see chap. 1 for warnings, notes, disclaimer
Lost Souls + Chapter 46
May 11, 196 AC
Quatre had never been so miserable in his entire life. It had been bad enough before Duo's visit. But now, having had a taste of freedom, not to mention an active if not particularly fulfilling sex life again, he felt more like a prisoner than ever. He went back to working long hours, lost his appetite and weight, drank more, and quickly went through the last of the weed Duo had left him. Some days he had to jerk off twice to quell the insistent urges of his unruly body. And of course, there were the dreams. Night after night he relived the war, especially the day he's blasted a colony and blown up Trowa in his suit. Except that in those dreams he saw Trowa's mangled dead body. Or he met Trowa somewhere by chance and Trowa said horrible, angry things to him, things Quatre deserved.
When pictures of Trowa and Duo dancing together at an L-2 gay bar hit the news, it was just salt in the wounds. Of course Duo was still friends with Trowa, too; it would be unfair to expect otherwise. But it still hurt. And of course, now the world knew for certain that two of the five Gundam boys were gay. Questions were raised by various tabloids, which ran pictures of Duo dancing with Quatre in Doha and Trowa on L-3 side by side under headlines asking who was his lover, or if they both were. No amount of denials by any of them, Quatre through his lawyers at last, did any good. Fatima and his uncle were livid, and furious with him for bringing such shame on the family name, even though as far as they knew, he hadn't done anything. The fact that they were right gave Quatre more nightmares. If they knew what he had actually done, and ached to continue doing? Quatre could almost imagine slitting his wrists, as Duo had, if that happened.
Gazing at his image in the mirror as he combed his hair and straightened his tie before work, he looked for the good Muslim boy he'd once been. There was little sign of him. And this new person he was, was desperate to get out at night. But without Duo as his wingman, it took him nearly two weeks to work up the nerve to do it. And the first hurdle was Rashid.
"Go out alone? Without protection?" the big man had said, shocked and disapproving.
"I won't be alone. I have friends at the clubs," Quatre told him. "And I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm armed, and I'm trained in combat. People my age go out clubbing all the time. It's not like I'll be in a dangerous area of the city, either. I'll be seventeen in a few months, Rashid. I'm sick of being treated like a grown man at work and a child at home! If I can run a major corporation, I can go out alone at night. And you are not to shadow me, or order anyone else to do so, do you understand? That's a direct order."
"Four months," said Rashid.
"You'll be seventeen at the end of September. That's a little over four month from now."
"Less than half a year. I'm a Gundam pilot, Rashid, and a soldier, as you know better than anyone, so I'm not your average sixteen-year-old. So I don't want any more arguments about this. I'm going, you're not going to follow me, or send anyone else to follow me, and you're not to go running to my family with the news."
And that, to his amazement, had been the end of it. So here he was on a hot desert night, at Blue on his own for the first time, gun hidden in an ankle holster. He danced with two pretty girls at once while the paparazzi clicked away, capturing images of him not being gay. Knowing that they would follow him if he drove away, he used the same clandestine route he and Duo had to get to the hotel to change. After some thought, he put on the gold mesh tunic and black leather pants he'd worn the first night they'd gone to the Peacock. Safely bundled in a coat and hat, he walked the few short blocks to the club and climbed the stairs with his heart beating wildly with pent-up excitement.
"Welcome back, sir!" the bartender greeted him, pouring him his first champagne of the night. "We've missed you, and your beautiful friend. A certain someone has been asking after you, too."
Quatre could feel himself blushing a little. So his preference for Mr. Dark had not gone unnoticed. "Is he here tonight?"
"I haven't seen him, sir. But it's still early."
"I suppose so," Quatre said, surprised at how very disappointed he was. Was he breaking Duo's rule about getting attached to a stranger? Although Mr. Dark wasn't exactly a stranger anymore, was he?
There were plenty of other men who wanted to dance with him, and do more than dance, too. He moved from one to another, letting them look and touch, but not giving them any more encouragement than that, even the ones who'd fucked him before. Why was it only Mr. Dark who kept him coming back for more?
'I don't love him,' Quatre thought as his current partner's hand roamed over his back, heading south. Love had nothing to do with it; it was need. Only Mr. Dark knew what he really needed, and how to give it to him.
