by: Shoori

Marking it Down to Learning + Chapter 16
Alone Again in the Dark

Duo shuddered, huddling down deeper under the blankets of the bed he'd been assigned.

He had to give the Order that much. They had damn comfortable beds. Even the ones in the barracks rooms that only the whores slept in were soft, piled with plenty of blankets and pillows.

The whores. The prostitutes, the ones who were kept, who existed only to give their bodies to those who paid the Order's fees.

He was lucky, they'd told him. He'd been brought to one of the Order's elite facilities, where only the wealthiest and most elite of the organization's many clients were served.

They'd told him horror stories about some of the other locations, which catered to a much different clientele. The whores there had to service ten or fifteen or more clients a day, and they weren't the soft, groomed, perfumed wealthy socialites playing at slumming around like the clients here. They were dirty, body and soul, and they used the whores hard and fast and brutally, hurt them casually, and threw them aside.

Oh, no, it was much better here, where their bodies were used slowly, with exquisite attention to detail and torment, where every hurt inflicted was well thought-out and deliberate and guaranteed to hurt on a level that was more than physical...

Duo forced himself to inhale deeply, drawing the warm air beneath his blankets deep into his lungs and holding the breath for a moment before slowly exhaling.

He couldn't afford to get upset here. They couldn't see him so affected by what should just be another job, another john, another small wound to add to the web of scar tissue encrusting his soul.

Someone was always watching, here. The blankets and pillows and deep, soft mattress gave an illusion of privacy, but it was only an illusion. There was always someone watching, ready to pounce, to punish, to hurt.

He couldn't let them see how he felt, so he couldn't think about it, couldn't think about the look of shocked horror in the aqua eyes when they recognized him, couldn't dwell on the strangled note in the familiar voice when he spoke.

And he couldn't think about the strong hands that turned him over onto his stomach, of the fingers that grasped the back of his neck and shoved his face into the cushions on the floor as the fingers of the other hand spread him open and vulnerable, couldn't think of the hot, hard length shoving into his unprepared passage. He couldn't think of the pain he felt spearing through his body, or the sound of the well-known voice moaning in pleasure as he hurt him, as he cruelly slammed into him again and again...

But he especially couldn't think of the initial look of joy that had leapt into Quatre's eyes when he saw him, before the realization of his situation had registered with the blond, or of the waves of pained regret and guilt he felt radiate from Quatre even as he roughly used him. And he absolutely could not even think of the soft kiss the blond had dropped between his shoulder blades as he straightened up off him, a gesture Duo knew that the blond's body had carefully shielded from Polynices' prying eyes and the impersonal gaze of the room's security cameras.

He couldn't think of that, couldn't think of what that gesture might imply.

He couldn't think of Quatre, couldn't allow himself to think of what the blond's presence in this place implied.

Ever since he'd been told who had him ­ or, at least, since he'd managed to tear himself away from contemplation of the absolute fucking diabolical irony of the situation ­ he'd been hoping he'd encounter and recognize whatever operative the Preventers sent in.

Because he knew that someone would infiltrate. He hadn't expected it so soon... but then, he really had no idea how long he'd been a part of the Order, how long he'd been away from the life that had been his, and that now seemed part of some wonderful, faraway dream.

Now, everything was more like a nightmare. Actually, Duo considered, scowling into the darkness beneath his covers, that wasn't really accurate at all. Even he, with his extremely well-developed imagination, could never have created a scenario as phenomenally fucked-up as this one.

He stared into the darkness, considering the twists and turns his life had taken recently, each more unbelievably lurid and demeaning and ridiculously garish than the last.

Loss of home and those he cared about, drug addiction, prostitution, kidnapping by an organization intent on ensnaring him in sexual slavery for the rest of his life...

This wasn't an existence any real person had. It was some damn cheap porn novel gone very, very wrong.

It wasn't even the kind of novel anyone actually wrote for publication. It was the kind of story that a would-be author started in the "I can write a better book than this piece of crap," vein, only to realize that it was more fun to wander into more and more improbable fantasies and bizarre storylines than it was to write an actual story.

That had to be it. He was trapped in some bizarre freak's imaginary ramblings, created to please and delight their own strange, diseased mind.

That had to be it. This sort of thing just didn't happen to normal people.

Of course, he'd never exactly been normal people.

And his life had shown him again and again that he could ­ and would ­ sink to extraordinary depths. Just when he thought he was as low as he could go, and nothing that could happen to him could possibly be worse than that which he'd already endured, another chasm opened beneath his feet and he fell farther and farther down, into an even deeper Hell that the one he'd been living in before.

