Cathairsis (Part 6) by Fantasy Weaver

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Hello everyone! I'm finally back to continue this story. As usual, this chapter will not fit into a single part, but are meant to be read as one. Thank you to those who left a comment on last chapter, and thank you to those who simply enjoy reading my work. Shout-out to Zero and their story "An Actor, a Veteran, a Shotgun Wedding", which will play a small role in the future of Cathairsis. Shout-out to Jamie(sstories) as well for continuing to encourage my writing process!

I hope everyone is excited for the continuation of Cathairsis. Happy reading.

Part six of "Cathairsis: A Photographic Anthology". Please read the previous parts for context.

-Fantasy Weaver.


Note

1: Foul language ahead

2: Adult content ahead


XXXXX

Cathairsis: A Photographic Anthology

xox

Picture 2 - Humility for your Master - Part 1

XXXXX


The images on screen scrolled by; the light of his laptop, a bluish tint in his darkened living room. The only other sources of illumination: the incandescent yellow bulb above his oven, warm and mellow, as if afraid to shed any light beyond the kitchen tiles. Outside, the neighbors’ far-too-bright porch light cast cold white beams onto his carpeted floor, bothered Aden from the corner of his eye.

As his irises took in the numerous faces of Lucas, appearing one by one on his screen as he went through each of the takes, Aden, unable to focus, let his mind wander back to how he had left Rah only hours before.

oO0Oo

Aden pulled his hands from his pockets, grinding his teeth behind his lips. "Does he tell you he trusts you?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the photographer regretted them. Rah watched him intensely, eyes peering into his so deeply, Aden was afraid he could see his thoughts.

His soft voice was quiet, but it was anything if not fascinated. "Do you?"

Nothing could have prepared him for the effect those two words had on him.

Rah continued deliberately, "I asked you to tell me if this" he gestured towards the den, "wasn’t working for you. I asked you if you were okay. I made sure you were comfortable. And you said you were fine," He spat the word out as Aden took a step back. "I did my part-"

Aden’s body seized when, unexpectedly, Rah grabbed his left hand in his own right one.

Before he could protest the touch, Rah lifted his hand, palm up, and slapped the consent forms for both himself, and Lucas, in the photographer’s hold.

With a final, shadowy glare, Rah made his point excessively clear:

"Now do yours."

Aden struggled to get a sentence out that didn’t start with any variation on "Listen here you bastard" and pulled his hand - consent forms in tow - out of Rah’s grasp. Honeyed eyes flared behind his furrowed brow, and it took most if not all of his self-control to not just fling the papers in Rah’s stupid handsome face. "I never asked you to make me comfortable, or whatever the hell this is." He took a hissing breath through his nostrils, turning around to grab his bags and tripod, urging himself to calm down.

Behind him, the barber paced his shop, coming to a rest on his rolling stool heavily. He could practically feel the reproachful stare Rah was giving his back. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who asked to start this project on a tamer note."

"Yeah, a lot of good that did," Aden bit back, cursing himself for staying so riled up. Rah was just too good at getting under his skin, and his professionalism be damned, he made certain the man could hear how annoyed he was with him. "How in the world was that tame to you? You- Christ, you pushed Lucas’ dick into the counter until he screamed. You made him look at the camera when he didn’t want to, you cut his hair without-"

"Without his consent?" Rah finished (cut off) with an edge to his voice. "I had his consent Aden; I’ve had it since the moment he passed through the door. He knew damn well he could lose his hair on a whim, and that whim happened to pass today. And again, I cannot stress this enough or put this in any clearer way, Lucas had his safewords. And, to answer your question," The photographer gave the man an inquisitive glare over his shoulder as he finished getting his bags, "Lucas DID tell me he trusts me. When I was doing his fade, I asked him directly and he said he did."

Aden’s hands gripped his straps tight. He averted his gaze elsewhere. Infuriated and humiliated heat prickled the back of his neck under his loose chocolate hair, driving home how much of an idiot he is.

He turned, slowly, teeth gnawing the inside of his cheek. Rah, arms crossed over his bare chest on that stool, didn’t even need to say anything. It was written all over his face, how with that one statement, he had won. He was right. That he was the one who knew what was best or what was alright and not alright to do with Lucas, or with any of his submissives, and Aden, well, he was just an ignorant photographer, wasn’t he?

Silly Aden. Silly, stupid, dumbass of the highest caliber Aden.

He fumed silently. His anger was a fire in the pit of his stomach, burning up his throat, curses and other colorful words begging to come out, like acrid smoke from a chimney.

And yet, no.

He’s not thinking straight.

Cast a blanket over the fire, suffocate it, let it ember and sizzle underneath.

With every bit of neutrality to his voice as he could muster, Aden said, "I have other appointments to go to."

Rah shifted his head ever so slightly to the left, earrings glinting in the light of the shop, and yet they didn’t shine quite as dark as his deep brown eyes did in that moment.

His presence too was suffocating. "Have fun with Lucas," he offered, not certain whether he was genuine or not, and walked purposefully towards the door. He tried to open it, but it jammed.

"It’s locked," Rah intoned dryly from his seat, never once letting his irises leave the photographer’s form.

"Yeah, yeah," Aden muttered to himself, unlocking the door, and hastily making his way outside, away from Cathairsis and its damned owner.

oO0Oo

The interaction ate away at his psyche, robbing him of his concentration. Even then, when his surroundings came back into focus, reminders of the day plagued his vision in those innumerable photographs of Lucas, in various stages of pained, tortured, aroused, or confused. Or a combination of each.

He had gone to his other appointment in a daze, a family photo for fifteen adults; siblings, parents, uncles, aunts and cousins. It was all rather easy, straightforward to the point Aden had fazed out most of it.

Nothing could compare to what he had seen in that dungeon.

