A little something extra…

A little something extra…

Oh my! What is this? A secret Christmas present for you? What could it be?

I wasn’t planning on doing this originally, but as soon as I realised Ewan wasn’t going to answer questions without a lot of firm encouragement, I had to do it. I hope you are thoroughly surprised 😀

You should know that this isn’t a scene that actually happens in canon, but this is how it would go if it did.

Here we go.

(What if?) Under Duress: An ‘Interview’ with Ewan McKinney

“Y’know,” Ewan said, as waspishly as he could under the circumstances, “when most people run out of ideas, they just get someone socks for Christmas.”

Nate laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. “Oh, baby boy. You’re getting something for Christmas, don’t worry. This is just a stocking stuffer. How’s that?” He tugged the cuff around Ewan’s thigh, slipping a finger under it to check the tension. “Comfy?”

Like he was going for ‘comfort’. Ewan scowled, wriggling around to see how much leeway he was going to get. “Aye,” he said, because it could have been a lot worse, after all. At least nothing itched.

He shouldn’t have thought that. The moment he did, the Itch started up on his temple, a stray hair or something licking light as breath against his skin, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of how small that Itch was, and what potential it had to become an agony.

If only he could lift a hand to scrub it away. But he couldn’t. His hands were cuffed directly to his collar, fists up under his chin, his calves cuffed to his thighs, which were in turn cuffed to either side of the chest harness Nate had so lovingly buckled him into. Knees wide, Ewan was on display, on his back in a jock, his arse dangerously unprotected.

And there was Nate, swinging a heavy strap and messing with his phone.

“Don’t you fucking dare take a picture,” Ewan said, realising as soon as he had that he shouldn’t give Nate ideas.

Nate waggled the phone threateningly, but his grin was merely wicked instead of diabolical. “That wasn’t the plan, but I like the way you think. Okay.” He tapped Ewan’s arse cheek with the strap. “Do you want to know the rules, or would you rather work it out as we go along?”


“Yes or no, last chance.” Nate tapped him again, harder this time. It stung, leaving a pool of heat behind. Nate followed it up with another tap, and another, pattering them across Ewan’s exposed skin. It made it a little hard to focus.

He had to answer. “Yes,” he blurted out. “Tell me!”

Nate hummed, smacking him a little harder like a mark of punctuation. “Smart boy. Okay. I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re going to answer them. If you don’t, you get one of these,” and he waggled the strap, threateningly. “If I think you’re lying, you get two. If you *keep* lying…well, we’ll see.”

“What if I tell the truth?” Ewan demanded, wary of this. It sounded easy enough, but Nate knew him, and how to get under his skin. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Something nice,” Nate said, smiling. “Something you’ll like. Trust me.”

The terrible thing was, Ewan did.

“Let’s start with a softball. Hmm.” Nate consulted his phone. He gave Ewan a few warm up swipes with the strap, hot stingy bliss. “What would your ideal day look like?”

Ewan snorted, wrinkling his brow in a fruitless effort to relieve the Itch. “Wake up at eleven, doomscroll until one, pancakes, nasty sex, more pancakes, even nastier sex. Sleep in. Next?”

Nate laughed, patterning stripes over Ewan’s arse in what was for him a gentle, playful manner. “Really? Because we can do that. We can *so* do that. Except, I want to put in something painful between the second pancakes and the even nastier sex. How’s that work for you?”

Ewan shivered. “Fucking perfect,” he said, because of course he did.

“It’s a date.” Nate beamed at him. “What’s your favourite tea?”

“Walmart teabag in a mug of cold water, microwaved, and enough sugar to stand up a spoon,” Ewan said snarkily. “America’s best.”

Nate snorted. “Lie,” he said.

“It’s not a lie if it’s sarcasm,” Ewan argued, but Nate lifted the strap and Ewan blurted out, “Fine! Earl Grey!”

This got him a few moderate strikes with the strap. “What’s the most annoying thing about me?”

“Pedantry,” Ewan said, not missing a beat.

Nate grinned, and gave him another set of polite whacks. “Okay. What do you hate about me?”

Ewan tensed. Nate paused in his gentle assault on Ewan’s thighs, arching an eyebrow.

“Well? It’s a good question.”

“It’s not,” Ewan protested. “I don’t.”

“You don’t hate anything about me?”

Ewan bit his lip, feeling trapped. He hated lots of things about Nate. Or at least, he loved to hate them. Nate’s hair, Nate’s *face*, Nate’s sadistic fucking smile. How Nate made him confess to things he didn’t want to confess. That Nate got inside him so easily and made him into this dirty, squalling Thing. How much he loved all of it. How much Nate loved to do it to him.