He hadn't thought he could get any lower than he been on his street corner, hot, sticky, and dirty, his ass raw and aching, the bite mark some cretin had just deposited on his neck stinging, the trails of dried semen running down the backs of his thighs itching furiously, and the dark, heavy hunger roiling beneath it all. He'd been sure, leaning against the denuded signpost, trying to look sultry despite his "I've-just-been-fucked-against-the-wall-in-a-filthy-alley" disarray, that there just wasn't anywhere else to fall.

He should know by know to fight thoughts like that. Invariably, when he was sure that he fallen as far as he could, the universe obligingly showed him that it still had plenty of plans for him.

God hated him. That's what it was, he concluded glumly. He'd suspected it ­ hell, he'd known it ­ for years, but he'd been lulled into thinking that the Divine Father had gotten bored with messing with him.

Of course not. He'd just been biding His time, thinking up new and creative ways to make Duo miserable.

This time, the utter misery had come in the form of two weird-looking middle-aged guys, who pulled up beside him in an old-model luxury sedan, and asked him what his going rate was.

Duo had stared at them for a moment, suspicious of their offer. They'd smelled wrong to him somehow, but after considering them for a minute, he'd decided that they couldn't be undercover cops. They were too old for one thing ­ probably at least in the fifties - and while Duo realized that people that age really did have sex, he knew that police departments generally sent out younger guys on soliciting missions. Besides, these guys weren't good looking enough. Cops seemed to think that prostitutes were like other people, and would only go for attractive options. They couldn't seem to get it through their heads that when you were taking money for sex, you couldn't be picky and only take it from people you considered attractive.

No one would consider these guys attractive. One was extremely thin, with unhealthy looking skin and nasty black eyes. The scar that ran across one side of his face didn't help either. The other didn't have such an outwardly obvious menacing feature, but the hazel eyes that had stared at Duo from the backseat of the sedan were unnervingly menacing.

That was the other thing. Cops out soliciting didn't generally have a driver.

There was still something wrong, but Duo had shrugged off his suspicions. Of course the set-up was odd ­ two middle-aged guys out together, trolling for male prostitutes. Not the most wholesome or healthy of situations. There was something weird about them, but they weren't going to arrest him, and when he'd named a figure triple his rate ­ there were two of them after all ­ and they didn't even blink, he didn't care about anything else. That would be more than enough for the day. And if he was lucky, he'd be able to hide a little of it from that filthy bastard Krantz when the fucker took all his money and shoved his dick down his throat later that night before grudgingly handing over the coke that Duo desired, wanted, needed above anything else.

He'd do anything for the cocaine. It was all he had. All that kept him going. All that was left in the world that meant anything, even if he knew that all it would bring in the end was his own destruction.

That would be better than anything else.

His destruction. An end... to all this.

And if attaining that meant climbing over the red-headed guy to sit between the two perverted rich guys, and let them drive him wherever they wanted to fuck him and throw him away, then so be it.

Any means... to the end.

Duo had settled himself between the two, and turned his most seductive smile on the scarred guy. He was a little surprised when the man abruptly undid the fly of his pants, and pulled Duo's head down toward his exposed cock.

He'd figured they'd take him somewhere with a bed. But maybe they didn't want to be seen taking a whore into their home.

He hadn't tried to figure out their motives ­ he didn't really care. They were paying him three hundred credits an hour for use of his body, and that's all that mattered. Duo had obligingly taken the man's semi-hard dick into his mouth, and licked and sucked for only a few minutes before the man cried out hoarsely, and Duo worked quickly to swallow all of the bitter fluid of the man's release flooding his mouth.

The man above him groaned, and Duo heard a chuckle from his other side.

"It usually takes Tydeus much longer than that," the redhead commented wryly. "You must have an unusual technique."

Duo straightened up and turned to deliver his practiced sultry smile to the other man. "Absolutely," he breathed, ostentatiously licking the last of the scarred man's release from his lips, ensuring that the second man got a healthy view of pink tongue. "Would you care for a sample?"

The redhead smiled humorlessly. "Why not," he grunted, pulling the front of his pants open.

Duo shifted so he was kneeling on the seat, and lowered his head into the other man's lap, and repeated his performance. Soon, he was swallowing another load of come, and straightening up on his knees to smile smugly down at the gasping man.

"Take your shirt off," the scarred man ordered behind him.