He pushed his laptop aside on his work desk in front of him, threading his hands through his messy, still-wet-from-his-shower hair. Fingers joined at his crown, pressing, as though the act might somehow push the memories down, deep down in the dank well of his mind, too far for whatever was living in his head to pull them back out. He sighed hard, honeyed eyes closing briefly.

In front of him, another of Lucas’ pictures displayed itself, one of the least incriminating ones, where Rah was running his scissors around the sides of his short haircut. In the photograph, the stud’s face was set in a calmer sort of resignation, though still, if Aden looked hard enough, he could clearly tell what had been going through his mind.

Fear, certainly.

Lust, somehow.

But trust?

…

Rah had said it, Lucas had said it, Aden had heard it, and still, he could not comprehend how it was present in the image. Not just this one. Every other picture Aden had taken today showed it, in one way or another.

He didn’t need his camera to see it though, as much as he would like to convince himself of that. Lucas had shown he had faith in Rah from the very first moment he had walked into the den. Admitting his embarrassment of the situation to his Master, stripping for him, even with Aden present, allowing him to place the collar around his neck; these were all signs of something intimate and trusting between them.

To think Lucas was the one to have proposed portraits…

His mind was going around in circles, Aden knew. He shook his head where he held it in his left palm, right hand still busy with his mouse, deleting photos that didn’t look good; blurry, out of focus shots from his trembling hands.

"Do you?" Rah’s words echoed in the photographer’s mind.

He barely knows the man. It’s hard to trust someone when you don’t have a clue what they’re really like. What does he know about Rah? He’s a BDSM master, sure, a barber, obviously…what else though? He’s blunt. He likes leather, evidently. Black looks to be his favorite color. His age? Hard to tell. Aden could give him anything between twenty-five and thirty-five, thirty-six, maximum.

He's gay?

‘He could be bi for all you know,’ a snarky voice commented in Aden’s head. He snorted, with only the cactus and the aloe on his desk to hear the derisive noise.

…He’s stupidly good-looking.

With a drawn-out breath, Aden immediately shut that open door, refusing to step in the direction his mind wanted to go into. Damn himself for having a type, and damn Rah for…

Closing his laptop, he decided that the best way to deal with this was to get some rest. Perhaps, refreshed, he could better sort through this mess he had gotten himself into.

XXXXX

Thursday night, two days after the photo session at Cathairsis, Aden had decided he needed some outside perspective on what he had witnessed.

It was odd to have made himself a throw-away account on one of many discussion forums he had looked through regarding BDSM, back when he had been researching what Rah does as a Master. There were a few different forums on which he asked the same inquiry; one of them was a generalized BDSM discussion forum, another was specifically in regards to male hair fetishism (as opposed to what seemed to be the more popular female hair fetish group), and yet another was also a BDSM forum, however this one for gay men.

The question?

It was more than one question really. In fact, Aden had written a vague paragraph or two about his experience. Bar the fact that he didn’t mention any names or locations obviously, he kept it true to what he saw, including the bit about Rah and Lucas discussing their mutual trust, and the fact that they had negotiated their scene - though Aden had not been there to witness it. He wasn’t looking for a correct answer, no, he just wanted people’s opinions on the events.

And many people answered. Most seemed rather unfazed by the description of the session.

Many people answered in much the same way: the two men (here, being Rah and Lucas) both consented to the activities they did, and have done so for a year. They are responsible adults and can decide for themselves if the session went too hard, which it didn’t, supposedly. A lot of people mentioned the fact that Rah made sure to remind his sub of his safeword, how that is the sign of a good dom, among other things. Lucas and his Master had also signed the consent forms Aden had given them, adding yet another layer of security, and yet another reason why whatever he had witnessed was alright by BDSM standards.

One thing did stand out among the different opinions and replies. Aden read through the comments, where a few people mentioned that a safeword had been established between Rah and himself, and that had Aden truly been uncomfortable, he could have used it too, and Rah would have probably stopped the session to make sure he was alright.

Aden scowled. The people answering didn’t know the full details. Rah had never told him he could use "Curtain" for his own needs.

But…even if he hadn’t said it outright, Rah had explained how safewords are to be used beforehand. Perhaps he had thought he hadn’t needed to repeat himself? That Aden could assume he was allowed to use it as well? Even then, as much as it irritated him, the barber had asked him more than once if he was feeling fine, and Aden…he had said he was, but had he really been fine?

This is all so complicated.

Deleting the account, he went back to work.

XXXXX

On the fifteenth of June, just as Aden was locking up his studio for the night, his phone buzzed.

Scowling, he looked down at his screen.

Rah had sent him a text message.

The photographer knew, sooner or later, he would have to confront the reality of what had happened back at Cathairsis. The photo session had ended on such a sour note and neither him nor Rah had acknowledged it yet. But now, with that notification popping up on his cell, Aden had no choice. He had to talk to Rah. He’s still a paying customer after all.

Closing his car door as soon as he was seated, Aden turned his keys in the ignition just enough to roll the windows down, allowing the hot, muggy air to escape his vehicle. Pulling his cell back up, he sat back and opened his messaging app.

Tapping Rah’s contact, he read the new paragraph of text, sent less than five minutes ago.

"Hello again,

I know things didn’t end well last Tuesday. I’m aware of that. And I think part of that was me not preparing you well enough for the session or giving you enough context.

I stand by what I said though. And Lucas extends his thanks to you too for agreeing to do the portraits.

If you still want to do them, that is. If you do, then maybe we need to reiterate how things will work, for your comfort and mine.

Even if you don’t want to continue with the project, please still answer me. And if you do, one of my boys is available Monday morning at 8.

Thank you, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry."

He read the text over and over, not really knowing why.

Leaning his head back against his seat, Aden stared out the window at the street of people, the sun behind the small tree growing on the sidewalk.