But that wasn’t hate. That was the hate that bordered on love. That was the masochist in Ewan’s soul finding things to hang himself on. The things Ewan really hated about Nate were secret, heart wrenching things that could never be said aloud.

*I’ll never be good enough for you. You’ll never be satisfied with me. One day the money is going to wreck us. One day you’ll choose Jack over me.*

“Pass,” Ewan said, holding Nate’s eye.

Nate nodded, smiling a little. “Okay, baby,” he said gently. “This is going to hurt.”

It took an effort to relax, not to tense, and then Nate’s arm came up, the strap came down, and it *seared* a line across Ewan’s right arse cheek. Christ *almighty*, it *hurt*, Nate hadn’t pulled it even a bit, and the sound that came out of Ewan’s mouth was a gargled plea.

Nate pressed his fingers to the welt, wonderful and terrible, and said, “There you go. Next question.” He rubbed the spot as he examined his phone. “What is one thing you love about yourself?”

Maybe Nate had done it on purpose. This question, normally something Ewan would scoff at, came too soon after the pain from refusing to answer the last. He didn’t want another, definitely didn’t want two for lying. And it wasn’t so bad as the last question, because at least here his confessions were simply humiliating, not devastating.

“I don’t *love* myself,” Ewan said slowly, sure Nate would be able to tell if he lied about this, “but I’m proud of, like…I’m good at code stuff. I’m not a genius, but I’m *good*.” *Tell me I’m good,* he thought, and felt immediately ashamed of it. He wasn’t *Channon*. He didn’t need Nate’s *praise*.

But Nate smiled and stroked his hand up Ewan’s thigh, his eyes gone soft. “Yeah, baby boy. You’re very, very good. Smart. So sharp you cut yourself.”

Maybe it should have felt bad, but Ewan relaxed. That was right. That was what he wanted from Nate. A compliment like a kiss with a fist.

“What’s your most embarrassing indulgence?” Nate asked, still stroking Ewan’s thigh.

Ewan choked back a laugh. Oh. No. He was going to admit it. He was, he could feel himself giving in to this, just putting it out there for Nate to know and judge him for it. “I like using your shower stuff,” he confessed.

It made Nate grin. “Yeah? What stuff?”

“Your hair stuff.”

Nate seemed to find this deeply amusing. “Yeah? You like my bougie conditioner?” He smacked Ewan on the welt, but it was a love tap, barely anything. “Baby, I am so happy to hear that. I’m gonna wash your hair later, and you don’t even get to complain.”

Ewan clenched his teeth, trying to swallow the insult boiling on his tongue. He glared at Nate as hotly as he could, and Nate had the fucking gall to laugh at him. “Okay, okay. Moving on.” He looked at his phone, putting on a mock serious face. “Have you ever considered being in a polycule?”

“What?” Ewan yanked against his cuffs, infuriated. “What the fuck?”

Nate eyed him narrowly. “It’s just a question.”

“Where did you *get* these?”

Nate shrugged. “Not important. Answer the question or face the consequences.”

“Are you asking me if you can *fuck other people*?”

This got him a dismissive noise from Nate and a smack from the strap. “Baby, I already do fuck other people. I mean, with your permission, and it’s only Channon. Who fucks *you* sometimes, don’t forget.” Nate tapped him with the strap, a series of rhythmic whacks, getting slowly harder and sharper. “We’re already in a polycule.”

“I hate that word,” Ewan spat. “I’m not in a fucking poly anything!”

“Emotionally, though, you know you’re kind of dating Channon, right?” Nate said it calmly, as if it wasn’t a big deal, and Ewan had to think about it. The idea wasn’t terrible. Even the idea that Jack would be part of it—an inevitable part of his life forever—wasn’t enough to put him off completely.

Still. “Never have I ever considered being in a bloody polycule with you and Channon and Jack *fucking* Nash,” he said seriously. “Until now.”

Nate seemed to accept this. “Has Jack grown on you, at all?” He smirked, swatting Ewan lazily. “Or are you still feeling *protective* of sweet, innocent Channon?”

“Like mold,” Ewan said, but when Nate gave him a warning look he added, “He’s not a complete bastard. Just a regular bastard.”

“And what’s your favourite thing about Channon?”

Fucking hell. Ewan had to think about it, because he could say, ‘His dick,’ or, ‘Sometimes I have a bully fantasy where he stuffs me in a locker and makes me suck him off behind the sports shed,’ but they weren’t his *favourite* things, and Nate would probably punish him for it.