Duo glanced at him over his shoulder, but obediently pulled his tight shirt over his head. He guessed they were going for the whole act here in the car.

The second man, recovering, reached over and pulled Duo's brief shorts down to his knees, freeing his own soft cock.

"Stroke yourself," the redhead ordered.

The scarred man ­ Tydeus, Duo recalled ­ chuckled unpleasantly behind him. "Capaneus likes to watch," he said, his tone mocking.

"I appreciate beauty," Capaneus replied, undisturbed, and nodded at Duo, silently ordering him to continue.

Duo repressed a sigh as he reached down and grasped his own cock, and begin stimulating himself with swift, firm strokes. He hated this kind of activity ­ he'd much rather just have someone shove him down and fuck him rather than expect him to seem to be enjoying the activity.

But, he focused on the friction on his cock, and felt his body obligingly begin to respond, his length beginning to harden and throb with excitement.

God. He really was sick. What kind of disgusting human being could get off on his own degradation?

He could, apparently.

He moaned as he continued to stroke himself, giving the other men the full show. He was supposed to be aroused ­ he needed to provide the full complement of correct behaviors.

Duo stroked himself harder, and faster, trying to push himself along the path to release more quickly. They might not actually let him come ­ sometimes guys like this got off on seeing someone excited to the point of orgasm, then refusing to allow him release.

Whatever. Coming might bring him some physical pleasure, but he wouldn't enjoy it. Not like this. Not here.

But apparently, denial wasn't their game because neither made a move to stop him. Soon, he felt a tightening between his legs that warned him that his orgasm was imminent. He moaned a warning to the other men, but neither responded. He carefully pointed the tip of his erection toward himself, and cried out loudly as he felt his arousal escape, felt the hot, sticky fluid cover his chest.

Hands behind and in front of him reached out and grasped his hips, holding him in his upright position as he began to sag in reaction.

Duo gasped, twisting in the tight grasp as he felt a finger abruptly thrust inside his dry, unprepared passage. He gasped again, this time feeling a twinge of pleasure mixed with the pain as the intruding finger brushed against the bundle of nerves deep inside him.

"He's certainly very attractive," Capaneus commented, his fingers brushing over Duo's slowly wilting cock.

"Very tight; much more so than you'd expect," Tydeus observed withdrawing his finger and thrusting it roughly inside him again. "Responsive, too," he added, as Duo gasped and writhed slightly as the finger again brushed against his prostate.

"Nice musulclature," Capaneus continued, running his free hand up Duo's torso and over his chest, pausing to pinch each of his nipples.

Duo scowled, starting to feel a bit unnerved by this odd, impersonal examination, and the way the two were evaluating him as though he weren't there.

"Glad you approve," he said dryly, trying to pull away a little from the hands holding him, invading him, touching him like he was some kind of thoroughbred horse they were considering purchasing.

"Oh, we do, Tiny," the scarred man behind agreed, his voice somehow menacing.

"Your friends at the bar told us we'd like you, but we didn't realize how much," Capaneus went on.

His friends at the bar. That greedy fucker Krantz. He'd sicced these two weirdoes on him, so he could be sure Duo would be bringing back a good haul. Duo swore silently, and began planning dark ways to get retribution on the slimy dealer.

"His eyes are a very unusual color," Capaneus remarked over Duo's shoulder to Tydeus.

"I like his hair," the dark-eyed man added, running his hands through the unbound mass.

Duo shuddered. He did not want this man touching his hair. He didn't want to be here, he suddenly wanted desperately to get out of this car. His nerves were screaming with the need to get out, to escape, to run...

But he couldn't leave without his money, or he wouldn't have anything to give Krantz, and the dealer wouldn't give him anything...

"He'll do," Capaneus said decisively.

"He'll do quite nicely," Tydeus agreed.

Duo opened his mouth to snap at them, to demand of them what he would do for, but he yelped as he felt a sharp, sticking pain in one bicep. He looked down, panicking as he saw the syringe sticking out of his arm.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shouted, trying to whirl around at the scarred man who'd stuck him with the needle.

"That's nothing for you to worry about now," Capaneus said briskly, drawing his attention forward again.

That was a mistake, because as soon as he'd turned around, the redheaded man shoved a piece of fabric in his face. Duo was aware of a sharp, acrid odor, than everything started to fade.

"Don't worry," he heard Capaneus' voice repeat, as from far away. "We'll explain it all to you when you wake up."

[cont]