A little while later, as if summoned by Quatre's yearning, he was there behind him, pressing up against him, stroking his hips, and whispering in Quatre's ear, "Will you be mine again tonight, Angel?" He looked incredibly hot in tight, worn jeans and a black leather blazer jacket over a tight black tank.
Quatre gave his current partner a quick kiss to smooth over any hurt feelings, then turned and gave himself to Mr. Dark. He kissed Quatre deeply, hand firmly gripping the back of Quatre's neck in a way that made him tingly all over.
"You're alone tonight, my Angel?" the man whispered against his ear.
"Then perhaps you'd like to see a different club. One I believe you will like very much, where we can indulge your needs a bit better."
Quatre wasn't at all sure what was being offered, but the thought of leaping into the unknown made him giddy. Deep down, a little voice of caution warned that risk taking was another form of PTSD, and that he was definitely about to break one of Duo's rules, but the draw was too strong. "Yes, let's go!"
Quatre collected his hat and coat and followed Mr. Dark down a back stair to the parking garage. Mr. Dark led him to a black Porsche and opened the door for him as if he were a lady. Quatre tried not to let that bother him.
As they sped through the darkened streets, however, sanity began to come back. He knew nothing about his man except his sexual tastes. He really was a stranger, and he could be taking Quatre anywhere, even kidnapping him. The pistol was a comforting weight against his left ankle.
"Now that we're outside the club, can you tell me your name?" Quatre asked. "I assume you know who I am."
"You are my Angel," the man replied with a smile. "That's all I need to know."
"So you won't tell me yours?"
"No, Angel. I won't."
"Because a name is power, and I don't intend to give you any."
"Why not?" Alarm bells were really going off now, but the words were said pleasantly, even a little teasingly.
Mr. Dark looked at him and smiled. "Because you don't want me to."
Before Quatre could ask him what that was supposed to mean, Mr. Dark turned down a side street, and into another parking garage. They were still in the club district. He drove down several levels underground, then led Quatre through a nondescript door and down an equally nondescript corridor with two very large bouncers at the far end. Both of them nodded to Mr. Dark, as if he were a regular, and looked Quatre up and down as if he was for sale. One of them even licked his lips.
Though this club, which didn't even have a name, was hidden like the Peacock, that's were any similarity ended. This place was like a prison, all concrete and hard angles, or at least what Quatre could see in the dark with the pulsing colored lights. The music had a hard edge to it, as well, and most of the men here were wearing leather--some a biker jacket and jeans, others leather from head to toe, and still others, Quatre saw with shocked amazement, wore nothing but body harnesses made up of leather straps and large metal rings. Many wore dog collars and a few were leashed. There was a lot of military insignia from all sides of the war, too, especially OZ medallions and belts, and even more tattoos.
In the middle of the large dance floor was a raised platform with several pieces of equipment on it. Quatre didn't need to be told what they were for, since they were in use at the moment. One man was shackled naked to a large black wooden X frame, and another man was striking his back and bottom with a riding crop in what looked like a very measured and deliberate way. Another naked man was bent over a wooden horse being paddled, and a third was strung up to a whipping post being whipped with a small flail. And both in that same slow, deliberate fashion. It was almost stylized, and the crowd was cheering them on. None of the three men made a sound. The one on the X frame was finished with first, his back and bottom covered in a pattern of red welts. His tormenter unfastened the shackles holding his hands and feet and gathered him in his arms for a long kiss while the crowd cheered. The man who'd been whipped was grinning broadly as he followed his tormenter off stage.
A moment later the man over the horse began to struggle and cry out, saying some word over and over again. The paddling stopped and the crowd booed.
Quatre didn't realize that he'd been staring until Mr. Dark slipped an arm around his waist and guided him through the crowd toward the back of the room. Many of the men they passed greeted Mr. Dark politely, but not by name, giving him a small bow. Some of the barely dressed, leashed young men went down on their knees and touched their foreheads to the floor. Mr. Dark hardly seemed to notice.
Everyone seemed to be staring at Quatre and he was hit with a mix of envy and lust that made him stagger before he managed to shut it all out.
Mr. Dark tightened his arm around Quatre's waist. "Do you want something to drink, my Angel?"