Luckily, Nate wasn’t in a hurry. He laid a warm carpet of strokes on Ewan’s arse, not enough to really distract him, but enough to remind him not to take too long.

Finally, Ewan said, “Channon could have made different choices and been a much worse person, but he didn’t, and he won’t, and that’s what I like best about him.”

It was as close to the truth as he could get. He didn’t want to examine it too closely.

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your family?”

Ewan shook his head. “Not if I can help it.” He saw Nate’s expression flicker and hastily added, “Not because of you! It’s just…them. And everything. I don’t…” He swallowed hard. “It’s not you.”

Nate seemed to accept this. “Okay. Do you ever picture us getting married?”

Ewan tried to jackknife off the bed, but he was cuffed up into a prawnlike curl and basically couldn’t. “What the fuck! That’s not how you ask that!”

“I’m not asking if you want to,” Nate said smoothly. “Just if you’ve ever imagined it.”

Had Ewan imagined marrying Nathaniel fucking Scott. His rich-as-Croesus sadistic boss, as far out of reach as the moon? Married to Ewan, the thing Nate fucked. The idea was ludicrous. He could barely hold it in his head.  “I’ve never thought about marrying anyone,” he said. “I never thought anyone would have me.”

Nate’s expression softened. He put down the strap and his phone and lifted his hands to Ewan’s jaw. “What about moving in with me? Have you thought about that?”

God, he was so gentle now, it made Ewan’s chest hurt. *Don’t ruin this,* he thought, but he didn’t know who he was thinking it at, Nate or himself.

“Aye,” he said. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?” Nate stroked his cheeks, down his throat to where his collar sat. He ran his fingers over Ewan’s bound hands, gently possessive. “Are you for or against?”

Ewan swallowed. “Maybe,” he said. “One day. Not yet.”

Nate’s fingers found their way under his chin. “One more, then we’re done.” He tilted Ewan’s head up, gazing at him with something like tenderness. “Do you want a permanent collar from me?”

Something in Ewan’s gut lurched. The question was dizzying.

Nate was still talking. “I don’t mean right now. I mean one day. A collar for you that I’ll never take off unless you tell me to. Do you think one day you might want that from me?”

How could he ask that now? Ewan felt trapped, tricked into this by Nate and his stupid game. Nate had put him in this position to ask him this, and Ewan knew he had to tell the truth. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t pass. He had to be honest, give Nate the truth like a gift.

“Aye,” he breathed.

Nate smiled. He knelt on the bed between Ewan’s thighs, leaning into him and pushing him into the mattress. “Yeah, baby boy?” He nuzzled Ewan’s cheek. “You want that?”

“Yes,” Ewan confessed. “I want it. Nate, I want that.”

“I want it too.” Nate’s mouth was hot and wet, and he kissed Ewan like he’d finally gotten something he’d wanted for so long, like Ewan was this delicious thing he couldn’t get enough of. Like he was precious and special, and Nate loved him. When he was done he leaned back to look down at Ewan with fond eyes and a wicked smile. “I think you’ve earned your reward.”

Ewan tensed. “You promised. Something I’ll like. Don’t be nice to me.”

It made Nate laugh. He gripped Ewan’s chin again, hard this time, and kissed him tenderly on the brow. “Don’t worry, baby boy. I’ll be nasty to you first.”

Ewan breathed out, relieved. “Okay.”


“Please,” Ewan begged. “Please be nasty to me.”

Nate’s smile promised terrible, wonderful things. “All right. I will.”

And there we are! I hope you liked it 🙂 Stay safe and take care!

NOTE: “a kiss with a fist” is the title of a song by Florence + The Machine

Feature image: Original Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

Robin Moray is a carbon based life-form from the planet earth, who likes reading, writing, and daydreaming about the day some awesome supernatural or extraterrestrial being suggests they run away together.


  1. Anne Shure says:

    Thank you, Robin! Because of your generosity, this month has been an embarrassment of riches. And to awaken on Christmas Day to this delicious scene that made me tear up…. Like Ewan, I’m not sure I deserve it…but I love it!

  2. Truly enjoyed this. Nate and Ewan are so perfectly suited for one another…and I’ll never be able to deny just how much I love a well-written, good-down-to-the-depths-of-his-soul, unapologetic sadist. Nate is incredible, and Ewan is…one lucky lad.

  3. Daniela says:

    Omg what a wonderful surprise. Thank you so much!
    I’ve been thinking of rereading HBND and ACFHB this is my sign to do it ♥️

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