Pablo choked and Des apparently eased his hold, but not by much, because when Pablo's lips parted only a wheeze came out.
"Shut up," Des said anyway. "You're not talking now. I am. You were so busy thinking how to make it pretty, you didn't make it safe, which is the only fucking bloody thing that matters, ever. This is why this performance shit causes problems. It's more about impressing a fucking audience than taking care of your bottom."
Menace rolled off Des in waves. Billie's fingers pressed into Julie's shoulders. A bleary look up at the drag queen's face showed it set in a serious mask, a rare but impressively intimidating look for him. The rest of the people watching were motionless, held by Des's fury.
With a sound of disgust, Des took a step back and tossed the metal bar aside, though his body language was looming enough to keep Pablo where he was.
"You're going to make mistakes," Des said, staring at the rigger who'd paled under his brown skin. "Everyone does. That's why you always make sure you're ready for it. You reacted to the damn scaffold and dove for that first, when your first reaction should have been to protect her with whatever superhero adrenaline shit is necessary. Where were your fucking snips?"
Pablo's mouth worked, but nothing came out. Des nailed him with a look that could drill holes. "Let me guess. They're in your pack, which was somewhere backstage. If you tell me they're in your car, I'll fucking kill you, so keep it to yourself."
Des took a turn around the pit, as if calming himself, then he pivoted toward Pablo, freezing him in his sights again. "If you have a sub tied up, your cutting tool is on your body or no more than arm's length away. Because when she's in your hands, she's in your hands. She's got nothing but you and luck, and luck has the attention span of a fucking squirrel."
Pablo had finally recovered enough that he started to look belligerent. "Oh no, boy," Billie muttered. "You know what's good for you, you just stand there pissing yourself and listening."
Looking at Des's face, Julie didn't disagree. She struggled to a more upright position, lifting her hand to draw his attention. It wasn't necessary. As soon as she moved, his gaze snapped to her. Even now she was his focus. She swallowed, not quite prepared for an additional sweeping off her feet, even if it was a far better one than the kind she'd just experienced.
"Des, I'm okay."
Talking wasn't such a good idea, since she croaked like a frog. A second later she also realized it wasn't a great idea to shed light on her role in this. Billie's dubious look seemed to concur, though the message came too late.
Des gave her a glare no less wilting than he'd given Pablo. "And what the hell were you thinking? You do not put yourself in the hands of an inexperienced rigger if there's no mentor standing by spotting him. Not for any reason."
"Hey." Pablo rallied. "I'm not that inexperienced."
Julie gasped as Des turned and punched him in the jaw, knocking him on his ass and making his eyes damn near roll back in his head. At another time, she would have been impressed by the force of the blow, but she was too fragile to do more than cringe.
"Saw that one coming," Billie said, stroking her back, a calming gesture. "Easy, honey-chile. Just let him work it out. I love to hear your voice, but right now it's best you just focus on breathing."
The punch had Harris and a couple other male members of the staff coming down the stairs to intervene, but Des backed off, both hands raised. As they helped Pablo up, though, he stabbed a finger toward him.
"You're too stupid to know when to shut your mouth and listen," Des snapped. "You've been doing this for six months. Your basics are shit. Learn those, or you're going to fucking kill someone."
Julie's inevitable reaction to a fright--once she had enough distance from it--was anger. She'd had enough of being handled. Though Des had pretty much just saved her life, she wouldn't have him treating her like a child. ""I'm not an idiot, Des," she rasped, managing to get to her feet, though Billie had to rise to keep her upright. "It was just a mistake. Risk Aware Consensual Kink, remember?"
"Can't keep you babies from touching a hot stove," Billie said under his breath. She pretended like she hadn't heard him.
Des left Pablo's vicinity, thankfully, to march up the stairs and square off a few feet from her. He took off his cap and shoved it in his belt. "A few days surfing the Internet learning buzz words doesn't make you an expert, either," he said. "That fucking mistake could have ended up with you in a coma or dead. And him carrying that around on his dumbass soul for the rest of his life. What do you think this would do for Madison's hopes of having a place that helps people understand what BDSM is and isn't? It'd all be gone, and if your family decided to bring a lawsuit against her, she could be wiped out."