Rah had been the bigger man and apologized first. But really, was he in the wrong, at all? Conversely, was Aden in the wrong? Or was the blame for how tense the session had gone on both of them? Rah certainly thought he had been lacking in some capacity, but Aden too felt he had something to apologize for. Though what…

Being a dick when he left? Questioning Rah’s judgement? Hiding his discomfort?

He scowled.

Not trusting Rah?

His hands held his phone tightly. The text message went unanswered.

XXXXX

"I’m an idiot…" Aden muttered to himself for what felt like the hundredth time today.

It was Sunday evening after an uneventful day off for Aden. Eight-thirty at night, with the light of the day just starting to fade off in the distance. The streetlamps outside his car along the street were on, but the much brighter storefront across the pavement drowned out their dim glow.

The Cathairsis name was brighter than any one of those lamps.

He could see that the barbershop was open, from the light spilling through the partially closed blinds in the front window, and that Rah was inside with a patron.

Finding himself unable to form the words necessary to answer Rah’s text, Aden had resorted to doing the adult thing: confronting Rah directly. Hiding behind his phone did nothing if not make him more aware of the gap between them, and every moment their issues went unresolved only enlarged that chasm. He had often thought about calling or texting the barber today, there was no denying or lying about that. But every time he began tapping out a paragraph to apologize, the words on screen never seemed to match what he actually wanted to say or convey.

The problem was…he wasn’t certain he could word it out in person either. But damn it, if he could pride himself on one thing, it’s his ability to mend professional relationships. Though Rah is by far the least "vanilla" client he’s had the joy to deal with, the barber is still a client. His client, and Aden hasn’t been a very welcoming photographer.

If he could put aside his own feelings on the kinky photo sessions, he could still make this work. And judging by Rah’s text, the man was ready to turn the other cheek and move on with the project, despite Aden’s outburst.

He isn’t starving for work by any means, but Aden had to admit, this project was going to net him a good profit if he went through with it to the end. Harder still to admit was the…

Morbid thrill.

It was different to much of what he normally does, even compared to his personal projects.

Moving forward, Aden leaned his head against the back of his hands, where they still clutched the steering wheel beneath them. Honey colored eyes closed of their own volition.

What was he going to say?

…

Inhaling sharply, he pulled himself up and opened the driver’s side door. An apology. That’s what he would offer. He repeated this to himself as he locked his car and headed to the barbershop.

It was odd, entering the shop without his camera or his laptop or any other equipment. Just himself, his dingy white Converse, and his summer clothing. He didn’t exactly put on his best outfit either - coming to Cathairsis had been a last-minute decision before retiring to his living room to watch something. Instead, he had hastily pulled his hair back in its half-bun and driven downtown to put this tension between Rah and himself to rest.

Contrary to his ill-fitting beige and tan ensemble, Rah was dressed impeccably as always in a style only he seemed able to pull off. Form fitting, half-collared black tank top tucked into - a surprise! Something other than black for once: deep, dark red pants. Studded belt. Trademark leather boots, polished to a buffed finish. Large leather band bracelet on his right wrist, and something bigger on his left. A…gauntlet? Something similar anyway.

He pulled himself from staring at Rah, but as he did, and traversed the space to sit on the couch, his eyes caught Rah’s head flicking up in the mirror’s reflection.

The man stared at him momentarily, eyes widening for a second in surprise. He hadn’t notified Rah that he would come see him, so the look wasn’t exactly shocking. Just as soon though, the barber returned his attention to his client.

As he waited on the couch, the photographer became aware of music playing in the shop, louder than what he thought would be socially acceptable in any other place. The source seemed to be a little wireless speaker on one of the shelves. Aden didn’t recognize the hard sound, but then again, Rah didn’t seem like the kind of guy to listen to mainstream pop or whatever played on the radio.

Interestingly, Rah didn’t acknowledge the photographer’s presence in his shop. But as Aden leaned back in the couch, something seemed…off.

The client in the chair was a man which must have been somewhere in his early to mid thirties, with a nearly-finished cut if Rah’s movements with a detailing clipper at his nape was any indicator. It looked like any normal haircut, but Aden could sense something was not as it seemed.

That’s when he spotted it. It was hard to see in the reflection, but there was subtle movement under the cape.

‘What the f***’ were his immediate thoughts. Out in the open? Like this? Rah didn’t tell his client to stop nor did he look disturbed by it. In fact, Rah’s hand, the one without the clipper, held his client’s hair in his grip with the same firm force he had used with Lucas. Eyes closed, the patron looked to be breathing deeply with every pass of the detailer along his hairline.

Click. Rah shut the whirring machine off. A drawn-out sigh escaped his client’s trembling lips, barely heard over the music.

‘S**t.’ Aden turned his face to his lap, trying to give the barber and his client some intimacy…Well, wait now, why would this clearly abnormal haircutting session be taking place in the shop, with the door unlocked and the place open for business? Surely Rah would have taken this man down in his den if he was so inclined to touching himself during a trim, right? Was this one of his subs?

From the corner of his eye, he saw the barber lean towards his client’s ear, and after a moment in which Rah whispered to him, the man in the chair shook his head. With whatever understanding that had passed between them, the pair became silent. Rustling fabric told Aden that Rah had removed the cape, and refused to glance up to confirm whether his client was…decent, so to speak.

Crossing his fingers in his lap, Aden waited while Rah handled his patron and the payment for the cut. It took no more than five minutes before the shop’s door opened and closed decisively, leaving them alone in the building.

The soft thuds of Rah’s boots resonated quietly on the ceramic tiles. Aden let his honeyed irises meet with dark brown.

