gunsforhire | LOG: A Matter of Trust

Omega glares at the door like it's personally offended him. The idea is stupid, he feels stupid for even being here. But he'd like to see that other book.

And he owes Florida two brothers. That's a hell of a debt.

So, he knocks twice on the door and holds Florida's book in front of him like a shield. If nothing else, he's at least wearing real pants.

Florida rolls off of the bed and to his feet, moving to open the door. He smiles at Omega, and for a moment he can see the similarity of his eyes to Tex's. Then he stands aside.

"Come in. Thank you for returning my book."

"You're welcome," Omega says, holding it out. "It was very interesting."

He shifts his weight, nervous and feeling more than a little silly. Sigma thought just the book was gross.

Then again, Sigma let York stick his tongue in his mouth, so he had no room to talk.

"Come in and sit down," Florida directs, keeping his voice low and soothing. "This won't even take five minutes, and then you can leave with the other book, alright?"

"Alright," Omega echoes, sitting in Florida's chair. Why is Florida talking like Omega is afraid? Should he be afraid?

Florida closes the door and moves to take the book. He carefully sets it aside and then moves to his closet, where he takes out a relatively short length of rope. Then he returns to Omega. He moves the book closer to Omega and opens it to a remembered page about simple hand bindings. Then he sits down in front of Omega on the floor and offers him the rope.

"The thing about being Maine's recruit? Even if it isn't official that makes you one of us for the time being. And being one of us means absolute protection. We look out for each other. We protect each other. We're a team, and a team needs trust. So I trust you to do this."

Oh, when Florida puts it like that, it makes sense. If Florida's going to trust him on a job, he should be able to trust him with this.

Omega takes the rope. "Yeah, sure, is there a particular one I should be using or..?" He wraps one end around his own hand, keeping the extra out of the way.

"There, in the book," Florida looks pointedly at said book, his presented hands not moving an inch. "You can do this. Just check the tightness to make sure it's not cutting into my skin when I'm not moving. Don't want to cut off my blood flow, but I trust that you won't."

Clearly this guy needs this. Given what he's heard of Omega's last encounter with Texas, Florida has to believe he needs some kind of outlet. Some power in his life. Maybe this will help.

Omega nods and looks at the book. He measures out a length of rope and winds it around Florida's wrists like the diagram shows. The diagram is simple enough, and he's careful to make sure he can fit his finger under the rope. If it's safe enough for baby necks, it's good enough for adult arms.

He doesn't say anything until he's done and the rope are pulled snug. "Like this?" he asks, unsure if he's done it right.

"Yeah," Florida agrees. He kept silent and still for the process, eyes closed as he tried to keep calm. He's a good man. Omega won't betray him or his trust. If only because he has to have heard Florida is a very dangerous man.

His eyes open and he looks at the rope around his wrists, tests the binding. It's a bit loose, and there are places where the pattern isn't quite right, but he smiles up at Omega anyway. "Very, very good."

Maybe he could knock on Tex's door later. Maybe she'll calm down, since this guy doesn't seem interested in it beyond the art. "Now... how did it feel to do this? How does it feel to know I trust you with this?"

Mostly because even bound like this he is certain he can kill Omega, no problem. But still, let's play up the illusion.

Omega almost smiles at the praise, but scowls at the questions. He doesn't do feelings. "When Price first left, there were five kids in the house and I had to feed all of them, keep the lights on for all of them. And then the twins came, and now there were two more, two that I had to control what they ate and when they slept. And none of them had a choice in trusting me."

He leans forward, taps the rope. "I can undo this, and you'll be fine. I can't stop being responsible for them."

Omega is no stranger to responsibility, and all this feels like is more of the same, another person asking him to pretend he knows what he's doing. Except it's a game to Florida. He knows Omega's making it up as he goes.

"I see," Florida answers quietly, looking up at Omega. "And it doesn't matter that I made the choice to trust you?"

He holds his arms back out to Omega to have them untied. "Let's try something else. Let me take that responsibility from your hands for just a few minutes. Will you allow me to show you what it's like to put all the responsibility into someone elses' hands? To trust someone else to take care of you?"

Omega doesn't want to think about that too hard. "Just means you're a fool," he mutters, unwrapping the rope and coiling it neatly.

"Don't I do that every time I go out with Maine?" he asks, handing the coil back.

It's different, he supposes. Maine doesn't exactly hold a gun to his head or tie him up.

"It's not the same," Florida answers, reaching up to stroke Omega's hair. "Give me your wrists."

