All the Gear, No Idea (I Blame Bret)

“Sir?”

Bill McCormack glanced up from his boot, his lace still only half-tied. A submissive stood in front of him— young, cute and, if McCormack’s past experience of this particular boy was anything to go by, no doubt plotting something that would see him turned over his master’s knee before the end of the night.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with any of your nonsense, Bret,” McCormack warned, turning his attention back to his boot. Bracing the sole against the low bench running along the changing room in his favorite leather club, he tugged the laces, molding the boot more tightly around his calf.

“I’m just the messenger, sir!” Bret protested.

McCormack calmly finished tying a double knot before glancing up again. Bret looked as innocent as hell. That was the problem. Someone could find the little sod standing over a dead body, blood-stained knife in hand and he’d still blink those big blue eyes at them and look more angelic than any man with his degree of experience in leather had any right to appear.

“Spit it out then,” McCormack ordered. “What’s the message?”

“A new submissive has joined the club. My master believes he has potential, but he doesn’t have time to assess him properly himself. He asks that you take him in hand for the night, show him what submission really means, and find out if he is worth pursuing further,” Bret recited.

“And it is your master who’s asking me?” McCormack checked, folding his arms across his chest and making the most of his height advantage as he peered down at the silly little twink.

“Yes, sir.” “And where’s Jasper now?” McCormack asked. “He had to leave to pick up Ricky and Mr. Bowen

from the airport, otherwise I’m sure he’d have asked you himself, sir,” Bret said, all earnestness and proper submissive posture.

McCormack’s eyes narrowed. Bret wasn’t known for his love of formality. As McCormack studied him, the submissive shuffled his feet on the changing room’s well- scrubbed tile floor.

It almost looked as if Bret was taking his assigned task seriously—as if he had reason to believe that this new submissive was important to Jasper in some way. McCormack frowned. He had thought that Jasper was a one-sub man, but maybe...

“Sir?” Bret asked.

Taking a length of silver chain from his locker, McCormack slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans, just as he did every time he visited the club. Then, turning away from the locker, he strode confidently toward the door leading out into the club. “Come on. Point him out to me.”

Bret was hot on his heels as McCormack stepped into the club’s main bar-room and ran an assessing eye over the men already in attendance.

It was Valentine’s night. The usual crowd was there, along with those who had been around the scene for years but who only turned out on special occasions. A couple of obviously clueless wannabes were lurking around the edges of the room, keeping their backs to the walls and generally looking petrified. No one stood out as someone who would catch Jasper’s attention.

If he was taking on a second submissive, it was unlikely Jasper would want a boy who was Bret’s twin. But, a man’s type was his type, and Jasper did like them pretty...

McCormack was just about to order Bret to indicate the right man when the crowd shifted. A path cleared and he finally saw him. McCormack blinked, barely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

“All the gear, no idea.” He wasn’t even aware he’d muttered the words out loud until Bret sniggered.