Rah’s arms were crossed over his chest. The music changed. Soft wind instruments, male voices chanting in a language Aden didn’t understand, violins, guitar. A lot more mellow than what Rah had been listening to before. Stupidly, Aden grappled with what to say to the man as a greeting, and clumsily started with, of all things, "What…what’s that song?"

One black brow raised near-imperceptibly.

A second turned to two, and two to three. Every passing one made Aden more aware of what an absolute dumbass he is.

"Creek Mary’s Blood," the man eventually answered evenly.

The guy was clearly unimpressed with him, Aden thought. In Rah’s place, he would be too.

In those dark eyes, a flicker of unease had them narrowing suspiciously. Rah’s body coiled on itself ever so slightly, tense. "I wasn’t expecting you. You didn’t answer my text."

He was well aware of that. "I know," Aden started, standing from his spot on the couch, noticing the guarded way in which Rah regarded him, just like when he had brought him down into his den during their first meeting. Like the man was expecting him to react terribly. He held his hands in an appeasing motion, "I just wanted to talk about what happened last time. Face to face." At the barber’s continued suspicious stare, he cleared his throat, clarifying, "You said you didn’t want to talk about the project over the phone, so that’s why I came here instead. And, you know, texting about these kinds of things can be long."

As the final words left his mouth, a ghost of a smirk started pulling at Rah’s mouth, and those previously guarded eyes softened. Taken aback, Aden tried to form a new sentence, but before he could, Rah’s amused voice drifted to his ears:

"Careful now, that sounds like you’re trying to make me comfortable."

The humbling words knocked Aden’s pride down a few notches. His plans to mend this gig were suddenly a lot less straightforward than he thought, and the apology that lingered in the back of his mouth now no longer seemed as trivial. It was akin to a large, much too large pill in his clogged throat.

Damn him, he’s doing the exact thing Rah had been trying to do last time. If that wasn’t irony then he didn’t know what was. The universe is laughing at him. "Look," he said, licking his lips, "I realize I don’t know nearly as much as you do about-" He paused, eyes slinking to the closed, locked door at the back of the shop, "About BDSM. Or your partners," he added quickly.

"Clearly."

‘Didn’t have to say it that way,’ a sarcastic voice popped up from the back of the photographer’s mind, and he felt his brows pull together on his face in irritation. "Yes, fine, clearly. Listen," Aden approached Rah then, and tried not to concentrate on the immense height difference between them as he stopped in front of the man, "I’m sorry."

Rah tilted his head, eyes scanning his face for any deceit. "Why?"

There was something familiar in the exchange. Perhaps because it sounded eerily like Rah questioning Lucas. Something else, maybe. Something he had hear before? He brushed it off. "For how I acted. It was unprofessional of me."

"Well," Rah said, leaning his weight against his barber chair, "I think we’re both guilty of that, to some extent."

So, Rah’s own texted apology was genuine then. "You already said what you had to, and I don’t blame you for how you reacted last Tuesday either. It was completely warranted."

"No, it wasn’t."

The harsh tone caught Aden off guard. He met the barber’s gaze with his confused one, "What do you mean? I was an ass; how does that not warrant-"

"You weren’t an ass - well, a little - but," Rah put a finger up to stop Aden from interrupting him, and damn him, Aden bit back his retort, "You were right. I put you in a situation that was way too intense and instead of stopping to bring you back upstairs, I kept going."

The comments from Aden’s internet inquiry sounded exactly like this, and somehow hearing Rah say it made him feel even worse. "It’s not like I said I wasn’t feeling good during the shoot, or I don’t know, used the safeword."

Rah blinked, mouth opening in shock at the words Aden had used. "I was about to say I didn’t exactly tell you that you could use it yourself, but I’m curious now… How did you come to the conclusion that you could say it?"

Heat flooded Aden’s neck, pooled in his abdomen in an odd way. Embarrassed and irked that his treacherous mouth had uttered the words, the photographer thought of how best to go about saying he had poked around online to find some help, you know, without actually admitting to it. "I…came across stuff about safewords while doing research for the project."

Rah looked at him for a moment longer, teeth grinding ever so slightly behind his lips. "I see. Well, I’ll clarify it for you: you are allowed to use it. This isn’t a safeword just for me; it’s one for both of us. And had you known at the time that you could have said it to stop the shoot, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but, f*** me, here we are."

‘I bet a lot of people would like to f*** you’ Aden thought, urging the burning in his neck to go away. "Look Mister Hemlock-"

Rah groaned, his whole head rolling with his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to just call me Rah?"

Aden shifted his weight on his feet, eyes staring at the ceramic tiles, finding Rah’s reaction somewhat funny. "Force of habit. Working in the public, you know? I’m sure you understand." Or maybe he didn’t. If Rah’s interaction with his earlier client said anything, it was that Cathairsis did not have a "normal" clientele. He wanted to ask about that, but now wasn’t the time, he knew. "Anyway," he ruffled the hair at his nape, "It looks like we both did things we’re not proud of."

Rah gave a soft snort. "Did you come here just to tell me that? I assume you won’t be continuing the project with me."

Aden blinked. "Why would you think that?"

This time, Rah was the one left speechless. For a moment, the man searched for his words, left hand twisting the ends of the hair that fell over his shoulder in thought. The stunned expression couldn’t be more at odds with how the barber usually presented himself, and Aden found he could scarcely look away.

"You’re…still on board?"

He’s more amazed at himself for wanting to continue the project than he is that Rah thought he wanted to abandon it. "Yes. I am," he nodded.

For what seemed like ages, Rah simply stared him down. Aden held the gaze, not recognizing what emotion played in those deep brown irises.

From where Aden stood, the man’s features casted shadows in them.

God, he was all high cheekbones and tan skin…

Finally, Rah’s smooth voice broke the spell of silence. "Then I think we need to discuss some changes."

XXXXX

"Creek Mary’s Blood."