She opened her mouth to argue, but then she thought of her family. Their lack of comprehension about her theater life and what kind of person she was, coupled to their obvious yet clueless love for her, didn't rule out such a senseless decision. But that wasn't the point. None of those things had happened.
"Des," Billie said. His low tone was pointed enough that Des's gaze flickered at the quiet rebuke, then shifted to Julie's hands, trembling on Billie's forearm wrapped around her waist. The look that crossed his face made her wonder if he was going to snatch her out of Billie's arms to hold her himself or go pound on Pablo some more.
Instead, he pivoted to glare at all the cast and crew. "The next one of you who touches her with a rope answers to me. You clear it with me first, then her."
"Hell, man. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were her Dom." Pablo coughed it out as he tried to stand on his own two feet, though he was still wobbling between Harris and one of the men who'd been building the pipe structure to suspend the lighting equipment.
"He's not," Julie interjected hotly. She pushed away from Billie this time, though her balance was likely as precarious as Pablo's. "He's angry and has lost his mind. You don't have the right to impose that condition on them. This is my theater. My rules."
Des shot her a look and closed the distance between them with two solid steps. She told herself it was her recent trauma, not his imposing demeanor, that had her giving way a step, bumping into the solid bulk of Billie. Christ, he had a buff torso.
She almost drowned in the turmoil of emotions she saw in Des's face. It forced her back to what had nearly happened to her, something she wasn't prepared to handle while she was still so unsteady on her feet.
Maybe he saw that. His jaw relaxed a fraction and he glanced at Billie. "If you don't mind watching after her, I need to get out of here a few minutes. If he says one more stupid thing, I'm going to break his fucking neck."
"Go, honey-chile. She's safe here. I'll watch over her like a mother hen."
Des gave Julie another searching look. This one was less angry, but held enough other messages to dry up any other fumbling defenses she could launch. He left the stage, but not before he gave every person around them another fierce stare. "You all heard what I said."
The slamming of the stage door rocked the theater. A moment of silence prevailed, then Billie touched her arm with one finger, making a sizzling sound through his teeth.
"What are you doing?" Julie asked, twitching away.
"That was a branding, honey-chile. Sure as my finely tuned nose detects a prime piece of beef."
Pablo cleaned up his mess and cleared out without saying much of anything to anyone, and nothing to her. Billie told her to expect a text from the young rigger, backing out of the show. "He's embarrassed, and he figures you're going to fire him anyway. But if he's a decent human being, and I think that silly boy is, he'll take to heart what Des told him. Once he sets his ego aside and spends more time learning his basics instead of showing off."
Well and good, but it left a hole in her program.
Once she'd assured Billie she could leave his side without a major critical care incident, Julie went into the bathroom and gratefully closed the door. A renewed wave of shaking took her down to the floor on her backside, and stress
tears spilled out. Before it became outright sobbing, she pulled herself together, struggled to her feet and took stock of the damage in the mirror. Des was right. She was going to have some bruising along her neck, a major hickey. From the increasing soreness throughout the rest of her body, she was sure she'd be groaning when she got out of bed tomorrow morning.
As she stood there staring at herself in the mirror, instead of reflective glass, she saw it all happening again and quaked. It could have been so much worse.
Which was why Des had been so enraged. He'd turned caveman on her, bigtime. During their two brief connections, she'd recognized his protective instincts, a genuine caring for another living being. He also took what he did damn seriously, and now she understood why. Risk Aware Consensual Kink, indeed.
None of that was wrong, but something more personal was going on in his reaction to the situation. No. She told herself not to go there. She'd fooled herself about a man's feelings toward her before. She wasn't going to jump into that pool again. Hadn't she told herself only an hour ago that she wasn't even interested in that?