"Yes, please," Quatre replied, having a hard time not staring back over his shoulder at the man still at the whipping post. Now the crowd was cheering for him. "You don't-- I mean, I don't think I can--"
Mr. Dark hugged him. "Don't worry, my Angel. I won't put you on display."
They went to the long black and neon bar and his companion ordered two sparkling ciders instead of their usual champagne.
"I'd rather--" Quatre began, but stopped when Mr. Dark looked down at him with a slightly bemused expression.
Quatre downed his quickly, more nervous by the minute. Large men in leather were circling like wolves, ogling him shamelessly. But Mr. Dark ignored them, too, and seemed oblivious to Quatre's rising distress.
When he finished his drink, he put his arm around Quatre again, walked him to the men's room, and stood outside the stall while Quatre relieved himself. Three men were having loud sex in the next stall.
When he was done and had washed his hands, Mr. Dark reclaimed him and they continued on toward the back of the huge room. They were almost to row of ominous black doors when Quatre caught sight of a man a few feet away. He was dressed in a leather vest and tight leather pants that showed the outline of a sizable cock. He held a riding crop in one hand and the end of a leash in the other, attached to the collar of a nearly naked young blond man kneeling beside him like a dog. That wasn't what stopped Quatre in his tracks, though; he knew the man. He'd met with Kareem Nidal for several frustrating hours just yesterday, trying to work out the details of a tricky merger.
Nidal raised a knowing eyebrow and smiled a not altogether friendly smile. "Good evening, young sir."
Stunned, embarrassed, and horrified at anyone knowing his secret, Quatre just stood there, mouth dry, palms sweating, face aflame. Before he could think of anything to say, however, Mr. Dark stepped between them, his expression unlike anything Quatre had ever seen on the man; it was cold, almost deadly. No words were spoken, but the air seemed to crackle between the two men.
Nidal went a little pale and backed off. "Forgive me. I'm mistaken. I don't know you." With that, he turned and strode hastily away, pulling the leashed young man along behind him.
Mr. Dark turned to Quatre, smiling, the usual warmth back in his dark eyes. "Shall we?"
"Uh--yes?" Quatre wasn't sure what was being offered, but that giddy sense of risk was back in full force now. In the wake of the confrontation with Nidal, he was totally turned on.
Mr. Dark took a key from his pocket and opened one of the black doors. "Come in, Angel. Don't be afraid."
Quatre hesitated just a moment, arousal spiked with sudden fear, as Mr. Dark had guessed. The room beyond was about twenty square, with black painted, cinderblock walls. An X frame stood in the center of the room, a padded wooden horse visible behind it, and several large antique Chinese cabinets and an expensive couch against one wall. Taking a deep breath, Quatre walked inside and heard the door close behind him.
"Very good, Angel." Mr. Dark came up behind him and placed his hands lightly on Quatre's shoulders. "Do you trust me?"
Quatre sensed no threat from the man, just a thick, sensuous lust and sense of affection and--possession. Quatre's arousal spiked again. "Yes."
"I'm very glad to hear that. Would you like to play a game?"
"Yes." Quatre's voice was a husky whisper now.
"It's a very special game. While we play, you cannot speak unless I ask you a direct question, and when you do, you will address me as 'Sir'. You will not take any action until I direct you to do so. If you break these rules, I will punish you as I see fit. Do you agree?"
Quatre caught his breath at the word "punish." His cock was hard against his belly already. "Yes, Sir!"
"There is one very important exception to these rules. If at any time you wish to stop--if you are frightened, bored, or dislike what I am doing to you, any reason at all-- all you have to do is use the safe word. That word is 'sunset.' Repeat it, Angel."
"Very good. You may use it at any time, and as soon as you do, the game will stop. I promise you, that is a rule that cannot and will not be broken by either of us. Observe them all and we will have a very good time together, I promise you. Because you are new to this, I will allow you one mistake. After that, I will punish you for any transgression. Do you accept these rules?"
"Then let us begin."
Quatre started to pull off his shirt, but Mr. Dark caught his hands and held them tightly. "You just broke a rule. I didn't tell you to undress."
Quatre nearly apologized, but caught himself in time.