Aden wrote those three words down in Google the moment he got home. They stuck with him. Ever since Rah had uttered them, they had stayed lodged in his head for no good reason other than…

Enter. He would see what this was about.

Hm. Three things stuck out in the search results. The first was the song, the very one that had been playing in the shop. The second was the apparent controversy surrounding the song and the apparently bad…Sioux? Lakota? Creek? language that the band had asked a performer to translate a poem into. Something about fake native ancestry. The third group of results was about a book by the same name, written by Dee Brown.

The song seemed to have been inspired by the book, a story about- oh.

That’s…rough.

It made Aden think though. Rah’s looks. His peculiar name.

He shook his head, closing the tab. He’s reading too much into this, or trying to forget the discussion he and Rah had shared regarding how things would function moving forward. His head was just about ready to burst with how tired he was.

Tomorrow morning, he would be photographing Keiji.

Amazingly, he had been able to squeeze the appointment in, however, he had gotten an email from his next appointment after Rah’s that stated they need to cancel last minute. So, he had six hours to fill, much more time than he had been given with Lucas. Though, the barber reassured him that they would need ample time with what he had in store. That statement hadn’t exactly made him any less nervous for what he would be capturing, but Rah had discussed some important points going forward with him:

He wouldn’t call him into the scene like he did with Lucas unless completely necessary.

He wouldn’t ask him if he’s fine during the shoot. If Aden needed to stop, he needed to use their safeword.

Aden could not refuse to take a picture if it is requested by Rah.

Rah would discuss the negotiated scene with him beforehand to properly prepare Aden for what he would see.

That last one, Rah had already done with him tonight. He knew what he was going to witness. Though, like Rah said, sometimes, plans go out the window in the heat of the moment, so inconsistencies are common. Being warned in advance of deviations did ensure he wouldn’t be surprised when Rah and his subs went off-script, but not knowing what would happen during those deviations…

Aden rubbed his face.

He needed some rest.

XXXXX

‘There. Ready to go.’ Aden gave himself one last look in his closet mirror, scanning his reflection for any last adjustments to be made to his person before leaving for the photo session.

He had decided to forego shaving his face. He probably would’ve had the time to do so, if only he hadn’t woken up about twenty minutes ago. Elusive sleep had caused him to snooze his alarm more than once this morning. His hasty decision to accept the 8 a.m. rendezvous with Rah and his sub no doubt had something to do with that, but alas, nothing could be done about it now. He would just have to contend himself with his ruffled appearance and slight bed-head.

Peeling his eyes away from his maroon short-sleeved button-up, Aden scanned his dresser for his usual accessories. He found them easily, where he always lay them; one was a large silver ring, a gift given to him by his late grandfather before his passing. His grandpa had been an absolutely gigantic man compared to him, even in his old age, so his wedding band only ever fit Aden’s thumb, and he wore it nearly every day. He slipped it on his left thumb now.

His only other piece of jewelry was rather bland beside the glinting silver ring, but part of him could not bear to leave it behind.

It was a thin, faux-leather bracelet (or necklace, if used as such). He wound the thing three times around his wrist, its singular metallic charm dangling from it underneath. Upon the circular surface was an etching of a tree.

He remembers his youngest sister, Amelia, excitedly giving it to him on his birthday five years ago. He recalled how she had saved up some of her allowance money to get him something, having seen their other siblings do the same on everyone else’s birthdays. He had been twenty-two at the time. She had been eight.

He gazed down at his wrist, the metal charm glinting in the light from his window.

That’s right. His birthday is a little over a month away.

As it often did, the thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth, and an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

The feeling remained as he made the drive over to Cathairsis. He didn’t know why exactly, but he never enjoyed celebrating his birthday. Part of him wondered if it was just that his family always insisted on doing a whole damn reunion any time one of the members had an important event, but…That feeling, of being forced to sit through a family function for hours on end, he had with other stuff too. Not just his birthday.

This sinking feeling, he never could quite place. It’s haunted him for as far back as he could remember.

If he was lucky, he’d be done doing Rah’s project by the time his birthday rolled around. The last thing he needed was two stressful situations happening at the same time. Though between a potential family reunion or a session in the den…

Aden would rather be in Cathairsis.

Should that thought have worried him in some way? He didn’t think it should be cause for alarm to think that way. After all, he had always preferred working over sitting down with either his mother or father and a handful of his siblings. Work was predictable, work was where he was in control of the scene. It should be no cause for concern that he thought of this project in the same way.

Right?

Deciding it was too early to be having these sorts of mental gymnastics, Aden focused on the road ahead.

A familiar sight greeted him in the muggy morning air: Cathairsis, with its curtains drawn on the window, and the sign on the inside flipped to it’s "closed" side. As he knocked on the entrance door and waited to be let in, the photographer wondered what sort of sight would greet him once he was inside. Would Rah be wearing his leather harness thing again? The leather coat? What of those pants, the ones he wore last time with Lucas? He still couldn’t wrap his mind around what made them seem so odd.

His musings came to an end. Rah unlocked the door for him and beckoned him inside.

"Good morning. Slept well?" Aden automatically greeted, putting up his most neutral of professional facades as he closed the door behind him. He doubled his efforts to keep it up, even when his damn eyes couldn’t keep themselves from wandering his companion’s form.

A deviation from his usual style of heavy leather clothing, today Rah had chosen a tamer outfit, consisting of a thin white tee, on top of which he wore a loose, undone short-sleeved black button up. Ripped black jeans enveloped his long legs, which for the first time, were free of those big boots, allowing the sinew of his calves to be seen through the denim. Instead, he wore a pair of polished, pointed red dress shoes. In his left earlobe, among the usual suspects of silver and black jewelry was a colorful blue, green and black earing, with a hint of warm red. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be made of a feather and some soft material.