She washed her face, combed her hair, and left the bathroom. Hesitating backstage, she realized she wasn't ready to go back up front and watch them repair things or resume the day's work. Instead, after some waffling, she went out the stage door to get some fresh air. And to find Des.
She'd been almost certain he wouldn't leave the premises until he checked on her again, and she felt an odd tilt in her chest to find she was right. He was sitting on the bay of their one loading dock, eating peanut butter pretzel pillows and sipping from a bottle of water.
He tucked it away in his pack as she sat down next to him, a careful buffer of space between them. He detailed her physical and mental state with one look, and his gaze flared with anger again as it passed over her throat where the abrasions were already showing.
She wanted to apologize, and she steeled herself against that, knowing it was a kneejerk reaction. It might also set him off again and she'd lash back. Normally she'd summon her usual sass and tell him to stop being a dick, but she couldn't say that to the guy who'd made sure she hadn't ended up in an oxygen-deprived coma.
"Are you okay?" he asked. It was his normal voice, which helped settle her nerves.
"Yeah."
"Good. Madison's on her way. She's taking you to the urgent care, since you won't go with me."
So much for relaxing. Her back went up again. "I won't go with anyone. I told you--"
"Julie." His sharp look made her bite back the words, but he tempered it with a brief touch on the top of her hand. "I'm not being a jerk. I told Logan what happened and the first words out of his mouth were why you weren't already on your way to one. I told him it's your call, and it is, but hear me out. I know you're rattled and it's natural to try and regain control by saying you're fine. But if you trust my expertise, believe me when I say there's damage that can occur that you can't feel and I can't see. You don't fuck with injuries like this just to save face. Go for the people who care about you. It's a few hours of your life."
She stared out into the parking lot, refusing to look at him. He might be right, but she wanted to bristle and spit. Which was probably part of wanting to regain control, too.
She turned her face back toward him. She knew she looked mutinous, but she didn't want to be stupid. She just had too much crap happening right now. When he reached out to touch her cheek, his expression softening, she drew back. It was instinct, not planned, but a clear telegraph she was still feeling too fragile. He dropped the hand back to his side. "I'm not going to yell," he said. "I'm not going to say anything. I'm just going to listen. Tell me what's going on in your head."
"I'm not okay," she said after a protracted silence. "I'm freaked out by what could have happened. I'm embarrassed it happened in front of everyone. I'm wondering if I should have known better and I just proved to them I know less than nothing about this stuff. I'm mad at you for yelling at me in front of them. I'm also really, really glad you came when you did."
She blinked back traitorous tears and looked away, her fingers gripping the edge of the loading dock. The others had experience in BDSM play, but she remembered the chaos of those first vital seconds. She wasn't sure if any of them would have been level-headed enough to know to do what Des had done. None of the others were riggers.
His hand settled alongside hers. Not covering it, just pressed against it, their smallest fingers aligned with one another.
"I'm glad I did, too."
"I don't know any of this stuff, Des," she said, tracing cracks in the parking lot with her gaze. "That first time with you, you made me feel so safe. I guess it didn't occur to me it could be different, that Pablo wouldn't know what he was doing. Like you said, I was being stupid."
"Hey." When he touched her face this time, she didn't draw away. His expression was serious. "I never said you were stupid, and I never would. You weren't being stupid. I was."
It was then she saw the component of his rage she'd missed--guilt. Her lips parted on a protest, but he held up a hand so she'd let him finish.
"Because it did work so naturally with you, I focused on that and not on your lack of experience. I didn't think about how you'd be exposed to other performers here. Since you're so proactive, I should have realized you might offer to help them in a situation like that, thinking that what happened with us was the way it always goes."
"That's a lot of things to anticipate. If you'd put all that together, you'd be God. No one can anticipate everything. Even a Dom."
"There are eastern philosophies that postulate all of us are God. That the collective unconscious is the true source of Divinity."