He takes the rope and runs it through his hands to make sure it's smooth. "I'm not a fool. You don't run as an assassin for as long as I have if you're a fool. Here, sit on the bed. I can do this infront of you or behind you if you want."

Omega wonders why Florida is touching his hair even as he leans into it.

"In front," he says as he moves to the bed, holding out his wrists. He's not going to let just any assassin behind him, even one who he owes two safe brothers.

He shouldn't be doing this at all. He should at least be nervous about it. But he's not. If this is what needs to happen to be accepted on the team, well. It's not so bad.

"Relax," Florida coos to him, taking Omega's wrists in his hands to get a feel for then. After that he starts with the rope, slowly winding it around Omega in increasingly complicated patterns that end up stopping almost at Omega's elbows.

He keeps going until it's done, a complexity of carefully prepared dark blue rope against Omega's skin.

"You look beautiful like this," Florida grins. "So strong, so fiery, and willing."

He pats the binding. "I think you'd look better in a different color, though."

Omega holds still while Florida works, hardly daring to breathe. He waits for the panic to come...but it never does, not even when he tries to tug at the ropes and can't.

It's a nice pattern, and he almost asks for a picture. He doesn't recognize it from the book, but he likes it.

Then he hears what Florida says, and it's just. Not right, though he couldn't say why. "I thought the point was the act," he says. "Trusting the team."

"Really?" Florida asks, smiling softly. "No. I'm saying that being on the same team means trust has to be there."

Shame. This man wasn't getting it. With a sigh he reaches for the end, working the final knot out. "Let's get you undone and out of here with those books."

Oh well. Too much to hope for two people to entertain.

Omega scowls. Wasn't that the answer Florida wanted? "Then what is the point? Because you said that was it. To choose who you trust. Not to gamble because it makes a pretty picture."

He wonders what color Florida thought he'd look better in, but there's no way he's going to ask. Not when Florida's patting him on the head and sending him away like a child. What was the point, anyway?

"The point, Omega, is giving over everything to another person, just for a little while. Letting them shoulder your burdens and be the strength you depend on for a time. It's about letting yourself be vulnerable in a controlled fashion. Because you know what?"

He smiles as he slowly unwinds the rope from Omega's arms. "You know who has the real power when someone is bound? It's not the dom. No, it's the sub. Every last bit of the dom's attention is focused on his sub. On making sure they are comfortable, happy, safe, secure. You become the center of his world and the only thing you need to do is let them worry about everything."

Then the rope is done, he coils it, and he smiles. "You chose to trust me, and I thank you for that. Now trust yourself to know what you want. Don't be ashamed that you are interested in this. No one gets to judge you. Understood?"

"Of all the things I've wanted to try, this isn't even in the top ten for getting judged on," Omega says before his brain can fully catch up with his mouth.

It sounds...Omega can hardly imagine it. To be able to depend on someone else, to be able to admit it's not okay. Or to try to make someone happy, to be able to get it right. That doesn't happen. People either discount him as nothing, or expect him to know everything, there's no in-between.

"But, that's what I just said. The point is the act. Trusting the team member. That's literally what just happened." No matter what Florida claims. "There wasn't...I didn't..." There is no way to end the sentence that isn't some flavor of offensive, so Omega just shuts his mouth.

"This isn't something about trusting the team. Trusting the team happens. Trusting the person you put yourself into the hands of is what matters."

He shakes his head and stands. There is just no easy getting through to this man. So he takes a moment to hang the rope back up in the closet before rejoining Omega. "You just want me to give you the books and let you go, right?"

Omega is now thoroughly confused. "No, I want to understand this. You said that being on a team needs trust. And that's why you were trusting me. Now you're telling me that the team doesn't matter. Which is it?"

He folds his hands, tightly, to keep from signing something embarrassing. "Don't shake your head like I don't understand when you keep changing things on me."

He hates when people start changing things and then blaming him for not being able to keep up. Or worse, claiming it was like that all along.

"We are... members of a team," Florida allows, trying to think of a way to put this. "Because of that we must trust each other. I have to trust that in a fight you have my back, and you have to trust that in an emergency, I have yours. But this..."

He gestures to the book on the other side of Omega, still open to the pattern Omega had used on him. "This is different. This is about trusting me or you not because we're on a tam together. But because we put our faith in each other. It about believing I won't leave you tied up because you have faith in me, in Florida, rather than believing in The Informant, a member of your team. The difference between the individual and the organization."

"Then why did you start by talking about the team?" Omega asks. He gets it now, at least he thinks he does.

"And why would you even trust me in the first place? I owe you two brothers, I can trust you. But how do you know that I won't leave you tied up?"