"Better than you did, I would think," Rah finally answered him, in his usual blunt way.

Suddenly aware of his less-than-polished appearance, and noticing the skin-tight braid that hugged the side of the shaved part of Rah’s head, Aden shrugged his shoulder, camera bag digging into his skin. "I’m fine. Just missed my alarm." The lie slid easily between his lips, and just as easily, doubt settled within those deep brown eyes.

As Rah began to turn around dismissively, Aden caught sight of yet another new piece of the barber’s outfit: a beaded necklace, similar to the earring he had worn on his second visit to the shop.

More and more he felt he wanted to ask about the origin of the pieces of jewelry, the tattoos, even Rah’s name, but that would be probing into this man’s personal life. And if there’s one thing he’s trying to avoid as much as he can, considering the nature of this project, it’s getting to know his subjects too well.

Including Rah.

The man in question was now at the opposite end of the shop, tilting his head back over his shoulder on an inquiring, "Are you coming? Keiji’s already in the den."

Nodding mutely, he braced himself for the events to come.

Contrary to their last session, Rah was a lot quieter. Having already discussed what was about to transpire, Aden didn’t find this surprising. And though both had apologized for their recent behavior, there was still a certain chill hanging in the air between them. The business aspect of their relationship may have been rebuilt, but there was something significantly still missing between Rah and himself.

He hated to admit it but…there was distinct lack of trust.

So lost in thought was he that he never noticed that they had arrived in the red-lit den. It was only when he nearly bumped into Rah’s back that he slapped himself back to reality, eyes scanning the familiar space for the latest subject of the photography session.

Right hand clasping his bag’s sash more tightly, Aden watched as Rah advanced towards the young man standing by the couches.

As per another of his requests, Rah introduced his boy in a more casual setting, gesturing between his boy and the photographer. "Aden, this is Keiji. Keiji, this is Aden Verity."

Bowing slightly at his midriff, Keiji said, in a heavy Japanese accent, "Thank you for coming, Verity-San."

Respectful and polite. Rah certainly had a type. The photographer took in the other’s appearance unhurriedly, finding that he was quite easy on the eyes. Not his type, Aden admitted, but he could see why the barber kept this one for himself.

Dark almond-shaped eyes in an androgynous face, lightly tanned skin that was free of any blemishes, slim physique… He wouldn’t call Keiji handsome or rugged in any sense of the word, but beautiful? That he was. His dark hair was styled quite impeccably in a short-back-and-sides with a longer top, cut with many feathery layers that curtained his face on either side. Quite a bit shorter than what Lucas had come in with, and much, much shorter than Rah’s long locks - if you didn’t count the shaved side.

Huh.

Honeyed eyes narrowed subtly.

Rah’s side shave was less smooth than usual.

He pulled himself from staring, eyes firmly stuck to Keiji’s face. "Please, just call me Aden."

Keiji gave his Master a quick questioning glance, seemingly shocked that Aden would ask him that. Rah nodded, patting his boy’s shoulder gently. "He said it’s fine. Go on."

"Ah, eto…" Keiji turned back to the photographer, bowing again, "My apologies, Aden-San."

Aden himself wasn’t quite sure what to make of the interaction until Rah explained, "Keiji’s still a bit new to the formalities here, so forgive him. And boy," he told his submissive with a serious note, "Don’t be scared of asking for clarifications. I know English can be hard, so tell me if you need me to repeat something. Same for Aden, got it?"

So, Keiji was probably not from the region then. He tried to recall the information Rah had shared about this boy, but he had very little of it. Keiji is a model. Or is trying to be, anyway. He could agree with the barber that his sub had the looks for it. But he’s no modelling agency, so what did his opinions mean to a panel of executives versed in the latest trends?

Something caught his eye then.

On Keiji’s neck, well, around it really, was a collar. A different one, far different to what Lucas had worn. Red rope, with a flat knot resting right beneath his Adam’s apple.

Rah had already collared him then.

"Aden."

"Hm?"

Rah jerked his chin in the direction of the barbering station, to the stool where Aden had sat last time. "You can make yourself comfortable. I’m going to start over here with Keiji and we’ll come join you in a bit. Do you have the consent form?"

"Uh, yeah, in here actually," he patted his laptop bag, pretending he hadn’t just been staring at Keiji’s collar. "Let me take it out."

"Excellent." Rah turned to his boy, who still stood patiently by the couches, hands draped one over the other in front of him. Aden glanced at them from where he now placed his bag near the stool. "Boy, I want you to give Aden as much respect as you would give me for the duration of the session, but you will not be speaking to him unless completely necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

"Hai, Danna-Sama."

Danna-Sama? Well, that was a new one to Aden, he thought to himself, with a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. He got the consent form out, walking back to the two other men and handing the paper - and a pen this time - to Rah. "Here."

"Thank you." The barber gave him an even look when he didn’t move away. "Sit for now."

His brows pulled together. "Sure…" God, he hated when he did that. Rah was slipping into his Master mindset and it showed. No longer suggesting things, the man was demanding them, even of Aden.

‘It’s your own fault for listening to him’ Aden’s sarcastic inner voice taunted from the corner of his mind, and all he wanted to do was to tell it to shut up.

Despite his inner battle, the photographer sat himself on the stool, his closest companions the lights, his tripod, and that devilish barber chair, the latter of which he did his best to try and ignore until Rah and his boy were ready for pictures. Retrieving his camera from its bag, Aden began to assemble its components together while he listened - and watched - the two other men by the couches.

A silent exchange spurred the two men into quiet action. Rah, leisurely walking past his sub, placed the form on the table, and seated himself comfortably in the red couch, his tall form sinking into the cushions heavily. Long tattooed arms draped themselves over the back of the couch as he rested one foot over his left knee. Keiji stood still where Rah had left him.

