He couldn’t make such promises all the time – the last thing he needed was Tucker intentionally acting like a brat so that he could receive a blowjob when such behaviour was corrected – but with such incentive, Tim would have such power at his fingertips—at his lips. And, if such promises didn’t work…well, he was sure that he could be creative as a disciplinarian.

“But you have to prove to me first that you can do that,” he added before letting go and giving him a tap him on the cheek. He turned away before the drummer could respond, but not without hearing the desperate, “Tim,” that came from the boy’s mouth.

“That’s master to you.”

Tim could not even begin to predict the can of worms he had just opened.

Notes:

Thanks for reading—comments and kudos are appreciated as always. 🖤

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