She made a face, but she was glad they'd both recovered enough to tease. "How about this? Let's go Dutch on the guilt. I'll take half and you take half, because ultimately we're all responsible for ourselves. Though I didn't care for the way you made your point--patronizing and assholish--you weren't entirely wrong. I should have thought it through."
"And I shouldn't have been so caught up in how well things worked between us last time that I didn't give you a safety lecture afterwards."
"That would have been a buzzkill," she pointed out practically. "Plus I'm not sure I had the brain cells to process anything afterwards."
"Nice ego stroke, but I would have made it really easy. Tarzan breakdown. 'Des great at this. Everyone else sucks. Only let Des do this to you.'"
She elbowed him, then decided to stay leaning against him. Putting his arm around her, he kissed her forehead.
"You scared me, love. Scared the shit out of me. Are you okay, really?"
"Yeah, I really am. Promise. Pablo might be a dumbass, but he wasn't some mean person intending me harm. I think the deal is he's always performed in a club environment, and this is the first time he's really been on stage. He got a little distracted and self-conscious.
"I'm not excusing him," she said as Des's expression became ominous. "I'm just saying it wasn't much different from the tech guys almost braining me with a boom. I've learned to be nimble and duck when needed. But it's hard to duck when you're tied up."
"Yeah." He stroked her hair, held her close with both arms, squeezing her hard. "Don't do that again, all right?"
"I promise to never again let someone tie me to a frame that's going to fall over and make me a theater ghost."
"Smartass. Say the Tarzan thing. Make me happy."
"Des great at this. Everyone else sucks. Only let Des do this to you." She chuckled into his shirt front. "And Des needs shower."
"Yeah." He sniffed himself ruefully. "It was a particularly nasty job today. I was going to do a quick clean up in the back bathroom and change my shirt before I came to find you, but I wanted a quick glimpse of you first. Fortunate timing."
"That's an understatement." She dropped her head back to give him a speculative look. "So, you become a rage monster when you're pissed."
"Pretty much. Might as well put that down on the con
side of things about having a relationship with me."
"I don't know, I better hold off. I don't want that side to outweigh the pros too quick."
"Ouch." He winced. "What else have I done?"
"You've left a gap in my program, for one thing." She held up her phone. "Pablo texted me that he's pulling out, just as Billie predicted. So can you recommend any riggers to me that could come up to speed yesterday? I don't want just anyone. You owe me someone who will absolutely wow my audience. Someone who can compete with Billie for top billing."
"Nobody can compete with Billie."
"So you know him? Her."
"Yeah. Billie's a hell of an interesting Dom. Or Dominatrix. Depending on his or her mood."
"You have the same problem I do."
"Billie's told me never to consider pronouns a problem. She likes being flexible."
"That's the feeling I've gotten from him, too. And no dodging. I want a fabulous rigger."
He lifted a brow. "I think you've already got someone in mind."
"I'm looking at him." She poked him in the chest. "Billie had some footage of the sessions you've done at shibari conferences. He said you let him record it."
"Under the mandate that it was only for his private use. He wanted to learn about rope bondage."
"We privately viewed it together," she assured him. "We're not posting it on the Internet. Unless you turn me down. I'm not above blackmail."
"Julie..." He grimaced and she held up a hand.
"I get why you don't like to do it as a performance. But you're creative with it, you like to explore all the possibilities and, if the energy you conveyed to me one-on-one translates to an audience, I think they'd learn a lot from watching you. And be totally mesmerized while doing so."
"Or be put to sleep, because I get so into it with the sub I forget they exist." He put his bill cap back on, and she tapped the brim, dipping her head to look at him beneath its shade. It gave him a more mysterious look and emphasized the curve of his mouth, the glitter of his gaze under the bill's shadowing. All of which confirmed she was dead on right about this. The audience would be enthralled by her Dom-wizard.
"Madison wants people to see how beautiful the mutual give and take we all crave is, and put it in a BDSM context. Show the overlap, that people who are Doms and subs aren't freaks. That does a hundred times more good than beating people with lectures about alternate sexuality and tolerating diversity."