Not that he would. It's the principle of the thing.

But if it's not a team exercise, then it's coming back around to Florida gambling for kicks. That Omega isn't the kind of person to leave him high and dry, or that Omega is sufficiently afraid of Maine's wrath to behave.

And he signs, without realizing it, SO YOU WERE JUST USING ME.

NO Florida signs right back, his fingers just as accurate as Omega's, but slower. Like someone who knows the pieces and is still working on the how of the putting them together.

I AM OFFERING YOU THE CHANCE TO USE ME.

"This whole thing seems to be a lot to you. Your life and the job prospects, hell, even your history. I'm offering you someone you don't have to be strong around. Don't have to impress. Don't have to be responsible for or to."

Oh, that's tempting. That's so tempting, to just stop for five minutes and let someone else have all the answers. But nothing is this easy, nothing is this simple, and nothing good ever happens to Omega.

But that's been turning around, and Florida found Delta, saved Sigma.

"What color?" he asks, buying some time to think. "You said a different color. What color?"

Florida stares for a few moments, trying to process the question, and then he smiles. "With your complexion and the color of your eyes... I'd go with a medium purple. To enhance your own eye color. Or, if not that, a paler blue."

"I like purple," Omega says. He's considering this, he's actually considering it. This is slightly insane. He's thinking about what Florida did, about the pictures in the book. And the color purple.

"Pictures?"

"Right," Florida answers, moving to open his bedside drawer where he'd left the things. He brings out the book requested and a small folder of pictures.

"Don't share these with anyone. I took these with some friends, and they allow me to keep them personally and to share with like minded people. But you aren't to share them with someone else, alright?"

Omega takes them, but doesn't look at them. "That's...not what I meant. Would you, would there be, pictures. Of purple rope."

He's going to say no, Omega realizes as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Florida's going to say no, because Omega is a stuttering idiot who can't form a complete sentence.

In his defense, it's rare that he asks for something for himself, or at least something he's not owed.

"Only if you ask," Florida answers quietly. If you want to be the only one that has them, then I'll give them to you and not have one for myself. And if you don't find yourself comfortable taking them home, we can find you a place to hide them here. Does that work?"

Because if he can take even one bit of the weight of this man's shoulders, he's going to do it.

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't bring them home," Omega says, with his eyes closed. It sounds so nice, and what's the worst that could happen. Florida's had the opportunity, so many times over, to hurt his family and he hasn't. That's enough. "I share a room with a ten-year-old. And a teenager."

"Yeah. It works." This is ridiculous, this is absolutely ridiculous. And that's okay, because asking for serious things ends with brothers missing, with being locked out of the house. So he can ask. "I'd like pictures. You can keep copies too, if you want them."

"Alright then," Florida smiles. "There's a place I have, it's quiet and away from where anyone you know would find you. I can take you there sometime. You want to wear comfortable clothes that aren't too loose. If you can't find any, I can get you some."

His hand moves to rest on Omega's knee. "Before anything else you need to tell me one thing. This is a completely innocent, isn't it?"

Going somewhere nobody will be able to find him. With an assassin he's only met a handful of times. To get tied up. The sad thing is, this is only about the fourth stupidest thing Omega's done in his life. Well, Tex bought him running shoes, so at least he's got that going for him.

He looks down at Florida's hand. "Innocent? Innocent of what?"

Florida just pats his leg, chuckling quietly before he returns his hand to his own lap. "I'll take that as a yes. Alright then. I'll just let you get back to your work."

Shame, two Ais would have to be better than one.

"What did I just agree to?" Omega is completely lost. "Innocent of what?"

"I just decided, for you, that there will be no sexual component to this," Florida supplies. "We can talk about anything else before we start. You don't look like the kind of guy who wants roughed up a little. But still, look at the section in there on aftercare. It's important, even when it's just being tied up. You're going to need it and you need prepared for that."

Omega can't completely repress the shiver of revulsion at that idea. "No sex," he agrees, not even mad that Florida decided without any input from him. "Um. Talking is good."

Roughed up? He was signing up to get shot at. Then again, the less bruises he has to explain, the better.

"I'll read it," Omega promises. He's not sure when, or where. This isn't something he wants to share with his brothers. He shares everything else, Maine, Tex, is it so wrong to have something of his own?

"Good, Muesca," Florida smiles, bouncing to his feet. "Now you get going, okay? Put those things in your locker and pick them up before you leave."

"Ye-yeah. I will," Omega says, standing up. "Thank you."

He leaves, but he doesn't put them in his locker. Instead, he finds an out of the way corner and starts reading.

LOG: A Matter of Trust

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