Work Text:
At the mention of a custom made bedframe, Malcolm instantly cut his mother off, not willing to get into a conversation he knew could take hours.
He did have breakfast with her the next morning, though.
“You didn’t have these night terrors back in college.”
Malcolm froze, cup of coffee halfway to his lips.
“Must be the locale, the news,” his mother continued, “stirring things up.”
Malcolm allowed the tension to leave his shoulders and nodded, sipping his coffee.
“Must be,” he agreed.
There was no way he’d allow his mother to know about what went on during his college years, things she definitely didn’t know about, or he never would have heard the end of it. Things that would have led to some very embarrassing conversations.
It was true; Malcolm didn’t have night terrors when he was in college. And yes, part of it was due to the locale. Not being in New York City certainly helped. But there had been other things that had helped keep the night terrors at bay.
Beautiful handmade bedframes that kept him restrained and begging. Silk ties to obscure his vision. Sometimes a gag (only when he was feeling particularly brave). Light touches, manicured nails or rough calloused hands. Voices soft like honey or rough like bourbon, coaxing him into absolute submission.
Submission. Utter surrender.
The one thing guaranteed to give Malcolm peace, if only for a few hours.
He took out his phone and searched through his old contacts.
Maybe one of his old partners had moved to the city.