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Summary
No one ever told you how hard it was to be sexy during a Washington winter, especially not Fifty Shades of Grey, which Lance often felt like the star of. And, all right, in all fairness, Keith wasn’t Christian Grey levels of wealthy, and he didn’t have any secret sex rooms, and Lance was not with him because he’d signed his ass over to a repressed BDSM god.
Don’t get Lance wrong. Keith was definitely a repressed rich boy. It was just that he was Mr. Grey’s inverse: the type of repressed rich boy you had to beg to spank you and even then there was no telling if he’d have to leave the room afterwards because he felt so torn up with guilt at having to hurt you. Which he didn’t. Or, well, he did, but Lance liked it. Enough to ask for it, anyway.
And was that honestly so crazy?