Mr. Dark caught him by the chin and brought their faces close together. "As I said, I will let the first transgression go, but that is your one and only free pass." He didn't sound angry at all; his voice was, as always, like a silky caress. "Now you may undress. Fold your clothing neatly and put it on that bench by the cabinet. When you have done that, come and kneel at my feet.
The room was not cold, but Quatre was shivering uncontrollably as he took off his clothes and carefully hid the gun beneath them. When he'd followed each instruction he sank down on his knees in front of Mr. Dark.
"Well done, Angel." Mr. Dark stroked Quatre's hair, then walked to the cabinet and opened it. Inside hung a collection of neatly arranged crops, whips and paddles, leather cuffs, rope, and oddly shaped colored objects. He selected a few items and came back. He buckled fleece-lined leather cuffs with large metal D rings on them around Quatre's wrists and ankles, then pulled something from his coat pocket. It was a polished leather dog collar studded with what looked like diamonds. A golden heart-shaped tag hung from a metal ring. Mr. Dark let him read what was engraved on it: Angel.
He knew I'd come here eventually, thought Quatre, still shivering.
Quatre did so, and Mr. Dark buckled it around his neck, then took him by the hand and used the rings on the cuffs to fasten him to the X frame. When he was done Quatre was spread eagle and helpless, balls hanging free between his parted legs. His cock was hard and throbbing and the head was wet with clear, slick precum. Mr. Dark stood back for a moment, admiring him, then ran his hands over Quatre's chest and belly, one thumb tracing the small round scar where Dorothy Catalonia had run him through during their duel. Then he went back to the cabinet, which was now out of Quatre's line of sight. He was back in a moment, and showed Quatre a black silk scarf.
"I'm going to blind fold you now, Angel." And he did so, tying it snuggly over Quatre's eyes. Quatre's heart was pounding now, and his breath was ragged. Without sight, every other sense was instantly attenuated. He smelled Mr. Dark's spicy cologne, and felt the warmth of his skin a second before warm fingers stroked slowly down from the collar, down his chest and belly, stopping just short of his cock. Quatre let out a moan he could not contain, and hoped it wasn't forbidden. Apparently it wasn't because he heard the man chuckle. Then he lifted Quatre's balls and slipped something cold and slightly rough under them and around the base of his cock, something that cinched tightly.
"That's a cock ring, Angel. Have you ever worn one?"
"No, Sir!" Quatre whispered.
"It is to prevent you from achieving orgasm. You will come when I allow it and not before. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. I understand."
Quatre moaned again, then jumped as fingers parted buttocks and something cold, wet, and hard pressed against his opening.
"Relax, Angel. This is called a butt plug. It will keep you stretched and press against your prostate. This one is not very large, no thicker than my cock. You will find it comfortable, once it's in, and pleasurable."
Quatre did his best to relax and felt the blunt tip press past the outer ring of muscle and slide inside. It hurt a little, as penetration always did, and it must have been tapered or flared; he could feel his ass being stretched and opened more as it slid deeper inside him. As promised, it pressed against his sensitive prostate and sent waves of pleasure through him. Mr. Dark moved it slightly and the pleasure increased. That stopped, but then he felt something soft and warm caressing his body. It was silky and tickled just a bit. Fur? A fur glove? Whatever it was, it felt very good. That stopped, then he jerked as something cold and wet circled his nipples; ice. Cold water trickled down his chest and belly as it melted against his heated skin. Now Mr. Dark was drawing designs on his chest, running it up his neck to trace his lips and let him lick it, then down his chest to draw more designs on his cock and aching balls. Then it moved down the inside of his leg to the arch of his foot, and down the other leg to the other foot.
Just when Quatre thought it couldn't feel any better he felt a hot mouth engulf the head of his erection and a velvety tongue caress it. If not for the cock ring, he'd have come right then. As it was, his whole body felt like it was on fire as he pulled against the cuffs, and the throbbing in his cock spread to his whole crotch, just on the edge of pain now. His moans turned to whines as he clenched his teeth, trying hard not to beg for more. It wasn't easy.
Mr. Dark took his cock down his throat and gave the plug a twist, then he was gone, leaving Quatre desperate and in agony. He pumped his hips, seeking that mouth or any touch at all, but his tormenter was out of reach.