Between screwing his lens onto his camera, Aden caught sight of the barber lifting his right hand.

Snap.

Keiji jumped to action.

From his stool, Aden blinked a couple of times, eyes following Keiji’s slightly breathless movements in disbelief. Did Rah just-

Did he snap his fingers at Keiji?

The young man had responded like a dog being called by its Master. However, the events that now unfolded before the photographer’s eyes were less like a mutt and their owner. Keiji moved upstairs quickly, and just as briskly came back into the den, holding a tray in his hands. Swiftly, yet with grace that Aden would not have been able to match, the man kneeled by the low coffee table in front of his Master, deposited his tray and began serving tea.

A kettle, a cup and a small bowl resided on the tray, and before he even poured the contents of the kettle out, the boy, still on his knees, took the bowl, shuffled towards Rah and presented it to him.

"I have selected a Hōjicha for Danna-Sama today," Keiji stated as Rah took the receptacle from his boy and brought it up to his nose. "It has uh, toasty flavor. Hōjicha is a green tea that has been ah," he searched his words, eyes closing in concentration, "Roasted! But it is not bitter."

Rah showed little to no emotion during the explanation, but he did crack a smile when Keiji successfully described the method by which the tea was made. ‘Not so heartless after all’ Aden couldn’t help but think.

The barber gave the bowl back, nodding once.

Without a word, Keiji took the kettle and poured a cup of steaming tea for Rah, movements delicate and deliberate, and never once did he stand up from his position. Holding the cup out, he presented it to his master with a quiet, "Hai, dōzo."

As Aden kept staring at the two men, he finally realized what the exchange made him think of.

Keiji was acting like a servant.

Rah sipped his tea, and by now, Aden had forgotten about the camera in his hands. The barber took his time tasting the infusion, inhaling the scent, taking another sip, mulling over whether or not it pleased him…all while his sub waited patiently at his side, on his knees, head bowed, eyes averted to his lap. It must have been to Rah’s standards, for he made an approving hum, and draped his left hand over his boy’s head, fingers playing with the black strands as he continued to enjoy his drink in silence.

Ripping his eyes from the scene, Aden forced himself to focus on assembling his setup. But as he placed his camera on his tripod, he couldn’t help but wonder why someone would want to subject themselves to another’s will like this.

It was worlds different to how Rah had treated Lucas, for sure, but the humiliation may as well be just as apparent.

"Danna-Sama?"

While the photographer readjusted his camera settings, his ears perked up.

"What is it, boy?"

"Would Danna-Sama like me to serve our guest?"

Aden flipped his head around immediately, cursing his impulsive reaction when his honeyed irises met with guarded brown. Rah held his gaze for a second before breaking eye-contact, voice soft as he said, "No. He’s here to work, not to lounge. Understood?"

"Hai, Danna-Sama."

"Good." The barber gave Aden a small, barely-there smile, an apologetic look in his eyes. Clearly, the discussion about bringing Aden into the scene would need to happen with the submissives as well. And though it annoyed him, at least Rah had been gracious in his handling of the situation.

Maybe the fact that it came from one of his boys and not from the man himself helped, but he didn’t want to think about that.

While Rah drank, he told Keiji to read and sign the consent form on the table, allowing the young man a moment to read the papers, no doubt giving him the time to understand it fully before committing. There were one or two moments where Keiji pointed to a section of the form with a questioning look at his Master, before Rah would silently explain what it meant. After a few minutes, Keiji had signed his name.

A clatter resounded in the quiet den. Ceramic teacup on wood. "Alright," Rah sighed as he sat back in his couch, hand removing itself from his boys’ head. "You and I also have some work to do, don’t we, Keiji-Kun?" The young man nodded, and Aden sat back on the stool, having nothing else to do but to wait, and nervously watch what he knew was about to happen. With a subtle, sultry expression, Rah tilted his head to the right. "Strip for your Master, nice and slow."

A shiver wracked that lithe body kneeling at the barber’s feet, but unlike Lucas, Keiji didn’t protest or look nervous. Another big difference Aden noticed as he let himself observe, was how the young man never dared to look up at Rah. Lucas had always been gazing inside his Master’s eyes, unless overwhelmed or told to avert his own, yet here Keiji kept staring at the floor or anywhere that was far away from Rah’s irises. Did this somehow play into this servitude dynamic that was apparent between them?

Nevertheless, Keiji stood up with an approving nod from the barber and began the slow process of removing his clothes. He started with his black dress shirt, taking his time to release every button.

At last, Rah cracked one of those true, lust-filled smiles. "Good boy. Turn around for me so I can see all of you," he purred with a twirling gesture of his hand.

His sub obliged, turning around, until his back faced Rah, and by that point he had pulled his shirt away from his shoulders, exposing the smooth expanse of his upper back for his Master’s appreciative gaze. Rah ate up the sight with heavy-lidded eyes, a predatory expression calling his face home.

Rah’s words to Aden rang in the photographer’s head: ‘Keiji will strip for me first.’ That’s what the man had told him yesterday. And so far, apart from the tea service, things were playing out as planned.

The shirt landed on the floor. Keiji was already barefoot, so he went immediately to work on the belt around his black slacks. Funnily enough, the clothing Keiji wore seemed more appropriate to working than to modeling, or casual wear. Aden spied, from the crumpled button up on the ground, what looked to be an embroidery on the breast pocket, but as far as he was, it was impossible to make out the writing.

Metal against the floor; the young man’s belt came off, and now his hands worked the button and fly of his pants, hips swaying for Rah, movements unrushed.

"You may keep your underwear," Rah expressed, eyes raking up and down his boy’s physique, "but give it a rub when you’re done undressing, would you?"

Breathlessly, Keiji answered quietly, "Hai."