Then he felt the cuffs being released. Was that all? But before he could feel too disappointed he was turned and pushed face first against the frame and fastened there again. He felt warm breath on his ear, and Mr. Dark whispered, "And now I will give you what you really want."
There was a pause, then he felt something smooth and cool slide across his buttocks. It was too wide to be a crop. A paddle? An instant latter his guess was confirmed as the first flat, smacking blow descended on his helpless ass. It stung, but the pain was bearable and it jarred the plug, making it rub his prostate again. Another blow descended and another, then he felt the paddle caress his tingling skin again.
"Are you all right, Angel?"
"Yes, Sir," Quatre gasped. He'd never been so turned on in his life. "More, please, Sir."
Mr. Dark gave the plug a tug and Quatre yelped. He heard the man laugh.
"A game within the game, Angel. I'm going to spank you and you are going to count the blows, out loud so I can hear. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir." Mr. Dark was going to great lengths to make certain Quatre was following along, perhaps to help him avoid punishment.
"We begin now."
Mr. Dark gave him ten measured smacks, and Quatre counted each one aloud. Ten more, and ten more. His ass was really tingling and hot now. It felt good.
Mr. Dark kissed Quatre between the shoulders. "Very good, my lovely boy. And now we change the rules a little. I will spank you, and then you will tell me now many times. Do you understand?"
Without warning Mr. Dark struck him six times, then stopped, waiting.
Quatre said nothing. He hadn't been given explicit permission. He heard another chuckle.
"How many, Angel?"
"Yes. And again."
The blows came faster this time and there were more of them. "And that time?"
"Fifteen." He gave Quatre two very hard smacks that made him grab at the wooden frame and try to arch away.
"When you guess wrong, Angel, you must take the difference as a penalty."
They did five more rounds, and Quatre was wrong more often than he was right. He was off by six the last time and after the third harsh blow he cried out, "Sunset!"
The spanking stopped immediately. Mr. Dark quickly released him from the frame, picked him up in his arms, and carried him to the silk covered couch, where he held him on his lap and stroked his back and hair. "Very good, Angel. You did very, very well!" He kissed Quatre on the forehead. "The game is over. You may speak freely."
"I'm sorry. I wanted to finish," Quatre gasped, lying limply against him. His body was limp, but not his cock. That was still hot and hard and aching. Taking Mr. Dark's hand, he guided it to his cock. "I need you."
"Of course." Mr. Dark laid him back on the couch, rolled a condom over Quatre's erection and knelt beside him to take his cock in his mouth. Reaching under Quatre's balls, he released the leather cock ring and pulled out the plug. That's all it took. With a ragged cry, Quatre arched under him, filling the tip of the rubber as he came harder than he could ever remember coming. While he was still gasping, Mr. Dark turned him over, pulled Quatre's ass up, and fucked him with long, plunging strokes. He must have been equally turned on, because he came much faster than usual. Stretching out beside Quatre, he took him in his arms and held him. "That was nearly perfect, Angel."
"Nearly?" Quatre gasped, too worn out to move. He dozed for a while, strangely content, then woke with Mr. Dark running his fingers through his hair.
"It's late, Angel. Time for you to go home."
Quatre was still wobbly, and Mr. Dark helped him back into his clothes, strapped the gun on for him without any sign of surprise, and put an arm around him again as they walked toward the door.
"You said 'nearly perfect,'" Quatre said. "What did I do wrong?"
Mr. Dark laughed softly and hugged him. "It's not such a big deal. You just screamed another man's name in the throes of passion."
"Oh, no!" Quatre felt his whole face go scarlet. "I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, it happens. This 'Trowa'--Your wartime comrade, I assume. You must love him a great deal."
Tears filled Quatre's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Mr. Dark hugged him close, stroking his hair again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Quatre sobbed. "After all you did--"
Mr. Dark cupped Quatre's chin in his hand, making him look up. His dark eyes were kind. "I know you don't love me, Angel. I don't love you either. But I like you very much, and I enjoy playing with you. I hope you feel this same."
Quatre clung to him. "I really do! I like you so much! I love what you do to me."
"That's all I ask. When you go back to your Trowa, I hope we will part friends."
"He doesn't want me back."
Mr. Dark pulled him close and kissed him on the forehead again. "Then he is a fool."
[ch. 45] [ch. 47 [back to Pyrzm's fic]