A rustle of fabric, hands sliding down taut thighs, pushing, agonizingly slow. Agonizing, because Aden wished this whole ordeal would come to an end.

Finally! Keiji stepped out of his pants where they pooled near his bare feet, arms hugging his form, hands gently gliding over his ribs, ghosting over his chest, body pushing out as though to show off to Rah. Approval glinted in those dark eyes at this, and Keiji, no doubt intending to please his Master more, continued posing, showing off his minimal musculature and thin frame. And, in compliance with Rah’s order, the young man snaked his hands down his front; fingers circled the bulge of his cock hidden behind a pair of black cotton bikini briefs, rubbing it firmly.

Rah must have enjoyed the show, because he made a sound in the back of his throat that sent shivers down even Aden’s spine:

A low, hungry growl.

Aden pursed his lips and inhaled a cleansing breath. He wanted to scream at the pair to just get on with it so he could take the damn photographs and leave. Something about being in the den with Rah and his subs was clearly messing with his head. Last time too, with Lucas, he had caught himself getting agitated at what Rah would do or say, and the disconcerting thought did nothing if not agitate him more.

He's no prude, and certainly not ignorant to what Rah made him feel, but the fact was, Rah is a client. And even if he wasn’t, Aden didn’t think anything would lead either man to being "cozy" towards one another. He would leave that part up to the barber’s multiple submissives. In any other circumstance, they would probably hate each other.

The way last session ended was evidence enough for him to conclude that.

"Look at you…bared to the world. For whom?" Rah asked, acting intrigued.

Keiji closed his eyes, a light flush to his cheeks and ears. "For my Danna-Sama."

A quiet hum. "And who is your Danna-Sama, dear boy?"

He was much less demeaning than with Lucas, Aden thought, as Keiji responded, "You are."

The barber’s brow rose, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I am what?"

"You are my Danna-Sama," Keiji said, biting his lips as he did.

"That’s right." After a moment more of gazing at his boy and making him squirm under his heavy stare, Rah rubbed his chin deep in thought. "What are we to do with such a beautiful boy, I wonder…"

The young man blushed further at the words "beautiful boy", and seemed to retract inside his body, but didn’t say anything, perhaps knowing this was a rhetorical question.

Aden startled a bit when Rah stood fluidly, though Keiji didn’t flinch even a bit at the sudden movement. Perhaps being more used to Rah’s demeanor made one less jumpy around him…

The man walked around his sub, examining him with critical eyes. "Lift your arms."

As Keiji complied with the demand, the photographer observed Rah’s own moves. Unashamedly, he lifted his hands to the boy’s body, prodding, tapping, palms gliding against fair skin, stretching, moving him around to his wishes like a rich buyer examines a slave before purchase.

"Arms behind your head. Open your legs, boy."

At this point Rah stood in front of Keiji, and as soon as the young man had spread his feet apart on the floor and placed his hands at the back of his head, his much taller Master invaded his space, eyes staring him down the ridge of his nose.

In a swift move, Rah tugged his boy’s underwear forward.

‘Look away, look away, look away-’ Aden repeated to himself as he huffed an agitated sigh. For heaven’s sake, when would this get easier?

Rah for his part was looking down into his sub’s briefs, cocking a brow at what he saw. "Already hard? That certainly didn’t take much. We haven’t even started, Keiji-Kun."

"Kuso…" came the soft exclamation.

Aden heard Rah letting the underwear’s elastic snap back into place. Footsteps resounded in the den, and now that the photographer could lift his head to the scene again, he saw Rah heading for the chest of ropes.

"We’re going to try something new on you today, boy, in more ways than one. But for now," the barber opened the chest, hands rummaging around inside, "let’s start with some ropework. You’re already familiar with that."

"A new karada, Danna-Sama?"

The word was new to Aden, though Rah seemed to comprehend the question with little difficulty. "Yes. We’re going to try a new technique I’ve been practicing on you- hm, blue or red?"

Kneeling by the chest, the barber was completely focused on choosing bundles of ropes, and Aden watched him curiously. He would get up and take the tied coils over to his boy, place them against his skin and examine him. Matching colors? He did this with the aforementioned blue and red ropes, but a dissatisfied "tsk" ensured the ropes went back in their resting place. He did this a few times, coming back with different combinations of color; there must have been an entire rainbow to choose from within the wooden box, as Rah made at least five tests.

Holding two new colors against Keiji now, the man’s eyes glinted with approval. "What do you think about purple and silver, boy?"

A trick question? It must have been, because Keiji chose the safe route. "If it is to Danna-Sama’s liking, then…ah, I have no say."

A smile; the right answer. "You’re a smart boy, aren’t you, Keiji-Kun?" The barber ruffled his sub’s hair, and leaned in for a quick peck on his temple. "Put your arms down. This is going to take a few minutes."

More time for Aden to spend wondering why he’s still here. Wonderful. The universe loves to torture him.

Rah put his ropes down on the coffee table and made his way towards Aden, who did his best to look busy with his phone. From a drawer in the barbering station, Rah pulled out a pair of scissors, though nothing like his hairstyling tools. These were…they almost looked like bandage scissors; the kind one would find in a first aid kit. Angled, with a protruding bit on one blade.

When Rah glanced his way, he made sure to draw his eyes back to his screen.

Before he went back to his boy, Rah whispered to him, "If you want some coffee or something else to drink, you can go in the lounge upstairs, I have some stuff you can help yourself to in the mini-fridge." Gesturing to his boy, he added, "This may take a while, so don’t feel pressured to stay down here."

Aden wasn’t told twice. Any excuse would suffice to get out of the den’s stifling atmosphere. Nodding to Rah, they both went their separate ways; Rah to tie his boy, and Aden to some sweet f***ing relief.

XXXXX

Continued in part seven.

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